"IF YOU LIKE PIIIIIINA COLAAAADAAAAAA....... AND GETTING CAAAAUGHT IN THE RAIN.....AND THE FEEL OF THE OOOOCEAAAN....... AAAAAAAND THE TAAAAASTE OF CHAMPAGNE! IF YOU LIKE MAKING LOVE AT MIDNIGHT... IN THE DUUUUUUUUNES OF THE CAPE! YOU'RE THE LOVE THAT I'VE LOOKED FORRR... COME WITH MEEEE AND ESCAPE!"

James looked around. "You're attracting so much attention, Sirius, bloody hell."

Sirius glanced about, and sure enough, there were several muggles glancing their way as they passed, dragging trolleys full of luggage and little kids with sticky faces along through the airport. Overhead, a tinny voice was announcing arrivals and departures of various flights, and some sort of lyricless jazz music was playing quietly in the background. Sirius was dragging the one duffel bag that Mrs. Potter had insisted upon - each of them needed at least one bag, she'd said, so the muggles didn't find them odd for going on holiday without one at all - and dancing along the corridor toward their gate.

"They're all just jealous they don't sound as fucking fabulous as I do," Sirius said, and he turned to wave to a middle aged man who was looking quite irritated as he tried to talk on a public telly-phone.

Charlus Potter came up behind James and Sirius at that moment, and, grinning, put his arm about Sirius's shoulders, "Precisely the sort of attitude you ought to have, my boy!" he said, and he looked at James, "Don't crack down on the fun, Jamesie!" And he started singing, trying to imitate Sirius's tune, "If you like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain.. if you like the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne... if you like --"

"Dad, please," James begged, interrupting before he could go any further, "Please, stop there. If you sing the next line, I'll bloody hex myself deaf."

Dora laughed and hugged James, patting his hair down. "Old people aren't allowed to enjoy making love at midnight?" she asked.

James groaned, "UGGHHH, no. Please. Stop." He covered his ears.

Sirius was grinning widely in amusement. "Oh dear, I do believe we've broken James's virgin ears. Poor Prongslet."

"Such a funny nickname, Prongs," Charlus remarked. "How'd you say he came upon it again?"

"Really don't recall," Sirius said, and he quickly diverted attention by pointing out the wide picture windows that lined the hallway they were walking along. "Muggles don't believe in magic, yet they believe in those fucking two-ton iron birds floating through the air of their own accord?"

"Shhh," hissed Dora, "Don't be needing a crack on from the Ministry for breaking the Statute, now do we?" She looked around, her hands instinctively covering James's ears, as though that did anything.

"Bloody hell, mum," James said, shaking her off him.

"They call what the planes do aerodynamics and it's a sort of science," Charlus explained, "Like in Doctor Who, right son?"

"Sort of," James replied.

Sirius laughed, "Stupid muggles." Then, with Mrs. Potter's glare, he changed the subject yet again, "I can't bloody wait to see Costa Rica!"

"It's ruddy fantastic there," Charlus offered, "You lot are in for the greatest summer you've ever had! And you'll get to meet the cousins!" He was speaking to them both and it struck Sirius once again just how incredible the Potters - all of them -  were, accepting him into the family as one of their own.

As though to emphasize the thought, Dora suddenly reached over and, having licked her thumb, wiped a smudge of dirt off Sirius's nose.

"Gross, mum," James complained, "Sirius doesn't want your rotter spit all over his face, bloody hell."

But truth be told, Sirius didn't mind a bit.

Remus Lupin had spent the days he'd been in Iceland with Ned Veigler in the slowly-populating library. Veigler was lining the shelves with books as he read them, and the shelves were beginning to fill with books he planned to read and books he considered vastly important for any school to have. The first day Remus had arrived at the castle in the woods, Ned had led him into the library and waved his arms about, "One day, Remus -- one day this room will be filled with all the greatest thoughts in the world, all the greats will have their place on the shelves here." His eyes had sparked as he said it, and he looked at Remus, thumping him on the back, and said, "Can you picture it, brother?"

Remus had nodded - and he could. He could see it all with just a glance around the room and it made him excited for the future.

He had exchanged owls with James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily over the past week since boarding the Hogwarts Express and they were all popping with anxiety over what the following year - post Hogwarts - would bring. What was being an adult like, they wondered, and Sirius said some tosh about how difficult getting a job would be and how miserable doing things like paying bills sounded. But to Remus, the future wasn't as frightening as his friends all described and worried. To Remus, the future finally, against all odds, seemed to hold a flickering bit of hope.

And of all the places in the world, Remus could feel that hope most here in Ned Veigler's library, sharing the vision for a school where werewolves, like himself, wouldn't have to hide and crawl through dark tunnels to run down houses cleverly disguised as haunted premises. They wouldn't have to depend on the idiotic bravery of their best friends to make the full moon nights bearable. Nor would any other oddities be excluded - the all-inclusiveness of Ned Veigler's school was the future that Remus hoped for.

If he was braver, he thought, he would tell Ned so, and he'd beg Ned Veigler to consider him for a teaching position when he left Hogwarts, but he was afraid of being turned down. After all, there was no telling Veigler's school would even have taken off by the time Remus finished up his Seventh Year, no promise he'd get the NEWTs that he needed to get the marks Ned would require. It was what drove him to lay in the library, studying all the texts he could on the subjects he was certain would come up in his seventh year. He had always been determined for good grades, sure, but this was different. Before, he'd sought good grades for the sake of repaying Dumbledore the debt he owed for giving him a chance at all, and now he was determined to defy the odds another step further: not only was a werewolf to be in school, but he was to teach at school - hopefully at university.

So he sat by the fireplace in the library of Ned Veigler's future school, dreaming and working toward a future life. He was absentmindedly stroking the furry back of the ginger kneazle, whose bravery had so increased since last time Remus had visited that it now came to sit upon laps, if the fire was on at least. The kneazle didn't go so far as to purr, but Remus had a feeling it was out of stubborn pride and that it was purring in it's heart chambers.

It was dark in the square, stars hung low in the sky. A very mild breeze whispered through the boughs of trees that lined the small park, whistling quietly through rickety windows and the rungs of the banisters on door stoops.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three figures now stood in perfect formation in the street between Numbers 11 and 13, Grimmauld Place. A whispered word and the foundations shook and moved aside, parting to reveal Number 12. The figures ascended the stairs, and the door was opened for them, as though they'd been expected. It closed behind them, and the foundations returned just as they'd been, as though nothing had happened at all.

Regulus Black sat at the table in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, eating a green apple and flicking lazily through a textbook for fifth year potions. He barely looked up as three figures entered the hall and Kreacher, his house elf, hurried back to his side. Regulus lowered the book, a bit of apple stuck on his lip.

"Wipe your mouth," came a snappy, sing-songy voice - he recognized it instantly as Bellatrix Lestrange, "Disgusting boy! Face the Dark Lord properly!!"

Regulus put the apple down and stood up, sweeping his palm over his mouth and dipped into a bow. "Forgive me, my Lord, with your cloak on as it is, I didn't recognize you."

All three figures lowered their hoods. It was Bellatrix, Rudolphus, and the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Voldemort waved his palm, "You may stand, Regulus," his voice was low and raspy. He stepped around and took a seat as Regulus offered it to him, sinking slowly - as though quite elderly. Regulus's eyes flashes with concern at Bellatrix, who snarled at him and flounced to Voldemort's side.

"What can I do for you, my Lord?" she breathed desperately. "How can I serve you?"

"Leave me, Bella," he murmured, "And you, Rudolphus. I seek audience with Regulus Black."

Regulus felt his stomach unsettling as Bellatrix frowned and pulled herself up from the floor. Rudolphus and Bellatrix bowed out of the room. Regulus stood before the Dark Lord, carefully keeping his mind a blank wall. He took two quick steps forward and lowered to one knee, bowing his head before Voldemort.

"Yes, my Lord?" he asked.

Voldemort lifted Regulus's apple and studied it a moment before taking a large bite from the uneaten side. He chewed it slowly, deliberately, and stared down at Regulus coldly as he did so. Regulus held the bow.

"I have need of a house elf," Voldemort said lowly.

"An elf, my Lord?" Regulus asked.

Voldemort nodded, and his eyes roved the kitchen to rest on Kreacher, who stood washing dishes in the corner.

Regulus looked at Kreacher, then back at the Dark Lord. "You want Kreacher?"

Kreacher stopped washing and turned to look, wiping his hands on the rag that hung about his waist.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, "Are you unwilling to give me your elf, boy?"

Regulus wanted to scream no you can't have him, but could see no reason to say for why. He could see Kreacher tremble, staring at him as though pleading not to be sent. "I am willing," Regulus said, his voice steady.

Kreacher's ears lowered and his eyes showed the betrayal.

Regulus's heart sank.

The Dark Lord put the apple down on the table and stood up... hovering before Regulus, though... somehow not as tall as Regulus remembered him being... and suddenly, from beneath the Dark Lord's robes there came laughter... amused, haughty laughter. And the long fingers reached for the hood and flung it back to reveal...

"SIRIUS!" Regulus sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding so hard he could see it in his eyes as he looked around the room, panting. "Fuck," he groaned, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He covered his eyes and sobbed into his hands. He wasn't sure what made him dream these things. This was certainly not the first dream he'd had of Sirius since summer holiday had begun the week before. Nor, he suspected, would it be the last.

So far, besides finding Sirius under the cloak of the Dark Lord, he'd also found Sirius in various other terrible situations - chained to walls, being tortured by the cruciatus curse, and - worst of all because it reminded him of that prophecy he'd found - drowning in an unending body of steel-grey, ice-cold water...

The door banged opened, making Regulus jump in surprise, but it was only Kreacher.

Seeing Kreacher in his nightmares had become a regular occurance, too. Always suffering, always because of some neglect of his -Regulus's- own.

"Master is screaming his blood traitor brother's name," Kreacher muttered, and he walked over and stood beside Regulus's bed, staring up at him, "Is Master having more bad dreams, should creature get a bottle of the draught of peace?" He peered at Regulus through the dark with his great bulbous eyes.

Regulus shook his head, "No."

"Is Kreacher's Master alright?" he asked.

Regulus nodded, "Yes Kreacher, I'm alright." He paused, then, even though it was a strange thing to do, he asked, "Are you alright, Kreacher?"

Kreacher gave Regulus a funny look. "Should Kreacher ever be anything but alright in his Master's presence?" he asked.

Regulus considered these words, and he said, finally, "You could tell me, you know... if you weren't, I mean. If there was something that could be better for you, I'd like to know it so I could help you."

Kreacher hesitated, then climbed onto the bed and leaned forward, very close to Regulus, staring him right in the eyes, then reached up and touched his forehead. "You're not sick at all," he murmured.

"No, Kreacher, I'm serious." The words reminded him of his brother and he had to force the image of Sirius's grinning face our of his mind. "Really," he added to Kreacher.

The elf shook his head, "Kreacher is satisfied," he said croakily. He paused. "Actually, if Master is willing...?"

"Anything, Kreacher," Regulus said.

Kreacher hesitated. Then, his ears flapped and he jumped off the bed, scurried across the room. Regulus craned his neck to see what Kreacher was doing - it took a moment, but Kreacher came back and when Regulus what the elf was carrying, he couldn't help but let out a laugh. He climbed onto Regulus's lap and set up the Gobstones board as quick as could be. "Kreacher's been practicing," he said.

And Regulus smiled and said, "Very well then. Let's see what skills you've honed, Kreacher."