Moody had made it very clear that Kakashi wasn’t going anywhere near the Ministry.

“Outside Grimmauld, you’re a beacon,” the old auror had said gruffly. “Foreign chakra signature, half a dozen magical traces I can’t even name, and a bounty on your head from a man who calls himself a snake. You step out that door, you’ll have every dark force from here to Hogsmeade sniffing you out.”

Kakashi had said nothing in reply — just stared back with that lazy, unimpressed eye until Moody’s magical one began spinning irritably.

Now, with Harry gone and the Order busy, the house felt even more suffocating than usual.

He sat slouched in one of the grimy old armchairs of the Black family drawing room, legs sprawled out, chin resting against one hand. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional scuttle of Doxies in the walls.

Across from him, Sirius moved his wizard’s chess piece — a battered black knight that gave a rude gesture before smashing one of Kakashi’s pawns off the board.

“Ha!” Sirius grinned, the expression sharp but tired. “You’re worse at this than Harry.”

Kakashi hummed, unbothered. “You’re worse at conversation than my ninken.”

Sirius snorted. “You’ve got dogs that talk back?”

“Eight of them,” Kakashi said, tone perfectly even. “All better company than you.”

Sirius laughed properly this time — the kind of laugh that seemed to echo off the grimy ceiling, too bright for such a dark house. “Merlin, I think I might like you after all.”

Kakashi moved his bishop lazily, ignoring the glare his piece shot him as it was promptly cornered. “Mm. Pity the feeling isn’t mutual.”

They fell into a rhythm after that — quiet, comfortable in a strange way. Two men too used to confinement, both restless beneath their calm.

Every so often, Kakashi’s hand would tremble when he reached for a piece, and Sirius pretended not to notice. The poison left a deep shadow of discoloration creeping up his arm, a time bomb beneath the bandages.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, studying Kakashi with that sharp, canine gaze of his. “You really think Dumbledore can help you?” he asked after a while, voice quieter — edged with something that might’ve been concern.

Kakashi tilted his head, eye curving faintly behind his mask. “Actually,” he said, tone deceptively light, “I think that honor falls to your old friend — the Potion Master.”

For a moment, Sirius just stared. Then his face twisted like he’d swallowed something rotten. “Snape?!”

Kakashi shrugged one shoulder, perfectly casual. “He’s the one who brewed the suppressor. If anyone can find a way to counteract the poison, it’ll be him.”

Sirius let out a loud groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course it would be him. Bloody brilliant. You’ve got the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Mm,” Kakashi mused, reaching for another chess piece. “It’s a talent.”

Sirius gave him a flat look. “You’re joking about being treated by Severus Snape. That’s how far gone you are.”

Kakashi moved his rook. “He’s competent. I’ll survive.”

“You say that now,” Sirius muttered. “Next thing you know, he’ll be lecturing you about proper brewing technique while you’re half-dead.”

Kakashi’s eye curved again — amusement flickering there, faint but real. “I’ll take that over your hospitality.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Touché.”

For a moment, silence settled between them again. The fire popped, and shadows danced across the walls, long and distorted.

Despite the teasing, Sirius’s eyes softened. “Still… if anyone can help you, it is Dumbledore’s lot. They don’t give up easy. Even Snape, bastard that he is.”

Kakashi looked down at his bandaged arm, the faint pulsing ache beneath the wrappings. He didn’t answer right away — just stared into the fire, the light catching silver in his hair.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” he murmured.

The clock in the hall chimed midnight. The house creaked, restless and old.

Two men — one haunted by a curse, the other by a past he couldn’t escape — sat quietly in the flickering dark, waiting for dawn to come.

---

Kakashi sighed, leaning back in his chair as Sirius eyed the chessboard like it had personally offended him. The game had dragged on — too slow, too stiff. At least with Shogi, there was rhythm, grace, some thought. This… this was like watching paint dry on an old barn.

“Checkmate,” Kakashi murmured, sliding his bishop forward.

Sirius groaned. “Bloody hell, you’re worse than Remus at this. Don’t you ever lose?”

“Not when I’m this bored,” Kakashi replied mildly, pushing back from the table. “You play like you’re negotiating with the pieces.”

That earned him another bark of laughter from Sirius as Kakashi stretched and headed for the door. “Fine! Leave me to rot here, then. Go do your mysterious shinobi things.”

Kakashi raised a hand in a lazy wave. “Gladly.”

---

He padded up the creaking staircase, drawn by the faint sound of voices from the drawing room — Hermione’s anxious pacing and Ron’s muffled attempts at reassurance.

“…he’s been gone for ages,” Hermione was saying, wringing her hands. “What if they do expel him? He didn’t even mean to use magic!”

Ron, slumped on the threadbare couch, looked up helplessly. “’Course they won’t. Dumbledore’ll sort it out. He always does.”

Kakashi leaned against the doorway for a moment, unseen. He recognized the restless worry in their voices — the helplessness of watching someone walk into danger while you could do nothing but wait. He’d lived it more times than he cared to count.

Still, the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. Time to… intervene.

“Seems like a good time for a distraction,” he murmured under his breath, forming a quick seal.

A puff of chakra smoke burst at his feet, and a small, wrinkled pug appeared, scratching lazily behind one ear.

“Yo,” Pakkun grunted, nose twitching. “You’re not summoning me just to avoid paperwork again, are you?”

“Worse,” Kakashi said, lowering himself onto the couch beside Ron. “I’m summoning you to keep teenagers from worrying themselves into an ulcer.”

Ron jumped nearly a foot. “Bloody hell! That dog just talked!”

Hermione’s gasp was one of astonishment rather than fear. “Incredible—he’s sentient! How—what—oh, you’re beautiful!”

Pakkun blinked. “That’s a first.”

“She thinks you’re cute,” Kakashi supplied.

“Yeah, I caught that.”

Hermione was already kneeling, studying Pakkun’s paws, his muzzle, the faint runes etched into the summoning collar. “Oh, this is remarkable! Some sort of… magical familiar? Or are you more of a spirit construct?”

Pakkun gave Kakashi a weary look. “You didn’t tell me they were this talkative.”

“Consider it a cultural exchange,” Kakashi said, eye curving faintly.

Ron, meanwhile, had crouched down beside Hermione, grinning. “So, uh, you can actually talk? Like—proper sentences?”

“Clearly,” Pakkun said dryly. “And I can listen, too. A rare talent around here, it seems.”

Hermione laughed — the first genuine sound of ease in hours. Even Ron snorted. The tension in the room melted just a little, replaced with the absurd charm of a talking dog with better manners than most wizards.

Kakashi leaned back in the corner, watching them with a quiet kind of satisfaction.

Distraction successful.

---