Thursday, September 14th, 6:15 pm

Continued from Chapter 26 – End of Weasley dinner

Sometimes he surprised even himself.

Dumbledore hummed quietly, the tip of his wand trailing across the liquid silver surface of his pensieve. His plan, only one of many but closest to his heart and so held closest to his proverbial vest, was working flawlessly. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely certain it could be considered the sameplan, since he had so little to do with it’s progress, or even implementation. He’d known that it could achieve the success it had, in his rather conceited heart, with his devoted nurturing and string-pulling, but his pawns were practically doing all the work for him. All that was left for him was to say and do the right things at the right moment and everything would work out flawlessly.

Just as he had intended.

He’d barely had time to think of anything with all he had seen in the boy’s memories, both boy’s, really, but in the space of half an instant it had all come together, the answer to one of his most pressing concerns presented itself to him before a background of screaming children. His children.

Even now he felt the sharp pang of guilt at having missed the signs not once, but twice. Still though, he was making amends. A bit too late in his personal opinion, but late was better than never, he thought.

He may have a knack for causing and even ignoring problems, but he was unparralelled in his ability to correct them.

Expect with Aberforth. The man simply would not forgive him!

Still, it wouldn’t do for anyone, his boys especially, to find out now. Severus, bless his soul, would throw a tantrum to rival merlin himself, and then proceed to ruin everything that had been accomplished so far. Albus loved the man like a son, but there were days when he sorely wished to hex the man for his stubbornness. Or take him over his knees. The child.

Harry, the dear boy, would try to fix it all, running back and forth between them, hoping for a amicable resolution. Clearly his upbringing with the Dursley’s hadn’t been all for naught.  It may be cruel, but it was also practical. The boy know had a number of useful skills other young wizards and some witches his age did not. Try as he might, Dumbledore could not help but grant that redeeming notch to the Muggle family.

He’d keep that thought away from his boys as well.

He shifted, stilling the motions of his wand and calling up the memory of the first night of term. Merlin, but Severus was furious. He hadn’t felt the man loose his magic in… actually, he hadn’t ever felt Severus loose his magic. He studied the little ghostly face of his adopted son and resisted the urge to shudder. Perhaps his acting was too good, but Severus looked truly furious, ready to eviscerate him. And powerful he may be, Dumbledore did not doubt for a minute that the younger man would have managed it, somehow.

And that was good. Very good. Voldemort did not know what he lost when he allowed Severus to walk away from him. The wizarding world wouldn’t know what hit it, figuratively and literally. His boy was most comfortable pulling strings and setting plans in motion from behind the scenes. Rather dangerous in his own right, but Dumbledore knew where Severus’ heart was.

With Harry.

Harry, who clearly didn’t trust him anymore. As much as it had hurt, and Morgana did it hurt, he was glad the child had pulled away from him and even moreso that he had latched onto Severus. Albus knew with certainty that regardless what Severus felt or thought he felt, he would make sure Harry did his job. The man was no fool. Even if they never spoke again Albus had every confidence that Severus recognized and appreciated the very willing and malleable weapon at his disposal. At the very least the man would help and make sure Harry killed Voldemort for his own selfish reasons; the man was a Slytherin, after all.

A sharp, ornery tendril of thought invaded his mind, scattering the thoughts of his magnificent plan. Albus stifled a smile and sheepishly turned towards his desk, and the angry familiar on top of it. Fawkes sat atop a rather scattered pile of paperwork, giving his wizard the very best lethal glare a bird could manage. He currently looked two times his normal size, courtesy of his furiously puffed-up plumage, his tail feathers standing tall and fanned out in his agitation. Beady black eye met periwinkle blue in a staring contest of the ages. Irritated with his human, Fawkes squawked, flapping his wings and setting bits of parchment afloat. Albus couldn’t help it, he chuckled.

“Fawkes, my dear friend, have I ever shared with you my suspicions of your relation to a rather flashy mundane bird called a peacock?”

The phoenix was not pleased. With an amplified sqwuak he disappearned in a swirling flash of flame, molten hot phoenix fire turning the pile of  paperwork into a burning pyre.

Groaning to himself in the now empty office, Albus battled the flames in the only way he could, vanishing the contents of his desk, not even considering attempting to save the paper. He’d ask Minerva for copies later, when she started speaking to him again. Clearly she and Fawkes were on the same page: they did not approve of his plans. Minerva didn’t even know about most of them, including the one concerning his boys. All she knew was that he had failed with Harry just as he had with Severus and the cat animagus was the furthest thing from pleased.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered. His plan was working and had all sorts of interesting little by-products.  Muriel Weasley suddenly dropping off the face of the earth, the Weasley seat suddenly reappearing in the Wizengamot, their magic and gold finally allowed to flow freely. Draco Malfoy renouncing his father and coming under the care and control of Sirius Black, who was so entwined in Harry’s life there was no chance of any of them going dark. Clearly his machinations were more good than bad. He should treat himself. His special lemon drops were still where he’d left them, protected from Fawkes ire…

Oh, but there were people at his door. Dumbledore’s eyes took on a merry twinkle as he magically shut the pensieve cupboard and settled behind his rather scorched desk.  Just the people he wanted to see. How fortuitous.

There was another sharp rap on his door and Albus smiled. That would be Minerva, clearly angry about something, probably having to do with Mr.’s Potter and Finnegan next to her. He doubted it had anything to do with Mr. Longbottom, but figured he was there for a reason. There was Ms. Granger there as well. Interesting indeed. But what in the name of Merlin was Corbin doing here. Albus hadn’t seen the man in days, and was quite content to continue in that fashion for the rest of the term. He wasn’t looking forward to this visit anymore, but he had to let them in before Minerva, or Harry, who was furious, really, blasted his door down.

“Come in, Minerva.”

He was gratified to see his ‘omnipotence’ still irritated the dour Scotswoman, and took special care to twinkle merrily at her before greeting the rest of the party.

“Mr. Potter, Finnegan, Longbottom. Ms. Granger. Mr. Corbin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Potter and Finnegan have been fighting.”

Albus stifled his intrigue in order to present a gravely disapproving face to his audience. He’d expected that the young mage would one day begin testing his boundaries, acting out and whatnot; he just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.  “Harry, my boy, I’m very disappointed with you.”

“Actually, sir,” said Neville, “Seamus started it.”

Of course the Irish boy had started it. Harry wouldn’t start a fight if someone paid him to. He’d have to play this all very carefully.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Longbottom, I expected more of my fifth year students, Mr. Potter especially.”

“I don’t really see how that’s fair, sir, you expecting more from harry than anyone else, but Seamus threw the first punch when he’d been insulting and taunting harry about Professor Snape and he wouldn’t respond. And Harry only ever hit him once, when Seamus called him a freak.  When Hermione and Professor McGonagall walked in, Seamus was still hitting him.”

Albus dearly wanted to twinkle at the boy. Clearly all of Augusta’s misgivings were for naught. Neville had matured into a splendid young lad, with courage enough to challenge even him. Minerva obviously approved, if her barely hidden smirk was anything to go by. If the Gryffindor point balance didn’t sky-rocket after this meeting, Albus would eat his beard. “Is this true, Professor McGonagall?”

“It is. I’ve brought them here because no matter the cause, Muggle dueling is prohibited at Hogwarts.”

“Well then.” Albus sat back, running his fingers through his beard, gazing disapprovingly at his students. “Ms. Granger, do you have anything to add?”

She seemed to struggle with herself a moment, no doubt a direct result of Severus’ influence. Albus sighed a little in his mind. There was a lesson there to be learned, and a good one, which is why he hadn’t interfered despite it debatable legality, but Albus wished the man he loved like a son had chosen a  different way to teach it. After a long minute, the girl managed a tight, “No, headmaster.” Ignoring the curious looks the girl received from her classmates, Albus cleared his throat, punishments decided.

“Very well A week’s worth of detention for both of you with Caretaker Filch. Harry, you will stay behind – “

“Now Albus, don’t you think you’re being just a little bit lenient?”

Albus blinked, the remainder of his sentence lost to the abyss. Had that annoying Ministry creature just used his given name? “I beg you pardon, Mr. Corbin?”

The little blond man preened under Dumbledore’s disbelieving stare. “These young men are in direct violation of Hogwarts school policy. Muggle dueling is strictly prohibited, has been from the time of our ancestors. Surely a stricter penalty is needed, do you not think so?”

“But it’s their first offense!” Longbottom was certainly not pleased.

“True, but that does not change the severity of that offense, does it?” the man asked smugly.

“No, but as the victim, Harry shouldn’t have to suffer so strident a punishment for an act that someone one else started.” Hermione Granger gazed at Corbin as if she wouldlike nothing better than lower his head into a vat of bobotuber pus.

“Be that as it may, the innocent must sometimes suffer for the guilty, isn’t that right, Headmaster?”

Even the thought of agreeing with the annoying man left a bad taste in his mouth. “Indeed. What did you have in mind, William?”

“Well,” the man droned, “if I were in charge of discipline, I’d make sure the strictest penalties were enforced without going overboard. Fighting, for instance, would be punishable by a week’s suspension from classes, at the very least. “

“But you’re not in charge of anything at Hogwarts, are you?” Neville spat.

“No, Mr. Longbottom, but I am.” Albus ran his fingers through his beard quietly. They’d all given him much to think about. Not about the punishments, because he knew what he’d do, but the consequences of his actions would have to be such that the cascading effect would mesh seamlessly into his plans. Granting Corbin a position he so un-subtley hinted at, would engender a sense of co-operation between the school and the Ministry and further a wedge between he and Severus, who had complained countless times over the years that he should be in charge of discipline. A further wedge wasn’t needed between he and Harry, but driving the child further into Severus’ arms could only be a good thing at this point. Finnegan was a practical non-entity, but he would surely take word of all the office’s happenings back to Gryffindor. The previously divided house of lions would all rally around their hero once more, if not against him then against Corbin. He didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty of setting the man up this way.

It was his own fault, after all.

“Mr. Potter, I am severely disappointed with you. Your week of detention still stands as well as a months suspension from school, including all extra-curricular activities. You’ve lost Gryffindor house 250 points and will pass in an essay to me at the end of the week on the benefits of self-control. Please take a seat. The rest of you are dismissed.”

“But sir, that’s not fair!”

“Harry didn’t do anything!”

“Ms. Granger, Mr. longbottom, unless you want to lose your house another 100 points I suggest you return to your house immediately. Mr. Corbin will escort you. “ merlin, but he sounded cold, but it worked. Minerva was giving him a look that could melt stone and Corbin looked far too smug for anything good to come out of this mess.  The three Gryffindors looked nothing short of mutinous, and Albus decided a little more couldn’t hurt.

“And Mr. Corbin, perhaps you can prevent a repeat of this incident from happening in future?”

“Oh yes, Headmaster.” The man was practically salivating. Joy. “Oh yes indeed.”

There was a definite, louder than usual ‘snap’, heralding the exit of three of his students, but Dumbledore paid it no mind, bidding the Ministry interloper a good day and turning his full attention to one Harry Potter.

The boy still had not taken a seat. Dumbledore considered that insisting he did so would be overkill, and highly dangerous to his health, and so he pretended not to notice.  “You have not attended your Theory of Magic classes in more than a week, Mr. Potter. I want to know why.”

Harry looked to be fighting back all his anger with every fiber of his slim being. At long last, right when Albus had decided that another verbal prod or two would not be amiss, he spoke. “I don’t have a reason, sir.”

Albus doubted very much that the child lacked any number of reasons not to return to those lessons, but kept that to himself. “I see.” He studied the boy, taking in the rather sickly looking palor of his skin, the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and along his slightly upturned nose, took in the thick static of repressed magic in the air around them, and stifled a smile. “You will return to this office every morning at 9 am for the length of your suspension, weekends included, and afterwards every Tuesday and Thursday evening in addition to the regularly scheduled sessions. Compliance is mandatory. Do I make myself clear?” He’d spoken in a soft voice, one he’d cultivated for use on stubborn Ministry or Wizengamot officials who had somehow forgotten who they were dealing with. He was pleased to see it infuriated the boy further.

The temperature of the room dipped startlingly, then rose, his robes suddenly uncomfortable in the near visible heat. The teenager before him trembled ever so slightly, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to say a word.  Perhaps he’d done enough for the day. Perhaps not. Either way, Dumbledore dismissed his favorite student, and was slightly disturbed to see twin imprints of the child’s footprints in the stone floor in front of his desk, and that the heat stayed with him for hours.

He tried not to feel the guilt that was threatening to cloud out every conscious thought. It was for the greater good, he told himself. They would understand in time.

He soon became aware of another presence in the room.  Minerva stood before him, lips pale on her stony face. Their eyes met in silence.

“I do hope you know what you are doing, Albus Dumbledore, for your own sake.”

With a swish of fabric and the close of a door she was gone. Albus let her, closing his eyes with a sigh against the pain and the hot, sluicing waves of Harry’s anger.

He hoped so, too.

~*~*~*~

Sirius and Remus’ Rooms

Same Day and Time

He was becoming such a baby.

Draco lay staring at the ceiling, the steady ‘thump-thump’ of his guardian’s heartbeat beating a steady tattoo on the side of his head. Occasionally, a hand, much larger and rougher than his, would swing into his field of vision before descending in a truly heinous fashion to grab onto his nose. He’d have to wrestle the fiend for freedom, true, but most of his existence was disturbingly placid.

He awoke in the morning to Sirius attempting to inhale his coffee and Remus lurking about in rather worn pajamas, that were soft and smelled like chocolate cookies and chamomille,  eat breakfast and then head to the Great Hall for seconds. The diet Lucius had kept him to had been dumped, and draco enjoyed eating until he was full, and then heading off to class with housemates that were admittedly less uptight than they were had been. After classes had ended he’d return to his room and if Sirius wasn’t in, which wasn’t often, return to the Slytherin common room until Remus came looking for him. Otherwise he’d find the man stretched out on the couch surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of papers. He’d sit with him, doing homework or just studying or laughing at some dumb thing Sirius said or did until Remus made them eat dinner. Then, he’d have Sirius all to himself, much like he did right then.

There was no father to live in fear of, no dark lord to fear would walk in and begin throwing curses, no empty rooms and platitudes in place of care. There was only Sirius and his awful sense of humor and hugs and Remus. The sheer normalcy of his present life held him near constantly at the end of his rope and he would find himself, in quiet moments, suddenly drowning, suffocating on the swell of thick, airless air, struggling to surface, until those arms would wrap around him, pulling him up and holding him close and that ‘thump-thump’ would seep into him, calming him down, and he’d spend hours, but never long enough, secure in that embrace.

He was such a baby.

The hand rose again, swaying high above his head, and Draco gazed at it suspiciously.

Sirius chuckled. “Draco, you think too much.”

“I do not.” He most certainly did not pout, not in the slightest.

“I’m not sure I believe you. You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Draco didn’t answer beyond grabbing the fiend from the air and torturing it, pulling on fingers and trying to bend the whole thing into a fist. There was no real need to answer Sirius when they were like this, no danger to avoid by always having a clever come back or mindless obeisance. He was safe here, always.

It boggled the mind.

“Sirius?”

“Mmhhh?”

“I should be studying.”

The evil hand swooped down, instantaneously capturing his nose and Draco squeaked, Writhing and yanking at the fiend trying to dislodge it. Sirius laughed, wrapping an arm around the slim teen’s form lest he fall to the floor. “Save the homework for Remus.” He removed his hand, and Draco froze, curious grey eyes turning to his guardian. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Draco scowled, entirely too upset that their game had suddenly ended. “If this isn’t the secret corridor that leads past the six year hufflepuff girls dorm and into the kitchens you promised to show me, I’m not interested.”

Sirius scoffed. “It is not. Food and girls, is that all you ever think about?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody teenager.”

“That’s what tenagers do, Sirius, or didn’t you know?”

“No. But it’s good to know we’re in the same boat, you and I.”

Draco quirked an elegant eyebrow. “Sirius, I am a teenager. What is your excuse?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Sirius’ eyes had rounded to the sze of saucers.

Draco tamped down on a giggle. “Enlighten me.” The arms around him tightened, bringing him flush against the man’s chest, head right below his chin. And then, Sirius began to sing.

“I’m fo-o-o-r-e-e-v-e-e-----r yo-o-o-u-u-n-n-g!”

“NO! Noooo!”

“Fo-r-e-v-e-r y-o-o-u-n-n—g!”

“Let me go you maraudering fiend!”

“For—eve-e-r yo-o-o-u-n-ng!”

“Release me! Release me this instant!”

“I-I’l-ll sta-a-a-a-y – “

“Remus! Remus help!”

“For-e-v-e-r y-o-o-u-u-n-g.”

“You twit! Let me go! You’ve damaged my eardrums.”

Sirius laughed, releasing him and Draco slid to the floor, hair mussed and face red and barely able to breath through his giggles. Sirius was insane, absolutely stark raving mad, but he loved it. There was no fear here, no standards.

Remus’ disapproving voice drifted over them suddenly. “You’ve only just had dinner. Quit rough housing. Sirius you should know better; Draco is delicate.”

“I am not.” Sirius burst into another round of laughter behind him as Draco whipped around, indignantly staring at his new ‘uncle’. “I am not delicate.”

“If you say so.” Remus’ voice was terribly snooty as he said, “But I’m not the one who had an allergic reaction to cotton pants.”

“Oi! Remus, quit ribbing my kid. We Black men are made of stern stuff.” Sirius grinned, waggling his brows at his friend and Draco inwardly groaned. “Not our fault our bits liked to be wrapped in silk, now is it?”

“But what type of silk?” Draco asked, enjoying the exasperatedly annoyed expression on the werewolf’s face. “Because I’ve become used to an aromantula-and ice moth blend, and Muggle silk will no longer cut it.”

“Ice moth, you say. I wasn’t sure I’d like that one, and I figured it was a lot of trouble to go to for a pair of pants after all.”

“If I ever have to do any purchasing you’re both wearing polyester or nothing at all.” Remus spun away, shaking his head as he went.

“I’m not entirely sure I should have a problem with that!” Sirius shouted after him.

Draco groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I did not need that image in my head, Sirius.”

“You’re not Sirius. I’m Sirius!”

“Oh come on!” Draco reached for a couch pillow and successful managed to thwap the man across the head with it. “I thought you had something to show me?”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve gone and called Remus. Now he’s subconsciously listening to hear if we get up to anymore mischief.” He gave the boy a sidelong look. “However if you could manage to get rid of him…”

Draco snorted. ‘I thought you told me the Marauders were fearless?”

“I did!” Sirius agreed, sliding along the couch in an attempt to see where Remus had gone to. “But our fearlessness is completely useless against one another, especially if it’s Remus, since he has fear down to a science and can render our fearlessness completely fearful with fear in a fearful – “

“Alright, I get it.” Draco swung the pillow again, dancing away from a retaliatory aim when he missed. “I’ll try. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I have all faith in you, Grasshopper.” Sirius called after him.

Remus was almost always in the small bedroom turned office turned library at the end of the bedroom hallway when he wasn’t  in the living room helping he and Sirius with work or in the kitchen chocolatizing (to use Sirius’ word) something or other. Draco was glad for the routine, and even more so when he realized that both men did it for him. He’d confided, after one of his attacks, that sometimes he’d wander the entire manor for hours looking for parents that weren’t there. It was particularly awful when he was younger and the portraits andsculptures would cast severe shadows along the halls that terrified him, drove him to tears until he ran into the biting irritation of his father, or his mother’s sharp annoyance. Remus made sure to be on one place at a specific time or where Draco could see him, and Sirius made it a point to always be visible. There was a clock in his bedroom with hands for all of the people in his life, Siri and Remus, Severus and Harry, with time-places like ‘Home’ and ‘Loo’ and ‘Library’ in case he needed them. Anything outside of home was ‘Out’ and he’d refer to the larger clock on the mantelplace. He’d never seen anything like it, had been terribly touched when they’d set it up.

Remus sat in a rather squashy-looking armchair, at least six books opened around him.

“You look busy.” Draco stood leaning against the doorframe, still unsure about disturbing his elders.

“Not as busy as I look. Not anymore, anyway.” Bright amber eyes rose to meet his. “Double-checking the list of spells I’m giving you upper years for defense. Did you need something?”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten. He threw on the face he’d seen Sirius use not two days ago to great success. “We-e-ell, sort of.”

Remus was amused. “Really? Like what?”

“Ice cream?”

Remus laughed, closing the book in front of him. “Now how are you going to convince me that that’s a need and not a want?”

“Uhm?” draco hadn’t exactly thought this far. “Because it’s good for you?”

“Try again.”

Drat. This wasn’t nearly as easy as Sirius made it seem.” Well, today’s the fourteenth. I’ve been here eleven days, so maybe we could have a sort of belated ‘Yay Draco’s Family’ celebration, just the three of us? And I slept straight through last night, so we could celebrate that too, I guess?”

“Hmm.” Remus stood, straighted up his books and walked over, running a hand through draco’s messy hair before squeezing his shoulders. Draco couldn’t help but take it as praise. “Work on making statements instead of asking questions, and ask Sirius to help you with the puppy eyes, and maybe then you’ll have a chance of manipulating me.” Draco pouted, his cheeks flaming red. “Buck up. Sirius still can’t do it. What flavor did you want?”

“Wha - ?”

“Ice cream generally comes in several flavors, some of which are rather extreme. Did you have a preference?”

HE was still going to go? Even though draco’d failed? The lack of standards, unbendable rules here threw him and left him grasping for words. “I-I don’t know. Fa- Lucius only ever let me have vanilla.”

“Hmm. I’ll pick something then.” Another gentle run through his hair. “Try not to blow up the castle, alright, child?”

Draco flushed, ducking his head. “K.”

A minute later Remus was gone, and Draco was pressing his face into Sirius’ shoulder. “He’s gone for ice cream.”

“Yes!” Sirius’ arms came around him and squeezed. Draco couldn’t help but smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“He said I needed to work on the puppy face.”

“Bah, don’t worry about that. He’s been telling me that for years.”

 Fingers threaded through his hair, and Draco closed his eyes.  “Has it ever worked?”

“On Remus? Never ever. Everyone else would all for it hook line and sinker, especially when both me and James teamed up, but Remus would just look at us and shake his head.”

“Oh.” His voice was soft and small, teenaged fingers curling into the fabric of the man’s shirt. “I thought I’d just failed.”

Sirius sighed, and shifted, half-turning to lean against the arm of the couch. “There’s nothing wrong with failure, Eggy?”

“Eggy!” Draco’s head shot up, eyes wide and horrified. “Why would you call me ‘Eggy’?”

“Well, you’re a dragon, aren’t you? A little one. Baby dragons come out of eggs, right? Hathclings. So am I supposed to call you hatchling? Hatchy? Nope, no thank you. It was ‘Eggy’ or ‘Shelby’ like shell-baby, so take your pick.”

“How about dragon?” He stressed the original translation of his name.

“Nope.” Sirius shook his head, eyes closed. “You’re not full grown yet.”

“But I’m not an egg, either!”

“hey, who’s the parent here? I am. And that means I gets to decide what to call you, and I’ve decided when we’re alone I gets to call you Eggy.”

Draco fell silent at this, mulling those words over. “So, only when we’re alone, then?”

Sirius considered him, grey-blue eyes roving over his face. “Well, I might let it slip in front of Remus – “

“No! I mean, no.” Draco shifted, suddenly nervous. The problem with Sirius was he couldn’t ever tell when the man was angry, and so never knew how to phrase his sentences. “I mean, I like Remus, I really do. He’s great. But he’s not, I mean, I’m not his egg though, am I? I mean I sort of am, sort of, but – “

“No, you’re right.” There was a smile in those eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Draco wondered at that. Could he really make the man that happy? “You’re not his egg. Not really.”

Draco squirmed, a pleased little tingle flaring to life in his stomach. He was Sirius’ egg. As silly as it was it pleased him.

“Got your wand, Eggy?”

Ah! Back to the point of this whole thing, before Remus got back. “In my pocket.” Silly Sirius, distracting him with silly nicknames, as if they didn’t have better, more mischevious things to do.

“Good. Now, the spell I’m going to show you is a lot like that eavesdropping spell you found the other day, but James and I never wrote it down, because Remus would have skinned us alive. It’s basically for your eyes, and let’s you see through – “

“Walls!”

“Try clothing. Female clothing.”

“Oh. My. Gods.”

No one ever said Sirius would be a good influence.