All in the Family

Chapter 172: A Place to Hide

The crash of pots and pans falling straight onto them from above may as well have caved in all their skulls at one time. The resulting noise caused just the faintest of shouting from above, but whether their own trapped magic or the age of this mansion, the door blocked out the majority of the foul language their landing had activated in the decrepit house.

Frank was the only one who landed under the table somehow, and he got the book in his face for his troubles. He'd crawled out from under the heavy wood only to see James hitting the door with a cast iron skillet, spurred into the insane task it seemed by Walburga Black's voice loudest of all calling nobody all sorts of shite once more above them.

"Um," Frank rubbed at his forehead in concern, only for the last kettle to come tumbling down as if waiting for its victim.

Alice and Lily came over to help get him to his feet while Remus and Sirius continued to watch in mild concern as Regulus told Peter, "welcome back to my place."

"The locket," Peter realized, eyes flickering to the ceiling. "Prongs-"

"There's, no, f'ng way-" he grunted as he kept fighting with the nothing, "we're sent back here, only to not, grab it!" He slammed the metal down so hard on the handle there was an actual ringing left in place and finally stood there panting in frustration.

"Why is Harry here?" Lily agreed as she watched his face grow steadily more red. "If the Ministry collapsed, this isn't exactly the first place I'd run to."

"Oh but it should be," Sirius grimly corrected as he looked around every crevice in disgust. "They were fortifying this place for their own nefarious ideas back during the first war when Voldemort was gaining power. It's only gotten worse since then, this is probably one of the most heavily guarded homes in Britain even before that messed up Fidelius Charm."

"But Snape can get in here, Harry knows that," Frank needlessly recalled as Lily pursed up her lips.

"Guess we should find out what's going on then," Sirius said slowly, eyeing the book with distaste as any number of awful possibilities could have led to this. Had Harry been taken here, was this Voldemort's new stronghold? It would be fitting.

Then his eyes settled on Regulus, who had an old familiar look on his face Sirius recognized in an instant. He was chewing on his cheek, rotating an old copper pot nearly the size of him slowly. "First though," he called grandly, as if his parents were in the room to be distracted, "we need snacks! Reg, where does Kreacher hide the good biscuits?"

His face brightened in an instant, he stopped rocking it and went jogging to the cupboards, his small frame struggling only for a moment to get himself onto the high counters. "Mum still doesn't know I can reach," he told with a familiar impish grin to Peter, but only because it was Sirius' natural state when they were planning something, it was rare to see him carry it. "Kreacher will tell me if she has him doing something that'll take a while," he opened up a cupboard door that creaked ominously and barely had to wobble or duck under it to stand completely and reach the top shelf, but he did have to put his foot on the lowest section to reach up, "so I can sneak in here and grab, aha!"

The dusty old tin didn't look like much, it was ancient and black with the Black family crest impressed in silver on the top just like every bloody thing in this house, but the lid came off with ease, and inside was an assortment of ginger snaps, chocolate fingers, and shortbread that still smelled fresh.

Sirius was the last to reach for one, despite this being his idea. That tick of his little brothers was still in full swing as he plopped on the grimy counter and enjoyed his treat, and he wished so bad he could ask. That he hadn't ruined things so badly between them it wouldn't feel manipulative to steer the conversation right into Regulus asking why he hated this place so much, if his brother would even believe it of the parents he adored so much. Maybe he was being as arrogant as he accused them of being anyways, assuming whatever question he was pondering was even about this place, them, him, and not something else on his mind.