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The sound of apparition was unmistakable, made more so in a house where silence had long since reigned. With his children having long since set up their adult lives elsewhere, Cygnus and his wife were the sole human inhabitants of a property that was too big, too empty, too quiet -- and so the crack of the spell was amplified, carrying through the halls like some grotesque wave until it reached Cygnus' own ears.

Footsteps followed. That they belonged to Sirius never once crossed Cygnus' mind; rather, with a sudden tightening of his chest, he thought they were the only warning he would receive from a group of witches and wizards he had been expecting for several days now -- ever since the corpse of his youngest nephew had been retrieved. With a substantial burst of willpower, Cygnus rose from his seat and crossed the floor of his study, pausing for an infinitesimal moment with his hand on the doorknob -- and then twisting it, allowing the door to swing open to reveal --

"Sirius?"

The shock he experienced was painfully obvious in a face that rarely betrayed anything but the faintest flicker of emotion, and his voice, when he summoned it again, emerged as a low rasp. "No," and he took a step forward, putting one hand on his nephew's shoulder and moving him back. "You cannot be here." Not here, not Sirius; Sirius who was a target, the sole remaining nephew Cygnus was determined to keep alive.