"It needs blood." Sirius admitted and Hermione had to work to control her breathing. Strapped to a chair in the room was a man she vaguely recognized from the Profit. He was wanted for assault outside a pub in Ireland. She’d only half read the story that morning. If it wasn’t for the distinctive burn scar on his neck she wouldn’t have connected it. "The House of Black has to pay for its existence, Hermione. And Grimmauld too depends on a steady feeding. It’s been too long since my mother paid the tithe and now, as the Lord Black I have to make up for all those lost years or it will steal what passes for my wretched life. And if I’m gone I’m afraid it will turn to Harry next. Magic always has a price."