By the time Sirius Black returned to the flat in East London, Lily and Remus had already soothed Tonk's whining and shipped her off back home to Andromeda, who, it turned out, had simply insisted Tonks keep her hair brown during a family dinner. "She really hates it when Andromeda makes her stay natural," Remus sighed, "She likes her hot pink hair."

Sirius said, "Beastly little thing, running away from home over something like that!"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, you're one to talk. It sounds to me like Tonks inherited just a smidge less of the Black family flair for drama than you did."

"Excuse me, I have not inherited anything from those people," Sirius said, dramatically.

Remus's eyebrow remained raised. "No?"

"No!" Sirius said, "I am offended that you could dare to suggest such a thing!" He said this with such a lofty voice that even he heard the Black in him and flushed, then, "Well anyway, it isn't as though any of the others on my pruned branch have it as grandly as I do."

"Regulus," coughed Lily.

Sirius glared at her.

"Practically twins," she coughed again.

"Excuse you -" Sirius started.

"Yes, excuse me. Had myself a coughing fit," Lily smirked.

Sirius smirked back.

"So where did you pop off to?" Remus asked. He was glad that the encounter with Tonks hadn't taken a dreadful amount of time, he was exhausted and honestly didn't have the energy for any dramatics. Especially though he wasn't maritally obligated to put up with.

Sirius shrugged, suddenly nonchalant. "Just, you know, about."

"You said you were off to see Frank," Lily reminded him.

Sirius nodded slowly, "Oh, yeah - yeah that's right, yeah. Frank was there."

Remus and Lily shared a look of mutual suspicion, and both turned back to Sirius. "Alright, out with it, what've you been doing, young man?" Lily demanded.

Sirius feigned shock. "Really, of all the things - accusations against me are really piling right up tonight, aren't they!"

"Out with it, sir," Remus said.

Sirius sighed, "Alright, but you can't be on to telling Prongs about it or he'll lose his job or some rubbish."

Lily looked concerned, "What?"

Sirius drew a deep breath, "I know the answer to the case he's working on."

James left Fallengunder disappointed and frustrated, not ready to go home because going home felt like giving up and he felt itchy all over now, like he couldn't rest unless he'd solved the case. This, he reckoned, was how he ought to have felt all along.

So instead of going home to the flat in East London, he found himself wandering the streets of London proper, past Harrods and on toward Piccadilly and the bright lights of the circus. There were always people milling about, and he ducked through the crowd, keeping his head down, smelling the food and the grime that cities always reek of. He felt like his brain was moving in a high speed chase - the answers always just a few sharp corners ahead of his conclusions. He passed a few blokes he knew from the Training Center, aurors who he'd seen bringing in their quarry to the Ministry holding center below Scotland Yard. He knew they often went and had a drink at a small wizarding pub located in a nasty old tube stop off one of the side streets that the Muggles didn't frequent, and he even nodded hullo to one or two of them that eyed him as they recognized him. But for the most part, he didn't pay them much attention - which is why it was a bit of a miracle when his ears pricked at a familiar voice - one he'd heard before, but didn't know and he looked about to see who was talking.

It was a man with straw-looking hair and a pinched face, scrawny and knobby like he'd grown up too fast, the way sometimes young teenage boys looked after a growth spurt - except this was a man and he didn't have hope of growing out of it. He was walking a couple paces ahead of James in the crowd, walking alongside a woman who was clearly obligated to be there, as her graceful motions were laced with annoyance as she half-glanced at him as he spoke. She looked familiar, even from the back, and James squinted, trying to place where he'd seen her before, and reckoned if she turned and he could see her face properly he'd know in an instant.

He was rumbling on and James couldn't quite catch the trail of the conversation, but what he could hear kept him trailing along behind. Where in bloody hell did he know that voice from? he pressed his mind. So many thoughts were filling him up, so many questions, so many mysteries and yet --

They turned down one of the side roads, and he followed them through a row of Asian restaurants, headed in the direction of Trafagalar Square. It was a long walk made longer by the meandering pace he had to keep in order to make his pursuit less obvious. He thought more than once about just letting the pair disappear, since he wasn't so sure he even knew what he was following them for.

Blast if he didn't recognize the voice of the babbling strawhaired man and the form of the elegant woman walking beside him. Damn my mind, he thought, why do I've got to be so thick? He wished Lily was there, or Remus - Remus, bleeding hell he'd know exactly who it was, if he'd ever seen them before. The boy had a memory like a photograph, as though he were transported in his mind whenever he tried to recall something. James reckoned it was part of the genius of the Remcyclopedia.

They came to a main road and the pair came to a stop at the end of it and James had to throw himself into the shelter of a cheap tourist cart, pretending to look at plastic magnets shaped like beefeaters and the Union Jack. He picked up a little snowglobe shaped like Buckingham and gave it a shake, pretending to watch the fake snow fall over the palace, his eyes turned to the corner to watch if his prey started walking again.

It was at that moment that he caught the side profile view of the woman and he nearly dropped the globe, hurriedly putting it down on the shelf before he bought it the hard way.

How the bleeding hell hadn't he recognized her? Even from the back. Her hair should've given her away - although she did have it pulled back in a nicer way than he'd ever seen it before, tied into a thick knot that he could just picture Sirius appraising with lusty positivity, despite his hatred for his cousin...

"I'll sell it to yer fer a good deal, chap," the salesman said from where he was leaning against his cart, interrupting James's thoughts. "Normally them go for six quid, but I'll give it to yeh for four."

"No thank you," James said as he hurried after the pair with renewed vigor. As he rushed down to the end of the road, he reached into his coat pocket and fished about - yanking the invisibility cloak out of the depths of the charmed pocket. He swept it 'round his shoulders quickly, his trainers skidding on a bit of ice as he turned the end of the street the direction that they'd turned.

"Shite," he muttered as the pair he was trailing turned and ducked into an old, decrepit theater. The marquee was dark and had a load of blown lightbulbs. He thundered after them, clutching the cloak 'round him to keep it in place, and slid in behind them through the door just before it closed.

The lobby of the theater was dark, and smelled of dust. He pressed himself against the wall and held his breath, afraid he might breathe too loud and be caught if he exhaled. He watched as they walked up to what had once been a ticketing counter inside and spoke into the speaker box as though there was someone inside the closed box office, "We're here for the show."

There was a pause, and then a doorway to the left of the box office opened slowly onto the theater, and they walked quickly over, glancing over their shoulders, and ducking inside.

James hurried after, once again only making it in by the skin of his teeth.

He didn't know what he was headed into, but he did know one thing for certain...

Whatever Narcissa Malfoy was up to with the strawhaired man was no good.

Regulus Black loitered around in the square across the road from the theater. He'd been loathe to come in the first place. Kreacher sat next on a bench, his great ears low around his tiny tea-towel clad body. "Master Regulus isn't wanting to go and see the Dark Lord tonight, Kreacher can tell," he said, watching Regulus pace.

Regulus shook his head, "Not particularly, Kreacher, no."

"Master is very good, very good," Kreacher said, "Whatever Master is nervous about being the Dark Lord about Master Regulus isn't needing to be so... The Dark Lord is proud of Kreacher's Master, surely he must be..."

Regulus didn't reply. Even if he is, if he had any idea about my truths he wouldn't be, Regulus thought.

"Kreacher consoles Master?" the elf asked.

"Yeah, you're doing brilliant," Regulus muttered. As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, and was glad that the elf thought too highly of him to catch the sarcasm that had laced Regulus's words. Kreacher looked pleased rather than offended.

Regulus sighed, and decided it was best for him to just go inside, get it over with, and see what Voldemort wanted. He worried he was about to be treated to another round of Horcrux making, and he regretted having eaten anything at dinner - for the first time in some while, too, he thought, shaking his head. He thought fleetingly that he wished he had taken up smoking like Sirius did, at least then he could look cool loitering around in a park in the dark, and not just like a bloody idiot.

Then his eyes caught a flash of something at the door, following after a couple arrivals at the theater.

It was impossible not to recognize those trainers.

Who else had bleedin' Gryffindor trainers, for cryin' out loud?

"Kreacher," Regulus said, "I command you to go home... but listen close in case I need to command you to come back, alright?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher disapparated.

Regulus shook his head and stared off across the street to the old theater.

"Ferfuckssakes," he muttered, not even realizing precisely how exactly like his brother he sounded as he did so. "What the hell're you thinking, Potter?"