The Last of the Blacks

The Last of the Blacks

Sirius pushed his hair out of his face again. It would not stay back tonight. Eventually, he admitted defeat and pulled it up, wrapping the ponytail with the band from around his wrist. He hadn't moved from the doorway to Harry's bedroom where he'd been standing, leaning against the jamb, since he'd put the baby down an hour ago. He'd stayed up with Harry while James and Lily got some well-deserved sleep; plus it would be a while - who knew how long - until he would get to see his Godson again and he'd wanted to spend as much time with the boy as possible. The Potters had received bad, bad news from Dumbledore; Voldemort was coming for them, well more specifically for Harry, and they had to go into hiding.

The room was in darkness, and Sirius watched as his shadow, cast forward by the light from the hallway, mimicked his every movement. The shadow of the last Black, he thought and smiled grimly. Well, there were still Narcissa and Bellatrix, his cousins, but they had married. They were now a Malfoy and a Lestrange, respectively; Nymphadora was a Tonks; and with Regulus' death recently at the hand of the Dark Lord, Sirius was the last one to carry the Black name. He was the final descendant of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and he intended to keep it that way.

The baby Harry whimpered in his sleep, then stirred, and finally cried himself awake. Sirius rushed to the side of the crib and gingerly picked Harry from the nest of blankets he'd arranged not so very long ago.

"Ssssssshhhhhhh," he whispered softly, "Uncle Sirius is here; everything's okay, ssssssshhhhhhh." He gently rocked Harry in his arms as he walked back and forth, listening to hear if James or Lily had been disturbed. The house remained silent.

"With all that racket you're making," he continued lovingly, "you're going to wake your mum and dad up, and we don't want that do we?" As though understanding, Harry gurgled a response and fell silent. As Sirius sat down in the rocking chair, the baby nuzzled himself into his Godfather's chest. Gently rubbing the boy's head, Sirius looked down as Harry's green eyes, so like his mother's, closed and his cheeks puffed out in a baby's version of a snore, so like his father. Sirius smiled at the memory of James' thundering snores that rattled the drapes around his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories.

"Oh Harry," Sirius whispered as his smile melted and he rocked to and fro, "what kind of world have we made for you?" He returned to his previous train of thought, the last of the Blacks.

Sirius hated his family, well most of his family. He found it hard to believe he was one of them. He didn't fit. He didn't want to fit. His parents had drilled him at an early age, forcing him through rote learning to know the names and lineages of all the Pureblood families. He had been dressed up, and made to attend cotillions with all the other young, Pureblood wizards and debutante witches.

Hags were more like it, he thought. His mother, Queen of the Hags, had never liked him. When Regulus had been born, Sirius had been all but forgotten. He was relegated to being an afterthought. A swat of a broom, a swift kick in the arse from his father's boot, these were the way Sirius' family related to him, all the while doting on young Regulus. Sirius often felt less welcome in the home than Kreacher, his parents' groveling house elf. That's why he'd left as soon as he could.

"Not for you though, eh Harry," he said softly to his dozing Godson. Harry would be well taken care of. Lily and James were two of the most wonderful people Sirius had ever known and would be fantastic parents. And if something should ever happen to them, which wasn't out of the question especially in these difficult times and with Dumbledore's recent, grave pronouncement, Sirius would make damn sure that Harry never wanted for anything, especially love. He saw Harry as his legacy. Not as a Black, but as his Godson.

Starting to feel the warm onset of tiredness himself, Sirius thought to his mother's death bed. It was only a month ago. After Regulus had died, Sirius had known the old Banshee wouldn't hold out much longer.

"Please, Sirius," she croaked reaching out for his hand, "please give us a new generation. You're the last of the Blacks; you must keep the line going." Her brow furrowed and her gaze grew cold. "You've never done anything worth a spit before, but now that poor Regulus has gone you're our last hope. You are not a cur, Sirius Nigellus Black. You've had your fun with the half-breeds and the Mudbloods; now it's time to grow up. Remember who you are. I know somewhere inside you, you can feel the pride of your family." He dropped her hand sharply, and stepped back like she was contagious. Her final breath rattled in her throat, and his mother died with the same hateful look in her eye that she had worn everyday as far back as Sirius could cast his memory.

No. There would be no more Blacks; Sirius would see to that. When he died, his family name would fade into obscurity where it belonged. It's not that Sirius didn't want to be a father, or that he was afraid he wouldn't be a good one. A child is something Sirius desperately wanted, but he didn't trust his heritage. The Black family tree had borne little more than rotten fruit, as far as Sirius was concerned. He knew that no matter how loving and caring a father he was, some of those foul traits could be passed on. No, there would be no more Blacks.

Instead, he would pass all of his good traits onto his Godson, Harry. Those were things he could control. None, not one, of either James or Lily's ancestors had participated in Muggle burnings, the foolishly cruel blood purification attempts, or would ever join with the likes of Voldemort. Young Harry came from good seed and, with Sirius helping his parents to guide him, would grow into a wonderful young man.

Harry's breathing became regular and steady. Sirius knew he was asleep for the night. Gently, he laid the baby in his crib, and sat back down in the rocker. His thoughts turned from his given family to his adopted one.

Harry, James and Lily were going into hiding. James had outlined the plan for Sirius earlier that evening. Dumbledore had prepared a spell, the Fidelius Charm, which was to keep them safely out of Voldemort's reach. He would never be able to find them, in fact no one would. The only person who would know where they were was Sirius. That was the most important part of the spell. He would be the Secret-Keeper, as long as he revealed their location to no one, it was impossible for anyone to find them. They, Lily, James and Dumbledore, had thought long and hard over the decision of who was to be the Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore felt there was a spy in the Order, so trust was a hard commodity to come by.

James had told Sirius how he and Lily had gone through the Order one by one, but had found no one they either trusted enough or felt would hold up under questioning and torture. Even Remus and Peter, their truest friends had failed the test. Although Lily had no problem with Remus taking the task, James had had his doubts, slight though they were, about his loyalty. To ignore his curse while playing foolish pranks at school was one thing, but when asked to place the life of his son solely in Remus' hands? Well he was, after all, still a werewolf. And Peter, although they both knew he would do anything they asked of him, they were dubious about his ability to lie and the strength of his will if he were captured and tortured. There was only one person that could be trusted enough and was strong enough to do it. Sirius had nodded his agreement and gladly accepted.

"Prongs, old man," his smiling grey eyes had twinkled as he raised his finger to the side of his nose, "your secret is safe with me." They had hugged, Sirius had picked up Harry, and James had gone to join Lily in bed.

Sirius' head nodded and his eyelids drooped. Sleepily, he thought about retiring to the guest room. He walked to the door but changed his mind. Instead of walking through it, he closed it, shutting out the light from the hallway. He returned to the rocking chair. He wanted to be here, close to Harry, if the baby needed him again.

"I'll always be nearby, Harry, I promise," he said softly as his eyes closed.

He awoke with a start and a sharp intake of breath. The air was cold, salty, and it stank. He shivered. His clothes were rags, and he was lying on stone, hard stone buffeted only by a thin layer of straw. He struggled to raise himself up on his elbows - damn he was weak - and looked around to see he was in a cell. With great effort he stood and shambled over to the door; it was wooden, bloated with damp, and had a small, barred window about head height. Had he had anything at all in his stomach, he would have vomited at the sight of his hands as they wrapped around the bars in the window. They looked more like the hands of a ghoul than a man, grey and bone thin.

Even in this emaciated state, Sirius showed the reflexes of his latent, hidden, canine form as he pulled his hands from the bars as though he had been burned. The metal had grown instantly cold, frigid, painful. He heard the shuffling of rotten fabric across stone and suddenly all he could think about was his mother. He watched some unseen force open the door and gasped as the realization of what creature he was looking at and where he was washed over him.

The Dementor stooped as drifted through the doorway. Once inside, it raised itself to its full height. Its cowled head bobbed side to side, like a cobra waiting to strike, as it stared down at Sirius with empty, lifeless eye sockets. Sirius' muscles screamed to move, to run away, but he stood rooted to the spot. His mind had been overcome. Softly at first, but rapidly getting louder, his mother's laughter rang in Sirius' ears. As the Dementor pulled back its hood and moved closer to Sirius, its face morphed into the hideous, twisted, gleeful face of his mother. Her laughter was now deafening, and the room started to swim, spin and pulse around him. Sirius' body, held upright solely by the power of the Dementor, twitched involuntarily, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He let out a choked moan, and darkness slammed into his brain.

He felt stone beneath him again, but now it throbbed with warmth. The air was pungent, almost sweet with the smell of incense, and it was quiet. He sat upright allowing his eyes to adjust to the soft green light of the small chamber. He looked down at his hands resting on the plush fabric of a thick black robe. Mere seconds ago, they had been alien to him, now they were strong and familiar, but slick with a warm, crimson, viscous liquid. He realized his mouth was full of the harsh, metallic taste of blood. The door at the end of the small chamber creaked open. Another hooded figure approached.

"Are you okay, child?" The figure stepped into the light, and Sirius saw the face of someone who had been dead for over a thousand years, Mephistopheles Black, the founder of the Black familial line.

"Yes, I - I feel much better now, father." Sirius heard himself speak, but had no power over the words.

"Then come, your work is not yet finished." The figured turned, and Sirius involuntarily followed. He wasn't in control of his actions. Some phantasmal force commanded his every move. He tried to speak, but could not make a sound. He stepped through the door his ancestor held open for him.

Beyond the door, was a horror Sirius could never have been prepared for. Directly in front of him, three stone basins rose from the floor. All were carved with magical runes and various depictions of cruelty. Each of the two side basins was filled with the blood of a figure suspended above it. As Sirius moved forwards, he saw the two figures were James and Lily. They were naked, and hung upside down, each limb chained to the arm of an x-shaped cross. Across each of their throats, wicked, jagged slashes provided outlets for their precious life fluid. The rivulets of blood flowed over their mouths, down their faces and matted hair and dripped into the basins below.

Sirius saw familiar faces, faces he had seen all his life on the walls of 12 Grimmauld Place. Every Black who had ever lived was lined up, waiting to partake in the demonic ritual. He watched as they stepped forward in turn, cupped their hands and plunged them into the blood filled basin. They drew their hands to their mouths, and drank the blood of Sirius' two best friends. Sirius knew he had, just a short while ago, done the same. From the center basin, he heard the cry of a baby.

Harry! He thought; Harry is still alive. He wanted to rush forward, to grab Harry, and run away from this place. He wanted to Curse every one of these monsters and leave them here to die, but he couldn't. Once again, he was rooted to the spot.

"If you complete your task, son," Mephisto spoke in his ear, "the Dark Lord will forgive your moment of weakness." Against his will, Sirius took slow, measured steps forward until he could look down and see Harry squirming and fidgeting in the basin below him. Something shifted beyond the light. Suddenly, from the darkness, a giant form shot forward. It was a snake, fat and deepest green. It raised its head and flicked its tongue rapidly towards the two side basins. It was tasting the kill on the air.

Without realizing it, Sirius had reached into the folds of his robe and drawn forth a serpentine, silver Kriss dagger. Fighting for control of his actions, Sirius frantically looked to the side. The chain of family had stopped drinking, and was now circled around him. He saw his mother, father and Regulus smiling at him with their scarlet ringed mouths, and the circle grew closer and closer, tighter and tighter, pushing him forward, urging him on towards his hideous deed.

With his mind screaming at him to stop, he raised the knife high above his head, and plunged it downward sharply. He felt little resistance as he sank it deeply into the flesh of his Godson. The baby screamed. Sirius viciously twisted the handle, enlarging the wound so he could reach inside. His hands, first stained with the blood of the parents, and now the son, delved into the gash, probing it, searching for the prize his master so desperately wanted. Pulling apart muscle and bone, Sirius felt the warmth he sought, and wrapped his fingers around the child's heart.

"James! Lily! Forgive me! What have I done! Remus! Peter! I'm sorry! I'm so very sorry!" Sirius' mind was shattering, even as his body's strength multiplied. He ripped his hand out of the baby's body, now limp, and showed the heart to his family. He saw his mother as she wept tears of joy.

Sirius stepped around the basin and stood before the giant serpent.

"His life for your life, Master." He knelt and held the heart above his bowed head. The snake's tongue flicked forward and Sirius felt the tiny, still beating heart snatched from his palm.

Sirius pitched forwards onto his hands and knees. His breath was shallow and quick; sweat poured from his forehead. He opened his eyes, and saw carpet. From downstairs, he heard the sounds, the familiar, wonderful sounds of Lily preparing breakfast. The bedroom door swung open.

"You really prefer to sleep in dog form?" Sirius looked up to see a puzzled James Potter poking his head around the door frame.

"James? Oh God, James you're alright!" Sirius clambered to his feet and leapt at his best friend. He grabbed him in a tight embrace, almost crushing his friend's ribs.

"Easy Padfoot, down boy. Down!" Sirius slacked his grip, and James wiggled his way free. "Listen mate, you know I love you," James grinned, "but I've told you before, I'm just not like that. I have Lily - "

"Yes ... Lily ... Is she ... okay too?" Sirius panted.

"As far as I know, yeah. Why, shouldn't she be? She was downstairs two minutes ago making breakfast. I was just coming to see if you and Harry were up yet."

"Harry! Oh God, Harry." Sirius rushed to the crib. Safe and whole, the baby Harry fussed in the crib below. His chubby legs kicked at the blankets. Sirius grabbed him, and pulled him close to his chest.

"Oh Harry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Sirius whispered into Harry's ear.

"Okay - I, uhm," James pointed to the stairs, knowing full well his best friend wasn't really listening. For as long as James had known him, Sirius had periodically had these sorts of emotional episodes, so it wasn't so unusual a sight, "I'll be downstairs."

Sirius held Harry close to his chest, and wept as he rocked him side to side. He placed Harry back in the crib and returned to the rocking chair. He sat forward, his head in his hands. He could not erase the images from his mind. He replayed them over and over: Azkaban, his mother, James and Lily, the snake, Harry, his family, all of them laughing, rejoicing, celebrating that he was at last one of them. He picked his head up and looked at his hands, half expecting to see traces of blood on them. They were clean, but shaking terribly.

Sirius rid his ears of his family's laughter. They had beckoned to him, and he had answered. What if it happened outside of the dream realm? Could he resist? There were powerful, powerful Black witches and wizards; powerful, perhaps even in death. Would his family bond overthrow his will? Did his heritage have the power to destroy so much? The dream had brought with it a torrent of questions.

Time was short; they would be performing the Fidelius Charm after breakfast. He knew James and Lily trusted him; could he trust himself? His hands shook more violently. If not me, then who? Sirius quickly scanned through the candidates James had discussed with him last night:

Moony? No.

One of the Longbottoms? No.

Moody? Definitely not.

Peter? Peter. That's it! Not only is it safer, it's brilliant. No one would ever suspect him. Of course they would come after Sirius first. Wormtail could slip away unnoticed; live in the sewers or a barn somewhere; hide until this was all over, while Voldemort and his Death Eaters followed Sirius and his motorbike on a wild Doxy chase. If need be, he would throw himself at Voldemort to ensure the Potters' safety; let the evil bastard try and torture their whereabouts out of him all he wanted. It would work.

As he picked the baby Harry from his crib once more, Sirius set his plan of action. During breakfast, he would convince James and Lily then they would contact Peter at his grandmother's. Sirius would leave and none of them would tell a soul, not even Dumbledore, of the switch. It was perfect. He quieted Harry's fussing, stepped into the hall, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

"James?" he called down the stairs, "Oi, Prongs! I have an idea ..."