Prologue.

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The cries of one-year-old James Potter rang through the house as the walls of number 12 Grimmauld Place shook violently. The screaming was customary for the owners, Harry and Ginny Potter, but the rumbling and vibration of the building usually meant someone was calling. And if someone was visiting at one o'clock in the morning, it usually meant it was a matter of urgency. 

Surprisingly the couple had received quite a few urgent visitors during the two years they had lived in the house. Most likely due to Harry's job as an auror and the fact that both of them had been deeply involved in the wizarding a war a few years before. Still, a one o'clock call remained stirring enough for Harry to get out of bed and reach for his glasses and dressing gown at a reasonably high speed for someone still half asleep. His wife, however was even quicker, being the mother of the energetic James Potter meant she was often required to make night visits around the house. 

''I'll see to James, you get the door.'' Ginny said briskly, pulling her dressing gown on and disappearing out of the door after her last comment. Harry barely had time to nod before his wife was gone, heading downstairs half a minute after her. The door bell was ringing non-stop, echoing in Harry's blurry mind, and he shouted in annoyance;

''Alright, alright, no need to hammer it, I'm coming.'' One sock now off his foot and stranded on the floor of the hall, there was a slight delay whilst Harry fetched the item of clothing, pulled it firmly on his foot and blinked a few times to get rid of the black patches in his vision. Once these were done, however, he finally undid the bolts on the door and opened it to reveal a dark figure, dressed head to toe in black and carrying what seemed to be a bundle of sheets.

Harry blinked again. ''Er, can I help you?''

The figure stepped forward, not pulling back it's hood and simply handing the bewildered Harry the bundle of sheets - well, the bundle of sheets that Harry had now realized was a baby, almost dropping it in this process of identification. The young man gasped and looked up at the figure in confusion.

''Wha-what -''

The figure said in a deep voice, a man's voice. ''I am correct you were the godchild of Sirius Black?''

Harry felt a familiar throb of pain and memory in his heart, driving it away before replying; ''Yes, I am Harry Potter.''

The figure shifted, turning his gaze upon the child that now lay peacefully in Harry's arms. ''She is the granddaughter of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her name is Maxine Lestrange.'' The man behind the hood and cloak looked up at Harry. ''I am entrusting her into your care. You are her closest living relative. Take care of her, this child is special. Very special.''

And with a last look at the bewildered Harry, the man apparated into the night.