Those You've Known

Though you know you've left them far behind,
You walk on by yourself and not with them,
Still you know they fill your heart and mind,
When you say there's a way through this.

~ Those You've Known

Spring Awakening

Chapter 1: The Circumstances

He was out of his mind.

And he knew it.

Twenty-four hours ago his entire world had been sent into a tail-spin. Nothing could or would ever be the same again. The life plan he had been following was now as dashed as his mother's finest china.

He fell back against the counter in the tiny kitchenette of his one-bedroom flat. The Formica edge poked the small of his back. He ran a hand through his hair. As his palm brushed his eyelids, they stung as his eyeballs pounded from exhaustion. His nose was stuffed and his head was spinning.

The odds were against him . . . again.

He could still hear his former headmaster's voice, ringing in his ears, telling him in no uncertain terms his options.

"There are only two ways of going about this, you know. Either he goes to live with his relatives which I believe is the best decision or you may assume responsibility for him."

"And if I do?"

"Compromises will have to be made."

"What sort of compromises?"

"You will have to remove yourself almost entirely from your current situation."

No one thought he could do this. No one thought he was ready for this responsibility. He was only twenty-one. He had barely began to live and now he was on the verge of cashing in his freedom for a--as a friend so eloquently put it--"ball-less chain."

Crumpled in his right hand was a sheet of legal paper with Pro/Con scrawled across the header. The Con side was filled while the Pro was almost blank. A growl surfaced in his throat.

He was inclined to agree with them.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He might as well have "Doom" branded across his forehead.

Many would call him mad if he did. And they were probably right.

He unclenched his right hand and let the paper fluttered to the floor.

It landed face up; the single word under Pro was visible.

He hoped that would be enough.

~*~

The residents of Number 204 Barret Court did not seem to fit into the sleepy London suburb of Dale. Although both of them were well-liked by the majority of the community, some just could not shake the feeling that neither were exactly meant to be there. A long running debate was fostered over why the former Londoners moved away from the city three years ago. The most outrageous claim yet was that Mr. Black, the raven haired twenty-eight year old who had captured the heart of every woman from eight to eighty, was in fact some sort of secret agent who was currently in hiding from a notorious crime lord and his dastardly henchmen. Why else would a person of Black's dashing looks and charming personality be content with living such a sedately life the local gossips, better known as 'The Ladies Who Lunched,' wondered.

Of course, Black had his own response to this question: Harry, his seven-year old godson, whom he had taken into custody after the boy was orphaned at just over a year old. Black claimed that after living with Harry in his "minuscule" flat for four years, he had realized that this was no way for the boy to grow up, and thanks in large part to a financial windfall had decided to move out of London and into Dale. This explanation was satisfactory, and the good-humored, handsome Black and the vivacious Harry who was perpetually at Black's side and almost as skilled at melting people's hearts as his godfather, were still favored by even the most ardent gossips.

So it was that the morning of July 16^th dawned as inconspicuously as any other. The sunlight crept along throughout the town, rousing drowsy citizens from the pleasure of sleep to the daily grind of work. However, it could not fulfill its job once it passed over the slightly overgrown lawn of Number 204 because the two-story house's elder resident had beaten it by a good twenty minutes.

As he caught the browned bread that had been shot out of the toaster with one hand and pour orange juice with the other before plucking two bowls from the draining board and filling them with dry cereal, Sirius Black still kept the beat with the Rolling Stones' Street Fighting Man that was playing on the radio. All arms and legs, Sirius's almost six-foot-four-inch athletic frame executed the task of making breakfast with the ease of a person who thoroughly enjoyed his particular brand of early morning quiet. Then, quite suddenly, his fluid motion ceased and he became alert as a hound that had just scented a hare. Very slowly, he backed towards the kitchen entrance while counting under his breath.

". . . three, four, five, six, sev--"

A blur of black and scarlet pounced onto Sirius's back, proclaiming, "Good Morning!"

"Morning to you too, runt," said Sirius, leaning forward a bit so that the arms around his neck were not choking him quite so much. "You're getting better at stalking, by the way."

"Really?" asked the small boy, pulling himself higher so that his chin rested on Sirius's shoulder.

"Barely got to seven this time," Sirius replied.

"Brilliant," came the self-satisfied response as Harry slipped down to the floor. Although he shared his godfather's raven colored hair that was where their physical similarities ended. Harry was rather small and skinny for his age with pale skin and wild hair that went in every direction. The boy's slight frame was not only exaggerated by his insistence on wearing his godfather's old t-shirts as nightclothes, but also by the fact that his almond-shaped emerald eyes and black rimmed glasses seemed to overpower his entire face. Only one of Harry's features was more distinctive than his eyes: a strange lightning bolt scar that had marred his forehead for years.

"What are we doing today?" asked Harry, noticing that Sirius was not dressed for work yet and that could only mean good things.

"Haven't decided yet," said Sirius with a grin. "Now, don't get too excited, I'm still on call in case a crisis breaks out."

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. "I like going to the Ministry with you."

"Somehow I don't think that was a completely truthful statement," teased Sirius. He knew full-well that the main reason why Harry never resisted going to work with him was that they always went flying afterwards. Harry lived, breathed, and dreamt flying. He was currently being taught how to stand upright on a broom--a trick Sirius specialized in--and was determined to accomplish it before the summer was out.

Harry only smiled innocently as he slid into a seat. Folding his hands and resting his chin on them, he watched as Sirius continued to make breakfast.

"Think of anything?" Sirius asked, placing a bowl in front of him before taking his own place at the table.

"Uh uh," Harry said, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes. He still did not feel quite awake yet.

"You okay?" Sirius placed a hand to Harry's forehead. It felt normal enough so he just ruffled Harry's hair as a means of covering up his blatantly overprotective gesture.

"I'm good, really."

"Okay, if you're sur--"

Sirius was cut off by the blaring ring of the telephone. Both of them jumped about a foot at the siren-like sound.

"Who would be ringing us this early?" Sirius mused. Harry shrugged as his godfather went to answer it.

"Hello?"

Harry watched curiously as the color drained from Sirius's face at the sound of the voice on the other end.

"F-father . . . what . . . w-why are you calling me?" stuttered Sirius.

Disbelief swept over Harry. Sirius's father, Orion, hardly ever called them for anything. Truth be told Orion and Sirius did not get along in the least, and could not be in the same room with one another for longer than ten minutes without a fight breaking out. Sirius always said their animosity was because of "stupid adult things" which Remus Lupin, Sirius's best friend, had told Harry what his godfather really meant. While Sirius was a "profoundly liberal pureblood," Orion was much more "fundamentalist." Harry shook his head at the strangeness of it all since Orion had never been anything but kind to him during the few times they had met a year.

" . . . I was just wondering what you had in mind for Harry's birthday," came Orion's dignified voice as Sirius had flicked on the speaker button.

"Er, we don't have any concrete plans at the moment, Father," said Sirius, already exasperated.

"It is only two weeks away, Sirius. You really must learn the finer points of planning."

"We're eleventh hour people," muttered Sirius.

"Excuse me?" came the sharp response.

"Nothing."

"I hate it when you mutter. It's such a juvenile behavior."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

Harry laughed.

"Sirius, are you laughing at me?" his father barked.

Sirius shot Harry an annoyed look as the boy slunk in his seat a little.

"No, Father, I have you on speaker phone so that was Harry you heard laughing."

"Do I even want to know what a speaker phone is?"

"Probably not."

"Then I would like to speak with Harry privately for a moment."

"Mind if I ask why?"

"In fact I do, so kindly turn off the speaker or the phone or whatever worthless Muggle device is allowing this conversation to be broadcast, and give the receiver to Harry."

"My pleasure," Sirius whispered, handing the phone to Harry.

"Hi Orion!" said Harry cheerfully. "Yea--I mean, yes I'm well. How are you? That's good. No, Sirius and I haven't really made any plans yet, but you can come right?" At this point, Harry ignored the frantic hand motions of his godfather. "No, you don't have to clear your schedule, if you have something else to do that's okay . . . oh, sorry, I didn't get the joke . . . so then you're definitely coming? Great."

"Death, Harry . . . slow and painful," Sirius whispered.

Harry just smiled in response.

"Okay, bye Orion. I'll speak to you soon. Oh, do you want to say good-bye to Sirius? Yes, he promises not to mutter anymore. Yes, I agree. He is very childish sometimes. Oh, here, he is," Harry said quickly as Sirius held out a hand for the phone with a long-suffering sigh.

"Traitor," he added to Harry before putting the receiver to his ear. "Yes, Father, it's me. Yes, I know . . . I'll get right on that. Sure, uh huh, aye aye captain . . . sorry, no, no more sarcasm, sir. Ugh . . . I just can't win, can I?"

While his godfather was talking, Harry was about to sit back down when something very unusual happened. The kitchen floor began to tilt beneath him as the temperature in the room seemed to spike unbearably. He reached out to grab the edge of the table but his palms were too sweaty and the glossed wood slipped away. A whistling filled his ears as he felt his body begin to tilt just as the floor had. He felt gravity pulling him down, so much farther down than the floor. He was being pulled away from the pleasant sunlit kitchen into darkness. "Siri," he slurred before the darkness overcame him and his body struck the floor.

Sirius turned, the receiver slipping from his grasp. It clattered to the floor.

"Sirius!" Orion's voice shouted from the phone as the sound of a panicked cry reached his ears. "Sirius, what's wrong? What happened? Sirius, answer me this instant! Sirius!"

~*~

Sirius held his head in his hands, gripping his already mussed hair. He had been sitting in an uncomfortable aluminum chair in an antiseptic-scented sterilized hallway for what felt like a hundred hours. No one had told him anything yet, and with every passing minute, the prickly sensation of being watched strengthened. His empty stomach growled as he continued to stare at the floor, all of his frustration bubbling just below the surface.

He looked at his left wrist only to remember a moment too late that he hadn't even put his watch on that morning. It was supposed to be his day to spend with Harry doing whatever they felt like, an all too rare occurrence in their hectic lives.

He swore under his breath as he sat forcefully back in the chair. Its concave back scraped against the wall.

"Lord, help me," he mumbled, now staring at the garish fluorescent light lodged in the ceiling.

Almost on cue, the swinging double doors were pushed open and a person strode into the previously empty hallway. The Divine did not seem to be on Sirius's side today.

Instead of a doctor or a nurse or even a pimply bloke pushing a coffee cart, it was the last person Sirius ever wanted to see. Black hair slicked neatly back, gray eyes flashing, and dressed immaculately in a pristine suit complete with Windsor-knotted tie was Orion Black.

"There you are," snapped his father, his posh accent sounding all the more disdainful. "You do not leave a person on a telephone--the crude Muggle contraption that it is--to fear the worse while you rush off to deal with a crisis, do you understand me? You inform the proper people to deal with the situation, and then you return the person's call who you were speaking with in the first place. You can hardly believe the number of your "friends" I have had the displeasure of speaking with just to find out where you were. Apparently, the only one of them worth his existence is Lupin. Then I felt compelled to dress in these ridiculous clothes rather than burst into this plebian establishment, and be mistaken for a lunatic."

No chance of that ever happening, Sirius thought satirically as his father continued his diatribe.

"No one in this supposed facility has the slightest idea of what is happening. I wouldn't be surprised if they did not know that the sun rises in the east considering that it took three nurses to check to see whether or not they had anyone under the name of Black here. You really would have been better off treating him yourself for the collective brainpower in this halfway house."

"Father!" Sirius growled, unable to stand it any longer. "Will you stop for five seconds? Because, while you were picking out suits and actually combing your hair, I have been sitting here all day, worried out of my mind, and I am in no mood whatsoever to humor you. So unless you want me to have you committed, and I am in full power to do so, kindly sit down and shut up."

Astonishment filled Orion's face as he silently sat down on an adjacent chair.

Sirius returned to his bent over position, holding his head in his hands.

They waited.

"They didn't even let me see him," whispered Sirius suddenly. "They just ripped him out of my arms and disappeared. He was still in his pajamas . . . one of my old t-shirts that he somehow got into the habit of wearing. Probably when I started to work nights again . . . he said once that he liked them because they smelled like me . . . so even when I was on a stake-out or something it would still be like I was putting him to bed. Stupid, I know, but . . ."

Sirius fell silent. He could still feel Harry's slight choke hold around his neck from this morning. It had been their tradition for as long as he could remember. The older Harry got, the easier it became for him to leap up onto his back without almost cutting off his godfather's air supply.

"He'll be fine," said Orion, unsuccessfully masking a definite awkward tone. This was not his father's place, and Sirius knew it. He and his father had never had anything close to the relationship he and Harry shared. He wondered if his father even spoke to him until he was six or seven. He couldn't remember.

A door swung open and a man in white coat came out.

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius jumped to his feet as Orion said, "Yes?"

"Which one of you is Harry's father?"

"I am," Sirius said, stepping forward. "I'm his godfather."

"My chart says father," said the man, glancing down at the clipboard he was holding.

"Adopted," Sirius said quickly, he had had this conversation before. "How's Harry?"

"Stable," replied the doctor. "His fever broke an hour ago and his breathing is normal. However, your child did suffer a significant febrile seizure, Mr. Black."

The remaining color drained from Sirius's face.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what a febrile seizure is, Mr. Black?"

"Yeah, a lot of children get them. Harry had one when he was thirteen months, but don't they grow out of them?"

"Most do. Harry apparently has not."

Sirius blinked at the patronizing tone in the doctor's voice.

"There does not appear to be any permanent damage but he will have to remain here for several days for observation. Also, neurological tests will need to be administered to be certain that his brain has not sustained any damage as well as a spinal tap. Are you with me, Mr. Black?"

"Yes," said Sirius, his brain still absorbing the information. "When will you be sure that nothing has . . . y'know . . . happened?"

"In a few days, we will know. You shouldn't worry until we run the tests," said the doctor, consulting his chart once again. "He's resting for now. You can go in and see him if you like."

Sirius nodded. "Erm, what if I'd like to spend the night? I mean, I really don't think I could leave him."

The doctor nodded. "I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thank you."

"He's in room eight."

Sirius nodded as the doctor strode off in the opposite direction.

"Orion, are you coming?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. Orion stood, following his son down the corridor.

Sirius paused outside a butter yellow door with the number eight printed in maroon beside it. His heart began to hammer in his chest as terror flooded his mind of what lay beyond it. What could they have done to his pup? Feeling as though he was about to walk through fire, he pushed down the handle and went inside.

There were two beds in the room, but the one closet to the door was unoccupied. Its curtain was drawn back, revealing the guard-rail accented metal monstrosity with its pitiful mattress. Prisoners are offered more luxury, Sirius thought as he crossed to room.

The curtains were drawn around the second bed, and Sirius could see the outline of machines and an IV as he reached to pull them back. The motion was quick in the manner removing a band-aid was, meant to reduce pain and fear, but still smarting to the point of momentary shock.

Sweat soaked jet black hair stained the pillow, contrasting viciously with swallow skin and yellowish sheets, flesh that was full hours earlier now seemed papery and stretched tight over fragile bones. The smallest movement was a burden for the boy who just that morning had leapt with ease onto his godfather's back. In a voice so soft and hoarse that it made Sirius's heart ache, Harry called his name.

Orion watched as Sirius moved towards the boy. At first he was hesitant, perhaps fighting his own fears about what had happened to the seven-year old. Then his son laid a hand on the boy and a change came over him. His shoulders squared and he was the protector again. Harry sat up slowly, whispering to Sirius. Orion could not make out the words, but whatever was said made Sirius relax. He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, whispering a reply. The boy smiled, a trace of color returning to his face.

As he continued to watch them a strange sensation came over Orion. He felt as if he was an intruder to them. Despite his concern for Harry, he did not belong in this room. Or in this world. Harry had not even taken notice of him standing into the shadows. No, it would be best if he left the two alone. Sirius clearly had everything under control.

~*~

Remus Lupin had known Sirius Black since they were eleven years old and searching for an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and even then he could not fully understand his friend's desire to do everything on his own, especially when things were spinning out of his control.

Yesterday Harry, Sirius's seven-year old godson, had suffered some sort of attack and had to be taken to a Muggle hospital. Remus suppose Sirius's decision to bring Harry to St. Agnes's had been fueled by his agreement with Albus Dumbledore. The only way Dumbledore would have allowed Sirius to keep Harry was if the then twenty-one year old had accepted his terms. Sirius was forced to abandon the Wizarding World--save for his job--and live in the Muggle one. He could not even perform wand magic at home without tripping Dumbledore's alarms. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's conditions were responsible for the third degree Sirius was now facing just a few feet away.

"Remus?" Harry called from behind him.

"Yes?" replied Remus, turning back to the boy and letting the door close behind him.

"What's going on out there?"

"To be perfectly honest, Sirius is being quizzed about his job."

Harry sighed. "Oh no."

Down the corridor, Sirius was trying very hard not to sigh in aggravation as the short Indian man who was apparently overseeing Harry's case absorbed the information he had just relayed to him. He had already explained things to two nurses who he was certain thought him to be mad.

"So let me get this straight," said Dr. Dubey, "you are a single parent and have a government job but no medical insurance."

Sirius nodded, still looking straight into the man's eyes.

"And Harry's pediatrician never found this odd?"

"No," he said shortly.

"Dr. Addler never suggested getting a policy?"

Sirius nodded again. "She understood that due to the complications regarding my line of work such things were impossible."

"This all sounds very . . . fishy, Mr. Black. I really would like to know what sort of government occupation denies its employees health care."

"I understand your confusion, doctor, and I'm not trying to be difficult but the nature of my work is quite classified."

Dubey's expression remained skeptical.

"What about public insurance? The National Health Service--"

"Does not cover these kinds of procedures."

"Of course," muttered Sirius.

"Don't blame me for their under funding."

"And which procedure must you do before Harry can be released?"

"We will have to administer a lumbar puncture on Harry."

"Lumbar puncture . . . as in lumbar vertebrae?"

Dubey blinked. He hadn't expected Black to know that.

"Why do you need to investigate Harry's spine?"

"It's not the spine per say. Rather we need to evaluate the cerebrospinal fluid that surrounds the spine and brain."

"For what?"

"To see if experiencing such an intense fever at such an advanced age caused any damage to those areas."

Sirius frowned. "Have you spoken with Harry? He seems fine."

Dubey nodded. "Now he does, but as he grows a problem may appear. You could probably better understand the test as a preventative measure."

"I suppose," said Sirius, growing frustrated with this man's condescension.

"Trust me, Mr. Black; this is a very safe procedure."

"It's inserting a needle into my kid's cerebral column. How safe can it be?" Sirius asked, a sarcastic tinge to his voice.

"So safe that a doctor does not need to do it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just advising you that," said Dubey slowly, "I may now be administering the test but rather one of our medical students will. This is a semi-teaching hospital after all."

It was Sirius's turn to blink. "Wait a second, are you saying that someone is going to shove a needle into my kid's spine and this person is not even a doctor?"

"Well, in your situation, I thought you would be more perceptive--"

"Or a nurse?"

"It is a very safe procedure," Dubey repeated. "The needle will never actually touch any of Harry's nerves."

"If the kid pushes too far it could and then where will we be?" snapped Sirius.

"That's highly unlikely."

"But it is possible and as long as it is, no one but a licensed professional is putting anything near my kid's back."

"I will be observing the student's progress and there's no need to raise your voice," squeaked the man.

"I'm not," said Sirius, keeping himself in check. "There's just no way that a person who probably spent his night boozing it up in the local pub is going to do something like this on my kid."

"If you're worried about how Harry may react, we can always sedate him,"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh great, not only are you going to give some medical student a needle but also tranquilizers. Listen, I get what you're doing. You're trying to pull something because my financial situation is not exactly a Rothschild's, but I'm not an idiot and my kid is not going to be a guinea pig. So either a doctor or a nurse does it or no one does. Get it? Got it? Good."

Before Dubey could reply, Sirius turned and walked away.

He entered room eight, still shaking his head in dismay.

"Have a nice chat?" asked Remus, looking up from the game of cards he and Harry had started.

"Wonderful," growled Sirius. "I think I'll be inviting him over for tea any day now."

"Easy there, mate," said Remus. "Got any three-s, Harry?"

"Nope, go fish," Harry replied, looking up at Sirius instead of his cards. Sirius turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze followed his godfather as he walked to the locked and barred window.

"Drat, this is no help," said Remus, causing Harry to look back at him as he consulted the card he drew. He winked to the boy.

"I think you're going to lose," teased Harry, getting the message.

"Probably. How about Spit? I'm better at that than "Go Fish"."

"Don't know how to play."

"Sirius never taught you?"

"Uh uh."

"All right then, here's how it goes: you start by dividing the cards equally, twenty-six to a player and--"

"Visiting hours are almost up," Sirius interrupted. "If you're not careful you'll be stuck with a thermometer up your--"

"I get the hint," laughed Remus, getting to his feet. "See you later, runt," he added, ruffling Harry's hair.

"Moony!" groaned the boy.

"Good luck, Padfoot," he said, giving Sirius's shoulder a squeeze as he passed.

"Later Moony." Sirius replied as his friend exited, letting the door close behind him.

For a moment there was silence as Sirius stared at the door. Beyond it existed needles, doctors, and nurses none of which were going to be of any help to him.

"Siri, what was the doctor talking about?" Harry whispered; his voice pulling Sirius back to reality.

Sirius shook his head, distracted. He sat on the edge of the bed and took Harry's hand in his.

"You were arguing . . .," Harry said as he let Sirius stretch out his hand. It was tiny in comparison to his godfather's.

"He wants to do a test on you," Sirius explained, "but he wants to let his assistant do it because he needs the practice."

"What sort of test?"

"An important one that I would feel a lot better if someone who was not just a month out of medical school performed it."

"It's not going to be nice, is it?"

"No."

"Siri?"

"Yes, pup?"

"I wish you hadn't told me that."

"Aw, now don't say that," said Sirius, shifting so he could look at Harry. The boy was obviously frightened by the prospect of having one more tube inserted into him. "It'll be fine and I'll be there with you."

"Promise?"

Sirius sighed, "You know my rule about promises."

Harry shot him an exasperated look. "You never make one unless you can keep it."

"Exactly."

Harry's gaze strayed as silence filled the hospital room. It was a sad place, he thought, just the bleeping of the heart monitor, the clattering of the IV stand every time he shifted, the almost quiet, and the not being quite able to move.

"Hey, who's the boss?" Sirius said suddenly, a playful tone returning to his voice.

"It's a democracy," Harry replied automatically.

"Who makes the rules then?"

"We agree on them."

"Who loves you more than anyone could?"

"Easy," Harry smirked. "You do."

"And who would never let anything bad happened to you?"

"You," Harry said, finally believing it.

"Right," Sirius grinned, ruffling Harry's hair.

~*~

Margaret Volds had been a nurse at St. Agnes's Hospital for the past three years, and had witnessed her fair share of "Fixtures." They were people, often husbands or wives, who would spend nearly twenty-four hours at the bedside of their ill family member. Yet among the dozens of "Fixtures," none was more unusual than Mr. Black.

The evening, she passed the young man who was sitting in the cushioned chair outside of room 8. His head bent over what looked like a report of some sort. Rumor had it that Black was a government official but his job was so important that he couldn't even tell them straight out what he was. Sitting there in what had been recently tagged as the uniform of the poor, a t-shirt, worn jeans and beat up trainers, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and his mussed hair falling into his eyes, he looked no older than eighteen.

Margaret's mind went back to what the flock around the water cooler had said earlier that day.

"No insurance? With a government job?"

"Ludicrous, inn't? Not to mention, he's a single parent!"

"No mother at all?"

"None."

"No!"

"Yes! Just imagine how the boy's been raised. Poor thing probably doesn't even have a proper bed."

"Or education. With people like Black running around, it's no wonder that this country's going to shite."

Several other nurses chimed in about how Black may not even be the boy's real father. To add to things, if one was to believe Harry was really his son then he would have only been twenty when the boy was born. It was enough to cement their opinions of the man. They saw him as "careless" or "obstinate," but as she watched him work Margaret could not help but feel sympathetic towards Black.

"Hello," he said, startling her.

"Oh, hello," she replied.

"Are you alright?" he asked, putting the pencil down.

"I am, thanks." Margaret was surprised by the posh lilt Black had to his voice. She had been expecting cockney or even a bough.

"Your name is Margaret, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replied, frowning. "How did you know that?"

"Well, aside from the nametag, you perform rounds on the floor where my kid is, and I've been sitting here for the past two days so I thought it would be good to start memorizing some faces."

Margaret found herself smiling at the man.

"It's been pretty quiet so far, hasn't it?"

"I suppose," she said. "How is your son doing?"

"He's sleeping," said Black, relieved.

"He's something," she said, still unsure why she was talking with him.

"Harry? Oh, yeah. You should see him at full speed."

He smiled, turning his attention back to the papers in his lap.

She stepped back. The person who she and the other nurses had believed to be some sort of scamp was not if his looks had anything to do with it. When he smiled, she could see years of breeding showing through.

"I should be moving on," said Margaret after a moment.

"Good night," said Black, smiling again.

"Good night, Sirius."

Sirius pretended to be focused on his work but was really watching as the nurse turned and padded down the corridor. Years of Auror training had taught him to be utterly aware of everything around him especially things that were uttered behind closed doors. She and her fellows all believed him to be some sort of ne'er-do-well who found himself with a kid accidentally. If only they knew . . .

Dubey and his laundry list of tests and price tags seemed to be on repeat in his head. As the doctor was reeling the figures off, Sirius could feel his pallor lessening. The cost of the tests was enough but compound that with the hospital fees and Sirius could see himself living off Ramen noodles for a very long time.

"Or I could pull a bank job," he muttered.

"Or sell a vital organ."

Sirius jumped. "Christ, Remus!" he hissed as his best friend appeared beside him. "How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over."

"Just because you are forbidden to Apparate does not mean I am," replied Remus. Also twenty-eight, Remus always seemed to look older than his years. The harsh hospital light be now stood beneath emphasized how his light brown hair was already tending towards grey at the roots and his light blue eyes had a luminary quality about them, but his skin showed evidence of scarring and long days. "Why are you whispering?"

"The walls have ears and stethoscopes."

"Point taken."

"Blast Dumbledore," grumbled Sirius, closing the folder and slipping it back into the messenger bag. "If it wasn't for his rules, I wouldn't be in this situation."

"And you might not have Harry," Remus reminded him as he sat down in the adjacent chair.

"As far as the Ministry is concerned, I don't."

"Their insurance won't carry over, will it?"

Sirius shook his head. "What I am going to do?"

"Well, I don't recommend pulling a bank job," said Remus. "But there must be some way . . ."

"I know but I haven't come up with anything. I guess if I gave up putting petrol in the Jeep and just walked everywhere or sold a kidney. I only need one, don't I?"

Remus frowned.

"Or not."

"You know," began Remus, "there is one option that you haven't considered."

Siirus met his eyes. "Which one is that?"

Remus swallowed. "There's always your fath--"

"No."

"But--"

"I won't."

"Sirius."

"Remus."

"It might be your only option."

Sirius shook his head. "It can't be. And even if it is . . . I have never asked that man for anything since I was sixteen and even then I hated doing it. If I do it now, all I worked for would be lost."

"I understand, Padfoot, but back then you didn't have the same obligations." Remus flinched as Sirius glared at him. "And it might be easier than going back to the Grease Pit payroll and the Ramen diet."

"That would be easier than asking my father," said Sirius with grimaced but even as the words left his mouth he knew that Remus had a point.

~*~

If anyone had ever asked Orion Black what he thought of the Muggle world his response would be short and to the point: a nuisance. He had even less patience for Muggle bureaucracy than he had for his own world's. Now, as he was striding through the children's ward of a Muggle hospital, he came to the conclusion that any wizard who preferred this world to the Wizarding was a damned fool. Case in point was his son.

Sirius had never been a model son or certainly could not be considered a true Black by any stretch of the imagination. For as long as Orion could remember, Sirius had been rather soft-hearted by his standards. While Regulus, Orion's second born, had always been quiet and reserved, Sirius was rambunctious to a fault and thought everyone was a friend. When he was young, Sirius would even try to get the house elves to play with him. (One well deserved bite from Kreacher ended that though.) Sirius would not even so much as squash a spider and would reprimand his brother for terrorizing the owls and the neighbors. To make matters worse, the boy's elder cousin Andromeda had turned him bookish and exposed him to other Muggle things. Instead of becoming interested in magical and family history as Regulus had been carefully bred to do, Sirius grew fascinated with whatever Muggle gadget he happened upon. It did not surprise Orion much when he had learnt that his son's closest school friends consisted of a Potter (Muggle-loving family of fools), a young werewolf, a Half-blood, and a Muggle-born girl.

Orion had tolerated Sirius's tendencies throughout the boy's adolescence but when Sirius turned eighteen and was meant to take his place as a member of the Black family, his son resisted to the point of abandonment. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black rid itself of the blood traitor and Sirius bore the mark of a turncoat. Rumor had it that while training to be an Auror, Sirius was in cahoots with Dumbledore and helped capture many Death Eaters include some of Orion's associates. The Black patriarch had let his eldest son be, expecting him to sooner or later either see the light or be extinguished. But like the cockroach his wife had always penned him as, Sirius survived and became the guardian of the Wizarding World's savior.

The boy was the reason why Orion was now in the hospital. He had unexpectedly grown ill two days ago and Sirius--displaying his usual unBlackish capacity for affection--had not left the boy's side. Upon reaching room eight and seeing that the nearby chair was unoccupied, Orion assumed that Sirius was inside. Letting himself in, he was not disappointed.

The early morning sunlight peaking through the drawn blinds as the room's occupants continued to sleep. Harry, his face unmasked by his glasses, was curled onto his side, while Sirius, his lanky form awkwardly half-seated in a chair and his upper half resting against the side of the bed.

As Orion drew near, he could not help but experience the same sense of intrusion he had felt two days previously.

"Orion?"

The man blinked as Sirius slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. They bore deep circles.

"I thought you were asleep," Orion whispered.

"Doing so at a right angle isn't recommended," muttered the Auror.

"It's nearly eight."

"In the morning. So what brought you here so early?" Sirius asked as Orion's attention flitted to the remains of Sirius's dinner last night. "Besides your undying love of hospital food, of course."

"Does your sarcasm ever cease?"

"I've yet to find the off switch."

Orion sighed, tapping the toe of his boot.

"Sorry."

"Would you mind accompanying me outside for a moment?"

Sirius shook his head, getting to his feet. His motions were slow as he could feel his muscle exacting their revenge for spending the night twisted like a pretzel. Absently, he brushed Harry's hair away from the boy's eyes as he stepped away.

Orion noticed.

Once they were in the corridor and the door had been shut behind them, Orion turned to his son and cleared his throat.

"Sirius, how are you affording this?" he asked without preamble.

"Huh?" replied Sirius, stunned.

"Sirius, I know as well as you do that your bank account is far from full. And with Harry about to attend a private school, your mortgage, and as well as the necessities such as food and clothing, I do not believe that you can afford this let alone the follow-up well visits that are sure to come."

"Did Remus--"

"Remus? Your friend? I haven't spoken to him since that phone call. Now, am I right or am I wrong in my beliefs that at the moment you are more or less financially uncomfortable?"

Sirius found himself staring very hard at the tiled floor.

"I will accept your silence as conformation, and so I am ready to propose a bargain."

"How do you know that I haven't got this all under control?" Sirius countered.

Orion furrowed his brow. "Clearly, you do not, and your social situation won't win you much sympathy either. I heard the Muggle Prime Minister said something derogatory towards your lot recently, and you'll be living proof if your pride forcing you on welfare."

"I've never--"

"There's a first time for everything. Now, listen to me."

Sirius's gaze returned to the floor.

"So I will gladly take care of Harry's medical expenses in return for a simple action on your part."

"What would that be?"

"Since I am now about to be financially involved in your life, I would like to be actively involved in it as well."

"How?"

"A weekly dinner seems appropriate."

Sirius knew that he would regret his decision sooner rather than later.