sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 02:59 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 02:59 pm
Entry tags:
Stealing Harry, 4 of 11
"You're going here?"
Harry was sitting on the bed in Remus' room, holding his globe under one arm; he was pointing at India and looking up at Remus. Remus took his finger and moved it gently about half an inch to the northeast.
"I'm going there," he said, returning to the medium-sized satchel on the bed. He picked up three books and laid them on top of some clothing.
"For how long?"
"Don't know yet. Not more than a week."
"Are you gonna get sick again?"
Remus smiled at the boy. "It's possible, but I shouldn't worry too much. I always get better."
"Harry? Where've you gone?" Sirius' voice boomed from the other room, and they heard the front door slam.
"In here!" Harry called. "I'm helping Moony pack!"
Sirius loomed in the doorway, shedding his leather jacket and boots. "Just been out to see Moira," he said, by way of explanation. "Playing world traveler, are we, Harry?"
Harry presented his globe to Sirius gravely. "Where's Iowa?" he asked. Sirius frowned. Remus reached out an arm and spun the globe, his finger tapping the appropriate place gently.
"There you are then," Sirius said, as if he'd come up with it himself.
"I made up a game," Harry continued. "It's called Where."
"Where what?"
"Just Where. See, I spin the globe, and I find a place..." Harry demonstrated. "And then I go to the encyclopedia you brought from the book shop and find it." He peered at the globe. "Cuz...Cuzek..."
"Czechoslovakia," Sirius corrected. "Tell you what, how about you look up Kyoto instead. It's easier to say."
Harry nodded and left the room, globe under one arm. Sirius leaned against the door frame, watching Remus pack.
"Thought maybe you'd given up on India," he said. "It's been weeks since you were going to go."
This was true; he'd meant to go to India before they'd even brought Harry to his flat, and that was months ago now. Harry'd gone on one more 'field trip' with Severus, and Ron's grounding was nearly over. The full moon was looming next week, but he planned to be back before then. He shook his head.
"I won't be gone long. It shouldn't be too difficult -- I have a friend in Calcutta who's going with me, he speaks the local dialects."
"Listen, Moony -- " Sirius rubbed the back of his head. "Do you think Arthur might be right?"
"About?"
"About Peter. About him being dead."
Remus paused in the act of closing his satchel. "I don't know," he said.
"Then why do you keep...why are you still looking for him?" Sirius asked. "You know I'd come with you in a heartbeat if you asked me to, but you seem to enjoy running off alone, and you know how I feel about the whole mess."
"You'd rather it wasn't remembered at all," Remus murmured.
"I just think after seven years, if he hasn't shown himself, he's probably dead. The British Government thinks so, you know. After seven years missing they declare a chap dead. And I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to kill him, he killed all those Muggles."
Remus sat on the bed, one hand toying with the grips on his satchel. "And if he's not dead?"
"The Dark Lord's gone. Vanquished. Even if Peter tried to come for Harry, or for one of us, he was never a match for us. You and I, Moony, we'll protect the kid. We have so far."
Remus bowed his head. "I know. And this is my way of doing that."
"Chasing ghosts?"
"Dreams," Remus answered impulsively.
"What?"
"I'm not chasing a ghost," he said, standing and rubbing his neck, distractedly. "I'm trying to settle something, all right?"
"Settle what, exactly? Make a bet with Dumbledore that you could catch Peter if he was still around?"
"Listen, three years ago I was entirely ready to give this up," Remus answered sharply. "Do you think I like getting stuck for days on end in some backwater in Chile? You think I actually enjoy awful seedy motels in Toronto?"
Sirius stared at him. Remus was...Remus was angry. That didn't happen. Not without Sirius yelling for at least half an hour first.
"I don't like it. I don't want to believe he's alive, unless it's so that I can strangle the man barehanded, but I think I've pretty much got that impulse under control," Remus continued. "And I was ready to give it up and if these bloody dreams hadn't started up I would have, but they did, and they won't stop, and they don't change. And so I'm stuck wandering the globe when believe me, I would much rather be here listening to you whine about Snape!"
Sirius waited until Remus had let out the rest of his breath. "I don't whine," he said sullenly.
"I'm sorry, Pads. I didn't mean that."
"What dreams? You never told me about any dreams. You sleep like the bloody dead."
"They're not the screaming kind of nightmare," Remus answered, calmer now. "They're not really nightmares at all, I suppose. They're just...things."
"About...about that night?"
"Sort of." He sat on the bed again. "You know how I'm always going on about how if I hadn't been held up from going to Rome, and hadn't made you take that wrong turn while we were looking for Peter, it might've been you who got to him first?"
"Well, I don't know about always, but you do seem awfully fixated on it."
"Listen to me. I have this dream." Remus took another deep breath. "And in it, somehow everything's gotten bollocksed up. It's not now, it's a couple of years from now, and I'm not me. I'm a teacher. At Hogwarts. Only I am me, but not..." Remus shook his head in frustration.
"You're mental."
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
"Go on."
"I'm in the Shack. And you're there, in the shack with me. Only you're not you. You're awful and thin, and your hair's matted. It's a terrible sight, Sirius. And you're telling me that Peter survived, that you tried to kill him but he framed you, made it look like you were the spy, and he got away. And he left fingers behind. And you're telling me this and then you're saying that he's right there in the room with us. Only I can't see him. And I have all these thoughts. They're not mine, but they're about us."
Sirius tilted his head, listening to the low, grave tones. Remus was a werewolf, and werewolves were Dark creatures; still, he'd never heard of a prophetic one.
"The thoughts are...I think to myself, oh god, Sirius has been in Azkaban for twelve years, and I've been spending the whole time just...drifting...thinking you were the spy, and...Sirius, if you could see what you look like in the dream. You keep telling me he's here, Peter's here, we have to kill him, and I can't find him."
Remus paused. Sirius had slid down the door frame until he was crouched against the wall, looking up, hands clasped between his knees.
"I have to find him, Sirius. He's alive, and if I don't find him, he'll come for us."
Sirius nodded, slowly. "You believe the dream."
"I believe something really, really bad might have happened if you'd got to Peter before Lucius Malfoy did. I do believe Peter is alive. And I do believe he's dangerous."
"You don't go about as often as you used to."
"Well, I've learned to tell a decent tip from a dead end, for the most part," Remus answered. "And I won't go about as often, not with Harry here."
Sirius looked thoughtful.
"Could you put the dream in a pensieve?" he asked.
***
Pensieves were expensive to purchase and difficult to make, but Remus balked at asking Dumbledore if they could borrow his. It seemed presumptuous, when they'd caused the Headmaster so much trouble so recently, to go asking him for something like that.
So Sirius did it.
It was the work of a few minutes to get to Hogwarts, and barely a few minutes more before Sirius was standing outside the entrance. He rapped the old Order knock and sure enough, Dumbledore hadn't taken the charm off; he fancied he could hear, somewhere distant, a bell ringing. It had been their code -- if you knocked in the right way, Dumbledore knew you were with the Order, and a bell in his study notified him.
The door swung open and it wasn't long before Sirius, nearly twenty-nine years old and a respected businessman, found himself standing in Dumbledore's study like an errant fifth-year.
"I hope you're not having trouble with Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly, but there was a note of iron behind his blue eyes.
"No, Harry's..." Sirius realised he didn't have words for the way he felt about Harry. He settled for "...fine."
"Molly informs me he's doing well in his studies."
Sirius cursed inwardly. Of course Dumbledore was keeping an eye on Harry through the Weasleys.
"He's a smart boy. He made up this game..." Sirius grinned, and then realised this was neither the time nor the place to play the proud father. "He's fine."
"I notice Remus chose not to come along for this visit."
"He doesn't know I'm here."
Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow.
"Listen, I'm worried about him and I need your help. I know you're furious that we took Harry and I know it's presumptuous of me to ask, and that's why Remus won't, but I need to borrow your Pensieve."
The other eyebrow raised. Sirius fought the urge to snicker.
"My Pensieve?" he asked, slowly. "Why on earth would you need that?"
Sirius toyed with a strap on his leather jacket. "You know he's still looking for Peter."
"As am I."
Sirius glanced up sharply. Dumbledore smiled. "In more subtle ways than your friend."
"Well, he says he's doing it because he's having these...these dreams," Sirius said. "About Peter. And truth be told, I've had a few screaming nightmares of my own about the man, but these sound like they're something more."
"Prophetic dreams?"
"Or...I don't know. Visions of what could have been?" Sirius shrugged. "I want to see them for myself."
"That's rather dangerous, sharing another man's dreams," Dumbledore pointed out.
"Also I want to..." Sirius felt a small shame creep over him, but he kept on. "Listen, Harry needs to be told who he is and what happened to his parents. He still thinks it was a car crash. I haven't told him, and it's a miracle one of the Weasleys haven't, but it can't go on forever."
"And you want to be rational when you speak with him of the death of your best friend," Dumbledore finished. Sirius nodded. "That is...more understandable. Are you familiar with their use?"
"Yes, more or less. Remus knows more."
"You will be very careful, will you not, about what you show?"
Sirius nodded. Dumbledore rose and walked to a locked cabinet, removing the Pensieve carefully. He placed it into a wooden case, and Sirius flicked the latches shut.
"I owe you an apology," Sirius said. "I knew it was wrong to take Harry."
"You seem to be settling into fatherhood nicely," was Dumbledore's only reply. "What is done is done, and perhaps it was for the best, though that is yet to be seen. Severus Snape will collect the Pensieve when he comes for Harry."
Sirius nodded. "Thank you."
"Have a care, Sirius."
Sirius left the office, the wooden case in one hand, the warning still in his ears.
***
"You know who's really good at this?"
"Don't say Snivellus."
"I do wish you'd stop calling him that, Pads."
"When he stops being a snivelling git, I will."
"He saved Harry."
"And he'll hold that over our heads for the rest of our lives."
"It's probably good for at least ten years, that's true."
"So how do we do this?"
"Well, I very carefully do this..."
"My god, what is that?"
"It's a memory."
"Somehow I thought it'd be less...slimy."
"Thank you. My slimy thoughts."
"Why are you taking out more of them?"
"I've had the dream more than once, you know. I thought if I put a couple of them in there, it'd be more vivid."
"This is disgusting."
"I'm not asking you to drink it, you know."
"All right. So."
"Go ahead."
"Right. I just lean over?"
"Sirius, do you want me to come along?"
"If you think you should."
"All right, on three. One, two, three..."
***
The memory began in the middle of a word, spoken by Remus Lupin, though not at all the voice Sirius was used to; a hoarse, exhausted voice that was closest to how he sounded on full-moon days.
"...rius?"
Sirius opened his eyes and felt Remus, next to him, gripping his arm. And saw Remus in front of him, horribly changed, face lined and grey, eyes tired, shabbily dressed, even skinner than he was now -- badly underfed.
"You see what I mean," said his Remus, the real Remus. Sirius turned in time to see...
Himself. Horrifying, but himself. Changed even more than Remus, skin stretched tight across his skull, yellow and dead-looking, eyes sunken beyond belief, matted hair falling past his shoulders. If Remus was shabby, Sirius was in rags, collapsed against one wall. He could hear a sharp intake of breath. There was a blurred pause, as though for a moment the dream faltered, and then he heard this other-Remus again.
" -- unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"
The guilt flooded Sirius. He had heard those words before, seven years before when he had explained to Remus that he wasn't the Secret Keeper.
He saw himself nod slowly. In the background were other voices, high children's voices asking questions, but in the room only Sirius and Remus, staring at each other across an expanse of dusty board.
He heard a rustling and felt the other Remus brush past him hurriedly. He seized the other Sirius' hand and pulled him up, embracing him tightly.
"You big girl," Sirius said.
"I haven't seen you in twelve years," Remus answered, watching the pair of them hug. "That's a hug of brotherly devotion, that is."
"Twelve years?" Sirius asked, and as soon as he said it he could hear dream-echoes -- the inside of Remus Lupin's thoughts. Twelve years, twelve years, twelve years...
He could still hear children's voices in the faded background, but they were hardly important. Another jerk, as though the dream had for a moment lacked cohesion, and when it was clear again, the pair had separated.
" -- rauder's Map. I was in my office examining it," Remus said. Another disturbance. "And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black.... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow --"
"What's going on?" Sirius asked.
"It's a story I'm telling someone, someone I can't see," Remus answered. "It explains how I got to the Shack."
"Little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!"
They watched as the monstrous Sirius Black lunged for something neither could see, and Remus looked on in worried consternation.
"I can't see him," both Remuses said in unison.
"They need to understand -- we've got to explain --" the other Remus continued.
"We can explain afterwards!" snarled the other Sirius, as Remus tried to grab hold of him. There was another jarring moment.
" -- ever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."
Sirius gasped.
"I told you," Remus said.
"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," the other Remus said. "A whole street full of them..."
"They didn't see what they thought they saw! The Marauder's map never lies...Peter's alive."
"Where?" both Remuses said in unison. "Where, Sirius, I can't see him!"
"Peter's alive..." Sirius insisted. "Peter's alive."
And then there was a rushing feeling and the sensation of being pulled away, and Sirius Black came to himself, sitting at the table in the back room of a tightly-locked-up Sandust books. Across from him, Remus was breathing hard, his eyes unnaturally bright.
"My god." Sirius exhaled shakily. "If you'd told me it was like that -- "
"Now you see," Remus was almost as hoarse as the man in the dream had been. He picked up his wand to begin replacing the memories, but his hand was shaking, and after a second he set it down again.
"You all right?" Sirius asked.
"I'm fine. It's more intense, seeing myself live it, that's all."
"I'll make tea," Sirius said decisively. If his back was turned it would hide the shaking in his own hands.
There had been emotion sensations, not quite identifiable, but Sirius imagined that a regular pensieve memory wasn't like that. It was a memory of a dream, and everything was intensified; taken with the fact that Remus kept so much of his emotions in his head, it was bound to be a more powerful experience.
When he'd seen that shabby, grey-faced Remus hug his own ragged self, there had been some emotion there that was not the brotherly devotion Remus spoke of. Then again, laced all through the dream, there had been raw feelings -- feelings of loss, of frustration, of fear.
He wondered if his friend lived his whole life that way, with the feelings in his head. And that caricature of Remus -- he felt an overwhelming gratitude that he would never see that particular sight again.
"And you see it all the time," he murmured. Remus, who had let his head slide to rest on his arms on the table, looked up.
"What?"
"I said the tea's ready. Lemon?"
"Just milk."
Sirius brought the tea to the table. Remus wrapped his hands around the mug.
"Remus?"
"Mm?"
"You looked...gaunt."
"From what I can gather, the world is not kind to men who don't have their best friends to provide them with indoors employment and overpay them," Remus replied, with a wan smile.
"You been skimming the books again?"
"Yes, as soon as I get a million I'll vanish in the night," Remus answered. His hands were steady, now, and he began to slowly restore the silvery threads of memory. "Harry'll be home soon."
"You're leaving for India tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Want me to come?"
"Nonsense, Harry needs you."
Sirius nodded. "But I need you."
He saw a brief flash of...of something, in Remus' eyes, quickly killed before it even fully became.
"You've got to learn to call out for pizza sometime," Remus said with a smile. "I'll only be gone a few days. I'm planning on being back two days early for the full moon."
"The Shrieking Shack again?"
"It's not so bad."
Sirius shook his head. "Liar."
"Tu periurare timeto -- commodat in lusus numina surda Venus," Remus replied. Sirius grinned.
"I'll have that translated by the time you're back."
"You always say that, and you never do."
***
Harry was drawing in the living room after dinner when Sirius picked him up -- both men had that habit, of simply lifting him by the waist or armpits, moving him about as if he was a piece of furniture, much to Harry's delight. Harry shrieked happily and let Sirius hold him up in the air, legs kicking.
"All right, Harry?" Sirius asked. Harry squirmed, and Sirius tossed him onto the couch.
"All right, Sirius!" Harry cried. "Do it again!"
"Not right now, Harry, I've got to talk to you," Sirius answered, dropping onto the couch. Harry crawled across him and grabbed a book. Sirius closed the book gently.
"We need to talk, Harry," he said, putting it aside. "I need to tell you a story."
Harry looked up at him and grinned, and Sirius ran a hand over his face. In the other room, the actual emotional memories were waiting in a Pensieve; he ought to be able to do this and retain his composure.
"Harry, your aunt and uncle told you that your parents died in a car crash," he said as Harry settled in comfortably. "And now I have to tell you the real story."
"The real story?" Harry asked. Sirius nodded.
"Has Molly been teaching you about You-Know-Who?" he asked. "Voldemort?"
Harry shrugged. "A little. He was a Dark Wizard. He killed a lot of people."
"Aye, so he did. He was a very Dark Wizard, and there were...wizards in Britain who were fighting him."
Harry nodded. Sirius sighed.
"Your parents were two of the people fighting him," he said. Harry's eyes widened. "Along with me, and Moony, and Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professor Snape, and others. Your parents found out he was going to try to kill them, and you, when you were just a wee one." Sirius paused, to make sure Harry understood, and then continued. "So they decided to hide, and they only told one person where they were hiding. One of our friends, named Peter Pettigrew."
"You and Moony talk about him, sometimes," Harry observed.
"We do," Sirius answered. "He was a good friend, so we thought. But he was a spy for Voldemort, and he told him where your parents were. He came to your home, to kill you and your parents."
Harry, caught up in the story, snatched in a breath.
"And that's what really happened to your parents, Harry," Sirius continued. "He killed them. Then he tried to kill you. That's how you got your scar," he added, lifting Harry's hair to press the small lightning-bolt scar with his fingers. "But for some reason he couldn't kill you. He tried, and the spell rebounded. It hit him instead. It killed him."
Harry leaned back against Sirius, curling into one of his arms. "So I killed him."
"No, Harry. He killed himself, trying to kill you." Sirius stroked his hair. "You, little one, are a hero. Everyone in the Wizarding world knows who you are. That's why when you go around with Professor Snape, you have to be in disguise. That's why we have to make sure you're safe, all the time."
"He killed my mum and dad?"
"Mmhm, and he still has followers out there, who might want to hurt you."
Harry considered this. "What happened to Peter?" he asked.
Sirius saw Moony's shadow, leaning in the doorway. "He ran away," Sirius said. "And one of Voldemort's followers tried to kill him, but he got away. He's in hiding somewhere."
"Oh."
"But you're safe here, Harry," Moony added from the doorway. "There are protections on this flat, and on you."
Harry sat in silence for a while, secure against Sirius' warm body, while Sirius stroked his hair.
Sirius could only see the rise and fall of Moony's shoulders, but he knew his friend too well not to see that Moony was weeping, silently. He felt no need to join in the grief; he felt distant, detached from the story he'd told, and knew that the Pensieve had worked.
"Why is Moony crying?" Harry whispered.
"He misses your dad and mum," Sirius answered.
Harry slowly disentangled himself from Sirius' arms and walked over to Moony, who crouched and hugged him when he held up his hands.
"I miss them too," Harry said, and Moony pressed Harry's face to his neck. He felt a few hot tears slide out of his eyes, for the parents he didn't remember.
"We will always, always protect you, Harry," Moony said hoarsely. "Sirius will always look after you, I will always make sure you're safe."
Harry nodded against his neck. He heard Sirius moving, felt him brush past them into the kitchen, and after a while, felt him return. Moony gave him to Sirius and wiped his face. Sirius was grave and silent, Harry's head pressed to his hip, one of his large hands covering the boy's head.
"It's so close to being done," he said, to Moony. "It's so close to being history. They're hardly ghosts anymore."
"Except for Peter."
"Except for Peter," Sirius agreed. "I hope you find the bastard."
"I'll keep looking until I do."
***
As it turned out, Remus didn't get back from India for a week and then some; he sent a desperate telegram to Sandust saying that he was going straight to the Shrieking Shack, and would Sirius please tell Harry he was simply delayed. The telegram was probably the best thing to have done -- Sirius was still wary around telephones, even after seven years in the Muggle world.
Harry knew better, this time, than to shout and stomp when he came home to find Remus curled on the bed, covered in cuts and scratches. Instead he clung to Sirius, who made them a quiet, subdued dinner and took soup in to Remus. Harry, not wanting to be left out, listened secretly at the door as Remus ate his soup, hunched over the bowl, Sirius sitting on a chair nearby.
"This can't go on," Sirius said quietly.
"Other people do it. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're about as far from fine as you've ever been."
"It's not scarring," Remus said petulantly. "And your soup is awful."
"Don't change the subject."
"We've gone over this," Remus said, proving his lie by drinking the soup hungrily. "It's the only way to keep Harry safe. If neither of us are human it's as bad as if we'd left him alone all night. One of us has to be human and sane."
Harry stared hard at the two dim figures.
"What about that potion you were reading about in the Prophet?"
"It's not finished yet," Remus said, coughing as he choked on a noodle. "Mightn't be for years. It's just until Harry starts school, Sirius, that's not long at all."
"Twelve times three is thirty six," Sirius said.
"Two and a half," Remus countered.
"Thirty."
"Minus two -- "
"This isn't a bidding war! This is your life!"
"Yes, it is my life," Remus replied, softly. "My life, Sirius, not yours, not Harry's. We knew there'd probably be some time when you married, or when I moved on from Sandust. You can't be my guard-dog forever." A pause. "What? What's that look?"
"I always thought...I know you don't spend much, I thought maybe you wanted to buy half of Sandust. Someday. Own it with me."
"Oh."
The pair of them lapsed into silence, and Harry slunk quietly into the room.
"Hi there, Harry," Remus said, smiling suddenly. He set the empty soup bowl on his nightstand and gave Harry a hand onto the bed. He might look sick, Harry thought, but his grip was still firm. "And how've you been? Haven't starved, I hope?"
"Nope," Harry answered. "How was India?"
Remus smiled. "Crowded. And futile. But I did bring you a present."
Harry's eyes lit up, but he waited patiently while Remus directed Sirius to his satchel, and a paper-wrapped parcel inside it tied with twine. He untied the twine deftly, and Harry tried not to look at the marks on Remus' hands as he accepted the box from them. He tore off the paper, pulling up the lid, heedless of the tape and slightly torn cardboard.
"What is it?" Harry asked delightedly. He lifted an oblong bronze object out of the tissue paper. It had a scowling, toothy face on one end, and a strange triangular blade on the other.
"It's called a Phurba," Remus supplied. "Tibetan Buddhists believe it's the only kind of knife that can kill a ghost."
"You got him a knife?" Sirius asked.
"It's not sharp," Remus answered.
"Did you go to Tibet?"
"Of course not, do I look daft?"
Harry, meanwhile, was jabbing at Remus' pyjama-clad chest, prodding him with the rounded, dulled blade.
"So if ghosties and ghoulies try anything smart," Remus said, catching the blade in one hand, "you'll be prepared."
"Where can I get one of those?" Sirius asked with a grin. Remus gestured at the satchel.
"Under my socks," he said. Sirius lifted an eyebrow and pulled out another parcel, rather more flat.
"What, you think I was going to bring Harry something and not you, o spoilt one?" Remus asked. Sirius grinned and tore the paper off with significantly more abandon than Harry. He pulled out a flat piece of glass, about the size of a Galleon coin, covered in what looked like gold leaf.
"It's your name -- the name of the Dog Star in Hindi," Remus said. "It's for..." he tapped the side of his neck and Sirius grinned, unbuttoning his shirt collar to reveal the thin nylon dog collar, reading PADFOOT along one side, underneath. He hooked the glass onto the collar and leaned over Harry.
"Think it's good?" he asked. Harry grinned and nodded, and poked him in the collarbone with his dagger.
"Hey!" Sirius swung him up, holding him upside down; the dagger fell onto the counterpane. "I'm not a ghost!"
Remus watched as Harry wrestled his way around Sirius' side, grabbing onto his belt and hitching it up. After a moment they both tumbled to the floor, roughhousing, until Sirius cried uncle.
He thought briefly about the memory he'd shown Sirius in the Pensieve, and gave a little prayer of thanks to any god that might be listening, for the lost owl that had kept him in England on that awful night seven years ago.
***
This time, one of the cuts on Remus' face didn't heal fully, and there was a thin brown scar on his cheek, just in front of his left ear. When he returned to Sandust, several of their regulars commented on it, until Sirius -- slumped on the floor as Padfoot, enjoying the squealing attention of a couple of youngsters in the children's section -- began to growl whenever anyone brought it up. Remus didn't seem bothered by it, but then with Remus it was hard to tell.
It might almost have seemed that their lives had settled once more. Sirius wasn't satisfied with Remus' solution to things, but he accepted it. Harry was attending school, and every so often would go to Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley with Professor Snape. Remus twice caught Sirius trying to sneak after him as Padfoot, and while he agreed that this would have been smart, he didn't approve of spying on them. How was Harry to trust them if he knew they were following him? he asked, and Sirius caved. As usual.
It even seemed as though some kind of truce had been made with Dumbledore, between Remus' peace offering of a rare volume on Phoenix mythology and their agreement to allow Snape to be a part of Harry's education. Snape kept his own counsel on that, though there were murmurings from both men living with Harry that he spent entirely too much time with Slytherins.
Which was why, though Sirius shouted, Remus was pleased when Harry tumbled out of the fireplace one afternoon, after a Saturday spent at Hogwarts, to announce that he'd been invited by Oliver Wood (whowaseleven, Sirius, andkneweverythingabout QUIDDITCH!) to stay in the Gryffindor dormitory for a night.
"He's arranged it with Dumbledore and everything," Remus said reasonably. "And it shows a remarkable independence of spirit..."
"It shows remarkably stupidity on Dumbledore's part!" Sirius was shouting, but at least he was shouting in the mainly-soundproofed back room of the shop, while Harry was out in the front.
"It'll do the boy some good to see how Wizarding kids live," Remus countered.
"He's ours, Remus! He doesn't belong to Hogwarts yet!"
"Oh, I see," Remus said, only a trifle sourly. "This isn't about Harry, this is about what you own and don't own."
Sirius was suddenly dangerously quiet.
"He's ours only in as much as we raise him, Sirius," Remus continued. "He doesn't belong to us. He's a boy, not a book or a strange new toy to play with."
"I know that! Don't think I don't know that!" Sirius snapped.
"Then act like it," Remus said sharply. Sirius stopped, mouth open to reply. After a moment, he shut it.
"You have to be so fucking logical," he said sullenly.
"Well, excuse me for spending two minutes at a time in thought, I'm sure," Remus replied, not at all in the mood to deal with Sirius' attitude.
"I don't want him sleeping in some strange place where we're not there in case he -- in case he needs us!" Sirius continued.
"Sirius, when was the last time Harry needed either of us during the night?" Remus asked mildly.
"He might yet!"
"He's a boy, Pads, he wants to spend the night with his friends in the dormitory. Wood's a Gryffindor, it'll do him good to escape the Slytherins for a while. Why are you so against this?"
Sirius gave him another sullen look, and Remus shook his head. He knew why Sirius was against it. He was used to the lad, used to him being there, used to expecting to wake in the night with Harry needing something, even if he never had.
They were used to Harry, and Sirius didn't like change.
"He'll have fun," Remus said quietly.
"I know."
"Be good for him to make more friends than just Ron and Ginny and the twins."
"I know."
"Give us both the night off. You could..." Remus swallowed and played a bitter but important card. "Take Moira out somewhere. And...and stay out, if you wanted to. Without having to explain it in the morning to Harry."
Sirius rubbed his eyes. "If you make me go out with Moira one more time, Remus, I might kill her."
Remus stared at him. "Make you go out with her? You do realise how very little I like her, don't you?"
Sirius stared back.
"But I thought you...you kept bringing it up..."
"Well, I'm not happy about the idea, you know! But I thought I ought to at least show willing!"
"Show willing?"
"Willing to let you marry if that's what you wanted," Remus answered, controlling himself. "I don't know that it's really very...healthy, the two of us giving up our lives completely. That's why I thought, I don't like the idea of marrying just to give Harry a mum, but..." he made a frustrated noise. "If that was what you wanted I thought I ought to at least offer to watch Harry for an evening."
He gave Sirius a sudden smile.
"And it's not right, you know, a sex maniac like yourself not getting any," he added. Sirius, who'd been staring in consternation and deep thought, grinned.
"Who says I'm not?" he asked.
"I see you in the mornings -- "
"Locker room talk from a respectable shopkeeper like yourself! For shame!"
"Well, are you or aren't you?"
Sirius laughed. "No, as it happens, I'm not. And now that I know you aren't actually behind me going out with Moira, I can stop doing that, and I won't even have any female contact," he sighed.
"She's that bad?"
"She's just not for me. Perfectly nice girl on her own. Not my type."
"Well, what is your type?"
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, making some of it stand on end. "Well, you know. You've met my dates."
Remus made a gesture that might have looked, to a casual observer, as though he was holding two cantaloupes in front of his chest. Sirius laughed. Harry's head poked through the door and he emerged from the front of the store carrying a quill, inkpot, and roll of parchment.
"I need help," he said plaintively. "Mrs. Weasley wants two inches on Muggle literature by tomorrow."
"Well, Harry, welcome to Sandust books," Remus said, with a wry look. "That's all we sell, you know. Mostly, anyway," he added, glancing at one of the high shelves, with the magical books locked in it.
"No, she wants it on someone named..." Harry consulted the scroll. "James Joyce. I'm supposed to find a bi'graphy and Copy Down Important Facts."
Remus saw Sirius' eyes light up. Sirius, against all odds, was passionate about Joyce. Remus privately decided it had something to do with a similarity in lack of coherent thought between the two.
"All right, Harry, let's see what we can find," Sirius said, leading him out into the shop and towards the back sections. Remus was going to follow, out of curiousity, but just then Mr. Barin came in for his weekly helping of gory murder mysteries, accompanied by his daughter, and Remus stopped to talk to them instead.
When he glanced over from his conversation on the merits of Rex Stout he saw Sirius lifting Harry up so that the boy could pull a weighty volume on Joyce off the shelves. Sirius pulled the boy back, whispering something in his ear, and Remus could tell by Harry's reaction that he'd just told him he could spend the night in Gryffindor with Oliver.
It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment.
***
Most of the Gryffindors knew of Parvus, Professor Snape's nephew, because they'd seen him in the halls or heard talk of him; none of them but Oliver had ever had anything to do with the boy, and there were some disgusted looks at Oliver for having invited the eight-year-old to stay in Gryffindor. Some of them were a full ten years older than Harry, after all, and were put out enough that they had to share a Common Room with sprogs like Wood.
But Oliver shared a love of Quidditch with Harry, as well as the feeling that he was always the youngest in the room -- he'd yet to hit any kind of a growth spurt, and was easily the smallest of the Gryffindors. One student, a Slytherin, had remarked nastily that Oliver just wanted someone around who was tinier than he was.
Oliver didn't care. It was worth it to see the look on Harry's face when he walked into the Gryffindor Common Room.
"Hallo then, Wood, is this Parvus?" someone called. Harry glanced up at the portraits on the walls, the old Gryffindor banners, and the high windows, eyes wide.
"Say hi," Oliver urged. Harry grinned shyly and set down the knapsack he was carrying.
"Hi," he said. "Do you really live here?"
There was a general wave of amused laughter.
"Most of the time," one of the bigger kids said. "You like it?"
"Oh, yes," Harry breathed. It was much...well, it was warmer, and friendlier -- though a little shabbier -- than Slytherin's dungeon quarters, which he'd seen a peek of once on his way to Professor Snape's office.
"Wotcha, Parvus, I'm Bill," said the big red-headed boy who bore more than a passing resemblance to Ron. "That's my brother Charlie," he added, and another redheaded boy, somewhat younger, waved where he was bent over some schoolwork. "And that's my other brother, Percy." he pointed to a first-year not much larger than than Oliver. Percy waved. "Perce, come say hi."
"I'm studying," Percy complained. Harry wandered over and peered at his book, which was full of strange symbols.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Percy's advanced," one of the other Gryffindors said, rolling her eyes. "He's already taking second-year Transfiguration. And he's at school a year early."
"Transwhat?" Harry inquired.
"Transfiguration," Percy said. "Want to see?"
"Here, Perce, better not be like last time," another of the bigger kids called. A couple of the younger ones crowded around to watch.
Percy took a chocolate frog out of his pocket and unwrapped it, holding it between his fingers until the charm wore off and it stopped squirming. He set it on the table, pointed his wand at it, and said a few words in what Harry vaguely recognised as the same language Remus and Sirius used when doing magic. The frog twitched.
"Did it work?" Bill asked, leaning over the smaller students.
"I don't think so," Percy sighed.
Suddenly, the frog twitched again. There was a collective gasp. It seemed to leap into the air. Harry watched, utterly fascinated, as it changed into --
A small, yellow rat fell to the table with a thud. Percy looked pleased.
"Caramel!" he said, picking the rat up. He snapped it in half and offered the head and shoulders to Harry. Harry, in turn, broke off half and gave the head to Oliver before popping the front legs into his mouth.
"Not bad, Weasley," Oliver said around the caramel. The other Gryffindors, with looks of approval, began to disperse. Oliver led him over to a table where some children were playing Gobstones, but Harry cast a longing look at the other end of the table, where there was a Wizard's Chess game going on. One of them noticed and grinned at him.
"Like the chesspieces?" he asked, holding up one of them. "Kinda looks like Gryffindor Tower, doesn't it?"
"That's a rook," Harry said a trifle scornfully, and the boy grinned.
"D'you play?" he asked, as Harry moved away from the Gobstones game.
"Si -- " Harry stopped, realising he'd almost made a mistake. "My dad taught me how," he said carefully.
"Want to watch?"
"Check mate," said the girl he was playing against. The boy thudded his head on the table. "Ought to let Parvus play, I bet you two'd be a match," she teased gently.
"I can play," Harry said stoutly. The girl grinned and gestured him forward.
"You sit with me and play Richard, and I'll help you," she said, scooting over and pulling up another chair. Harry sat down and realised his eyes were about level with the table. Bill grinned and, with a flick of his wand, the chair shot upwards, legs lengthening until Harry was on a level with Richard.
Oliver found him, ten minutes later, deep in contemplation of the chessboard. He was looking at it carefully while explaining to Richard how his dad had trained some of the pieces to swear. Richard had obviously decided this was a good idea.
"Who's winning?" Oliver asked.
"He is," Harry answered. "But I'm..." he glanced at the girl, who'd given her name as Nina.
"Making him work for it," Nina said. Harry nodded. Richard made a move, amidst jeering from Harry's pieces.
"He's got the house chess champion helping him," Richard complained.
Oliver patted Richard on the back comfortingly as Harry moved a knight and took one of Richard's bishops.
Harry lost, though it was a close thing, and Oliver took him up to see the first-years' dormitory, showing him the big four-posters and the pictures pasted over peoples' beds, the school trunks and books and rolls of parchment that were the normal detritus of a student bedroom. They looked at Oliver's Quidditch books until the others began to troop into the room and Charlie Weasley, who was apparently a Prefect, poked his head in.
"Lights out, lads. Parvus, are you bunking with Oliver?"
"My dad gave me a bedroll," Harry said, digging in his knapsack and pulling out what looked like a small, squashy red sack. He shook it once or twice and it snapped out into a full, child-sized sleeping bag. Charlie looked impressed.
"Your dad's got a knack, all right," he replied, ducking out again. Harry climbed into his sleeping bag next to Oliver's bed and listened as the others talked about classes, traded quips and teasing one another. It was almost as though they were trying to include him in a way the Slytherins, when they talked about things, never did; with the Slytherins he sometimes felt a little ignored, while with the Gryffindor boys it seemed like they were sometimes talking for his benefit alone.
He sighed happily and curled up in the thick scarlet sleeping bag, listening until he drifted into sleep.
***
In the night, the wind howled around the Gryffindor tower rooms and Harry woke with a start as something crashed; he could see the other children sleeping and thought it must be something they were used to, but not before panic had made his heart thud in his ribcage.
Oliver snorted and rolled over. Harry fumbled for his knapsack and dug around until he found Frog in the very bottom. He hadn't wanted to take Frog out in front of the older boys, but they were all asleep and he wanted something from home. He curled around Frog, pulling the sleeping bag over his head, and tried to block out the sound of the whistling wind, the spring storm that was attacking the castle.
Inside the sleeping bag, it smelled of good things; their flat, and Sirius -- who smelled like leather and motor oil, and usually chocolate -- and Remus' old dusty books that he was forever bringing home to read. Harry inhaled deeply.
"Parvus?" a voice said softly. There was another crash; Harry identified it as thunder. Oliver Wood lifted the top of Harry's sleeping bag slightly. "Are you scared?"
"No," Harry mumbled against Frog's soft fur. There was a rustling, and Oliver crawled into the sleeping bag with him.
"I was, the first time there was a storm. It's all louder up here," Oliver said. The bag was big enough that Oliver could sit crosslegged in it, though the top pressed against his head and made him slouch. Harry grinned at the way it flattened his hair. He sat up too, trying to pretend that he wasn't holding onto a plush frog for dear life.
"We don't have to be scared, though," Oliver continued. "I mean really, we don't, the castle is safe as anything."
"It's loud," Harry whispered. Oliver grinned.
"But we're Gryffindor!" he said. "We're stronger and braver than any other house."
"Do you get to pick what house you go into?" Harry asked. Oliver shook his head.
"You get Sorted," he said. "You should come watch the Sorting next year if Professor Snape lets you. It's brilliant."
"What happens?" Harry asked. Oliver launched into a whispered, detailed description of the Sorting ceremony, complete with a boat ride across the lake, a singing hat, and Professor McGonagall, who could turn into a cat, Harry recalled, whenever she liked, just like Sirius could be a dog.
Harry held Frog and listened, and thought about the fact that years ago, before he was born, Remus and Sirius would have slept in Gryffindor Tower. His dad and mum, too.
At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be Gryffindor House, and play Gryffindor Quidditch, and wear a scarlet-and-gold badge on his school robes.
***
"It's quiet without the lad around, isn't it?"
Remus looked up from where he was stirring the sauce and grinned. "You can say boring if you want."
"I'm not bored," Sirius replied, checking on the noodles. "Five more minutes...you have to admit it is quieter without him."
"He's a good lad."
"I'm just used to being pelted with a thousand questions while making dinner," Sirius continued. "Here, let me..." he took the spoon as Remus stepped aside, promptly licking the end of it. Remus made a disgusted noise.
"Yes, because you never borrow my hairbrush or razor or anything," Sirius replied. "Meatballs ready?"
"Mm, I think so." Remus pushed Sirius' legs out of the way, and took a pan out of the oven. "Looks it. Shall I?"
"Be my guest." Sirius stepped back and let Remus add the meatballs to the sauce, turning down the heat on the noodles. "Shame neither of us took magical cooking seriously."
"Well, I personally remember a black-haired young man announcing he was going to live on Chinese take-away the rest of his life," Remus said, stirring again. Sirius moved to a foil wrapped package on the table and pointed his wand at it. It began to steam.
"I'm glad Harry asks questions," Remus continued. "Shows he's thinking. He'll be years ahead of everyone else when he finally gets to Hogwarts."
"Molly says he's a bright lad."
"Of course Molly says that, she loves the boy like her own," Remus answered with a grin.
Sirius took two wide, shallow bowls from the cupboard, along with a colander. "Well, it's easy, isn't it? I mean, he's smart, and he's a happy little lad, though Merlin knows how that happened, growing up with the Dursleys, and he's going to look -- "
" -- just like James," Remus finished in unison with him.
"I took him to lunch last weekend and when the waiter took our order he asked me what my son was going to have," Sirius said, slightly wistfully.
"Well, it's the hair," Remus answered. "And probably the predilection for making trouble."
Sirius grinned and poured the noodles into the colander, shaking it before dumping them into the sauce. Remus obligingly spooned the spaghetti into the bowls, and Sirius added the garlic bread from the foil package.
"Not too bad, for two confirmed bachelors," Sirius announced.
Remus gave him a dry look. "It's a Friday night, and our idea of a good time is Muggle cooking."
"Well, it's sort of like a hobby, I suppose. And besides, it's a full time job, caring for Harry."
"Mm. I don't know about you, but by the time he's in bed, I'm knackered myself."
Sirius, who didn't often talk at dinner, nodded over his meal. They ate in companionable silence, occasionally broken by a comment on the food or a question about something to do with the bookshop. When they were finished, Remus gathered up the plates, carrying them to the counter and putting the leftovers away. Sirius took the glasses and the pots to the sink, where the scrub brush began to wash them. He turned to take the dishes from Remus, who was hovering behind him, and they nearly collided. Remus froze, dishes in hand.
Sirius was shorter than he was, and Remus had to tilt his head down just slightly, while Sirius, in surprise, looked up.
Remus held his breath, pulse humming. Sirius' nostrils flared.
"Good thing we stopped," Sirius said, after a second. "That could have been a mess."
He stepped back and Remus exhaled quietly, moving to put the dishes in the sink.
"What cologne are you using now?" Sirius asked, as he bent to wipe down the kitchen table. Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I borrowed some of it. Good stuff, thought I might get a bottle."
"Use mine, it's all right," Remus offered. "Less clutter that way."
"Ta. I'll pay you back."
"Wasn't that expensive."
Sirius set the rag next to the sink, washing his hands with some spare suds from the scrubbing brush. Remus leaned on the counter, hip propped against it, watching him.
Sirius stopped, dried himself on a towel, and in one swift, fluid movement, turned and twined both hands in Remus' hair, kissing him.
Remus was so stunned that for a full three seconds he didn't even tense, and by then Sirius' tongue was working its way between his lips and warm laziness was flooding his body. His hands reflexively gripped Sirius' biceps, mouth opening to deepen the kiss, skin oversensitive to the touch of his fingers down his neck, across one shoulder, around his jaw --
He stopped and pushed Sirius away, slowly. The other man looked puzzled, breathless.
"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, tense and wary. Remus reached up unconsciously to touch his own lips.
"No," he said, hand slipping down to rub his chin. "I'm sure you never do it wrong. Why...?"
Sirius looked embarrassed. "Erm. You all right, Moony?"
"Sirius, I..." he shook his head. "Listen, if you want to know what it's like, that's great, I could show you ten or twenty men who'd be glad to tell you, but...you don't get to use me to find out, all right?"
"I wasn't using -- "
"No, it's fine, I know you'd never -- but I'm not a toy, Sirius. For anyone. I stopped that game a long time ago. However good your intentions are, I'm not the one to try them out on. For my sake, for Harry's sake -- not me."
Sirius, dark eyes watching him, nodded slowly. Remus felt his shoulders relax, felt his body settle back into something approaching normal.
"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered.
"It's fine, I said," Remus replied.
He wandered out of the kitchen, sitting at his desk in the corner, neatly sorting the papers waiting for him there. He heard Sirius go into the bedroom, and then duck into the bathroom. Water ran for a moment before Sirius re-entered with a book, and settled into the battered old couch to read. Remus breathed a barely-perceptible sigh of relief.
To the Next Part
Harry was sitting on the bed in Remus' room, holding his globe under one arm; he was pointing at India and looking up at Remus. Remus took his finger and moved it gently about half an inch to the northeast.
"I'm going there," he said, returning to the medium-sized satchel on the bed. He picked up three books and laid them on top of some clothing.
"For how long?"
"Don't know yet. Not more than a week."
"Are you gonna get sick again?"
Remus smiled at the boy. "It's possible, but I shouldn't worry too much. I always get better."
"Harry? Where've you gone?" Sirius' voice boomed from the other room, and they heard the front door slam.
"In here!" Harry called. "I'm helping Moony pack!"
Sirius loomed in the doorway, shedding his leather jacket and boots. "Just been out to see Moira," he said, by way of explanation. "Playing world traveler, are we, Harry?"
Harry presented his globe to Sirius gravely. "Where's Iowa?" he asked. Sirius frowned. Remus reached out an arm and spun the globe, his finger tapping the appropriate place gently.
"There you are then," Sirius said, as if he'd come up with it himself.
"I made up a game," Harry continued. "It's called Where."
"Where what?"
"Just Where. See, I spin the globe, and I find a place..." Harry demonstrated. "And then I go to the encyclopedia you brought from the book shop and find it." He peered at the globe. "Cuz...Cuzek..."
"Czechoslovakia," Sirius corrected. "Tell you what, how about you look up Kyoto instead. It's easier to say."
Harry nodded and left the room, globe under one arm. Sirius leaned against the door frame, watching Remus pack.
"Thought maybe you'd given up on India," he said. "It's been weeks since you were going to go."
This was true; he'd meant to go to India before they'd even brought Harry to his flat, and that was months ago now. Harry'd gone on one more 'field trip' with Severus, and Ron's grounding was nearly over. The full moon was looming next week, but he planned to be back before then. He shook his head.
"I won't be gone long. It shouldn't be too difficult -- I have a friend in Calcutta who's going with me, he speaks the local dialects."
"Listen, Moony -- " Sirius rubbed the back of his head. "Do you think Arthur might be right?"
"About?"
"About Peter. About him being dead."
Remus paused in the act of closing his satchel. "I don't know," he said.
"Then why do you keep...why are you still looking for him?" Sirius asked. "You know I'd come with you in a heartbeat if you asked me to, but you seem to enjoy running off alone, and you know how I feel about the whole mess."
"You'd rather it wasn't remembered at all," Remus murmured.
"I just think after seven years, if he hasn't shown himself, he's probably dead. The British Government thinks so, you know. After seven years missing they declare a chap dead. And I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to kill him, he killed all those Muggles."
Remus sat on the bed, one hand toying with the grips on his satchel. "And if he's not dead?"
"The Dark Lord's gone. Vanquished. Even if Peter tried to come for Harry, or for one of us, he was never a match for us. You and I, Moony, we'll protect the kid. We have so far."
Remus bowed his head. "I know. And this is my way of doing that."
"Chasing ghosts?"
"Dreams," Remus answered impulsively.
"What?"
"I'm not chasing a ghost," he said, standing and rubbing his neck, distractedly. "I'm trying to settle something, all right?"
"Settle what, exactly? Make a bet with Dumbledore that you could catch Peter if he was still around?"
"Listen, three years ago I was entirely ready to give this up," Remus answered sharply. "Do you think I like getting stuck for days on end in some backwater in Chile? You think I actually enjoy awful seedy motels in Toronto?"
Sirius stared at him. Remus was...Remus was angry. That didn't happen. Not without Sirius yelling for at least half an hour first.
"I don't like it. I don't want to believe he's alive, unless it's so that I can strangle the man barehanded, but I think I've pretty much got that impulse under control," Remus continued. "And I was ready to give it up and if these bloody dreams hadn't started up I would have, but they did, and they won't stop, and they don't change. And so I'm stuck wandering the globe when believe me, I would much rather be here listening to you whine about Snape!"
Sirius waited until Remus had let out the rest of his breath. "I don't whine," he said sullenly.
"I'm sorry, Pads. I didn't mean that."
"What dreams? You never told me about any dreams. You sleep like the bloody dead."
"They're not the screaming kind of nightmare," Remus answered, calmer now. "They're not really nightmares at all, I suppose. They're just...things."
"About...about that night?"
"Sort of." He sat on the bed again. "You know how I'm always going on about how if I hadn't been held up from going to Rome, and hadn't made you take that wrong turn while we were looking for Peter, it might've been you who got to him first?"
"Well, I don't know about always, but you do seem awfully fixated on it."
"Listen to me. I have this dream." Remus took another deep breath. "And in it, somehow everything's gotten bollocksed up. It's not now, it's a couple of years from now, and I'm not me. I'm a teacher. At Hogwarts. Only I am me, but not..." Remus shook his head in frustration.
"You're mental."
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
"Go on."
"I'm in the Shack. And you're there, in the shack with me. Only you're not you. You're awful and thin, and your hair's matted. It's a terrible sight, Sirius. And you're telling me that Peter survived, that you tried to kill him but he framed you, made it look like you were the spy, and he got away. And he left fingers behind. And you're telling me this and then you're saying that he's right there in the room with us. Only I can't see him. And I have all these thoughts. They're not mine, but they're about us."
Sirius tilted his head, listening to the low, grave tones. Remus was a werewolf, and werewolves were Dark creatures; still, he'd never heard of a prophetic one.
"The thoughts are...I think to myself, oh god, Sirius has been in Azkaban for twelve years, and I've been spending the whole time just...drifting...thinking you were the spy, and...Sirius, if you could see what you look like in the dream. You keep telling me he's here, Peter's here, we have to kill him, and I can't find him."
Remus paused. Sirius had slid down the door frame until he was crouched against the wall, looking up, hands clasped between his knees.
"I have to find him, Sirius. He's alive, and if I don't find him, he'll come for us."
Sirius nodded, slowly. "You believe the dream."
"I believe something really, really bad might have happened if you'd got to Peter before Lucius Malfoy did. I do believe Peter is alive. And I do believe he's dangerous."
"You don't go about as often as you used to."
"Well, I've learned to tell a decent tip from a dead end, for the most part," Remus answered. "And I won't go about as often, not with Harry here."
Sirius looked thoughtful.
"Could you put the dream in a pensieve?" he asked.
***
Pensieves were expensive to purchase and difficult to make, but Remus balked at asking Dumbledore if they could borrow his. It seemed presumptuous, when they'd caused the Headmaster so much trouble so recently, to go asking him for something like that.
So Sirius did it.
It was the work of a few minutes to get to Hogwarts, and barely a few minutes more before Sirius was standing outside the entrance. He rapped the old Order knock and sure enough, Dumbledore hadn't taken the charm off; he fancied he could hear, somewhere distant, a bell ringing. It had been their code -- if you knocked in the right way, Dumbledore knew you were with the Order, and a bell in his study notified him.
The door swung open and it wasn't long before Sirius, nearly twenty-nine years old and a respected businessman, found himself standing in Dumbledore's study like an errant fifth-year.
"I hope you're not having trouble with Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly, but there was a note of iron behind his blue eyes.
"No, Harry's..." Sirius realised he didn't have words for the way he felt about Harry. He settled for "...fine."
"Molly informs me he's doing well in his studies."
Sirius cursed inwardly. Of course Dumbledore was keeping an eye on Harry through the Weasleys.
"He's a smart boy. He made up this game..." Sirius grinned, and then realised this was neither the time nor the place to play the proud father. "He's fine."
"I notice Remus chose not to come along for this visit."
"He doesn't know I'm here."
Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow.
"Listen, I'm worried about him and I need your help. I know you're furious that we took Harry and I know it's presumptuous of me to ask, and that's why Remus won't, but I need to borrow your Pensieve."
The other eyebrow raised. Sirius fought the urge to snicker.
"My Pensieve?" he asked, slowly. "Why on earth would you need that?"
Sirius toyed with a strap on his leather jacket. "You know he's still looking for Peter."
"As am I."
Sirius glanced up sharply. Dumbledore smiled. "In more subtle ways than your friend."
"Well, he says he's doing it because he's having these...these dreams," Sirius said. "About Peter. And truth be told, I've had a few screaming nightmares of my own about the man, but these sound like they're something more."
"Prophetic dreams?"
"Or...I don't know. Visions of what could have been?" Sirius shrugged. "I want to see them for myself."
"That's rather dangerous, sharing another man's dreams," Dumbledore pointed out.
"Also I want to..." Sirius felt a small shame creep over him, but he kept on. "Listen, Harry needs to be told who he is and what happened to his parents. He still thinks it was a car crash. I haven't told him, and it's a miracle one of the Weasleys haven't, but it can't go on forever."
"And you want to be rational when you speak with him of the death of your best friend," Dumbledore finished. Sirius nodded. "That is...more understandable. Are you familiar with their use?"
"Yes, more or less. Remus knows more."
"You will be very careful, will you not, about what you show?"
Sirius nodded. Dumbledore rose and walked to a locked cabinet, removing the Pensieve carefully. He placed it into a wooden case, and Sirius flicked the latches shut.
"I owe you an apology," Sirius said. "I knew it was wrong to take Harry."
"You seem to be settling into fatherhood nicely," was Dumbledore's only reply. "What is done is done, and perhaps it was for the best, though that is yet to be seen. Severus Snape will collect the Pensieve when he comes for Harry."
Sirius nodded. "Thank you."
"Have a care, Sirius."
Sirius left the office, the wooden case in one hand, the warning still in his ears.
***
"You know who's really good at this?"
"Don't say Snivellus."
"I do wish you'd stop calling him that, Pads."
"When he stops being a snivelling git, I will."
"He saved Harry."
"And he'll hold that over our heads for the rest of our lives."
"It's probably good for at least ten years, that's true."
"So how do we do this?"
"Well, I very carefully do this..."
"My god, what is that?"
"It's a memory."
"Somehow I thought it'd be less...slimy."
"Thank you. My slimy thoughts."
"Why are you taking out more of them?"
"I've had the dream more than once, you know. I thought if I put a couple of them in there, it'd be more vivid."
"This is disgusting."
"I'm not asking you to drink it, you know."
"All right. So."
"Go ahead."
"Right. I just lean over?"
"Sirius, do you want me to come along?"
"If you think you should."
"All right, on three. One, two, three..."
***
The memory began in the middle of a word, spoken by Remus Lupin, though not at all the voice Sirius was used to; a hoarse, exhausted voice that was closest to how he sounded on full-moon days.
"...rius?"
Sirius opened his eyes and felt Remus, next to him, gripping his arm. And saw Remus in front of him, horribly changed, face lined and grey, eyes tired, shabbily dressed, even skinner than he was now -- badly underfed.
"You see what I mean," said his Remus, the real Remus. Sirius turned in time to see...
Himself. Horrifying, but himself. Changed even more than Remus, skin stretched tight across his skull, yellow and dead-looking, eyes sunken beyond belief, matted hair falling past his shoulders. If Remus was shabby, Sirius was in rags, collapsed against one wall. He could hear a sharp intake of breath. There was a blurred pause, as though for a moment the dream faltered, and then he heard this other-Remus again.
" -- unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"
The guilt flooded Sirius. He had heard those words before, seven years before when he had explained to Remus that he wasn't the Secret Keeper.
He saw himself nod slowly. In the background were other voices, high children's voices asking questions, but in the room only Sirius and Remus, staring at each other across an expanse of dusty board.
He heard a rustling and felt the other Remus brush past him hurriedly. He seized the other Sirius' hand and pulled him up, embracing him tightly.
"You big girl," Sirius said.
"I haven't seen you in twelve years," Remus answered, watching the pair of them hug. "That's a hug of brotherly devotion, that is."
"Twelve years?" Sirius asked, and as soon as he said it he could hear dream-echoes -- the inside of Remus Lupin's thoughts. Twelve years, twelve years, twelve years...
He could still hear children's voices in the faded background, but they were hardly important. Another jerk, as though the dream had for a moment lacked cohesion, and when it was clear again, the pair had separated.
" -- rauder's Map. I was in my office examining it," Remus said. Another disturbance. "And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black.... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow --"
"What's going on?" Sirius asked.
"It's a story I'm telling someone, someone I can't see," Remus answered. "It explains how I got to the Shack."
"Little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!"
They watched as the monstrous Sirius Black lunged for something neither could see, and Remus looked on in worried consternation.
"I can't see him," both Remuses said in unison.
"They need to understand -- we've got to explain --" the other Remus continued.
"We can explain afterwards!" snarled the other Sirius, as Remus tried to grab hold of him. There was another jarring moment.
" -- ever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."
Sirius gasped.
"I told you," Remus said.
"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," the other Remus said. "A whole street full of them..."
"They didn't see what they thought they saw! The Marauder's map never lies...Peter's alive."
"Where?" both Remuses said in unison. "Where, Sirius, I can't see him!"
"Peter's alive..." Sirius insisted. "Peter's alive."
And then there was a rushing feeling and the sensation of being pulled away, and Sirius Black came to himself, sitting at the table in the back room of a tightly-locked-up Sandust books. Across from him, Remus was breathing hard, his eyes unnaturally bright.
"My god." Sirius exhaled shakily. "If you'd told me it was like that -- "
"Now you see," Remus was almost as hoarse as the man in the dream had been. He picked up his wand to begin replacing the memories, but his hand was shaking, and after a second he set it down again.
"You all right?" Sirius asked.
"I'm fine. It's more intense, seeing myself live it, that's all."
"I'll make tea," Sirius said decisively. If his back was turned it would hide the shaking in his own hands.
There had been emotion sensations, not quite identifiable, but Sirius imagined that a regular pensieve memory wasn't like that. It was a memory of a dream, and everything was intensified; taken with the fact that Remus kept so much of his emotions in his head, it was bound to be a more powerful experience.
When he'd seen that shabby, grey-faced Remus hug his own ragged self, there had been some emotion there that was not the brotherly devotion Remus spoke of. Then again, laced all through the dream, there had been raw feelings -- feelings of loss, of frustration, of fear.
He wondered if his friend lived his whole life that way, with the feelings in his head. And that caricature of Remus -- he felt an overwhelming gratitude that he would never see that particular sight again.
"And you see it all the time," he murmured. Remus, who had let his head slide to rest on his arms on the table, looked up.
"What?"
"I said the tea's ready. Lemon?"
"Just milk."
Sirius brought the tea to the table. Remus wrapped his hands around the mug.
"Remus?"
"Mm?"
"You looked...gaunt."
"From what I can gather, the world is not kind to men who don't have their best friends to provide them with indoors employment and overpay them," Remus replied, with a wan smile.
"You been skimming the books again?"
"Yes, as soon as I get a million I'll vanish in the night," Remus answered. His hands were steady, now, and he began to slowly restore the silvery threads of memory. "Harry'll be home soon."
"You're leaving for India tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Want me to come?"
"Nonsense, Harry needs you."
Sirius nodded. "But I need you."
He saw a brief flash of...of something, in Remus' eyes, quickly killed before it even fully became.
"You've got to learn to call out for pizza sometime," Remus said with a smile. "I'll only be gone a few days. I'm planning on being back two days early for the full moon."
"The Shrieking Shack again?"
"It's not so bad."
Sirius shook his head. "Liar."
"Tu periurare timeto -- commodat in lusus numina surda Venus," Remus replied. Sirius grinned.
"I'll have that translated by the time you're back."
"You always say that, and you never do."
***
Harry was drawing in the living room after dinner when Sirius picked him up -- both men had that habit, of simply lifting him by the waist or armpits, moving him about as if he was a piece of furniture, much to Harry's delight. Harry shrieked happily and let Sirius hold him up in the air, legs kicking.
"All right, Harry?" Sirius asked. Harry squirmed, and Sirius tossed him onto the couch.
"All right, Sirius!" Harry cried. "Do it again!"
"Not right now, Harry, I've got to talk to you," Sirius answered, dropping onto the couch. Harry crawled across him and grabbed a book. Sirius closed the book gently.
"We need to talk, Harry," he said, putting it aside. "I need to tell you a story."
Harry looked up at him and grinned, and Sirius ran a hand over his face. In the other room, the actual emotional memories were waiting in a Pensieve; he ought to be able to do this and retain his composure.
"Harry, your aunt and uncle told you that your parents died in a car crash," he said as Harry settled in comfortably. "And now I have to tell you the real story."
"The real story?" Harry asked. Sirius nodded.
"Has Molly been teaching you about You-Know-Who?" he asked. "Voldemort?"
Harry shrugged. "A little. He was a Dark Wizard. He killed a lot of people."
"Aye, so he did. He was a very Dark Wizard, and there were...wizards in Britain who were fighting him."
Harry nodded. Sirius sighed.
"Your parents were two of the people fighting him," he said. Harry's eyes widened. "Along with me, and Moony, and Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professor Snape, and others. Your parents found out he was going to try to kill them, and you, when you were just a wee one." Sirius paused, to make sure Harry understood, and then continued. "So they decided to hide, and they only told one person where they were hiding. One of our friends, named Peter Pettigrew."
"You and Moony talk about him, sometimes," Harry observed.
"We do," Sirius answered. "He was a good friend, so we thought. But he was a spy for Voldemort, and he told him where your parents were. He came to your home, to kill you and your parents."
Harry, caught up in the story, snatched in a breath.
"And that's what really happened to your parents, Harry," Sirius continued. "He killed them. Then he tried to kill you. That's how you got your scar," he added, lifting Harry's hair to press the small lightning-bolt scar with his fingers. "But for some reason he couldn't kill you. He tried, and the spell rebounded. It hit him instead. It killed him."
Harry leaned back against Sirius, curling into one of his arms. "So I killed him."
"No, Harry. He killed himself, trying to kill you." Sirius stroked his hair. "You, little one, are a hero. Everyone in the Wizarding world knows who you are. That's why when you go around with Professor Snape, you have to be in disguise. That's why we have to make sure you're safe, all the time."
"He killed my mum and dad?"
"Mmhm, and he still has followers out there, who might want to hurt you."
Harry considered this. "What happened to Peter?" he asked.
Sirius saw Moony's shadow, leaning in the doorway. "He ran away," Sirius said. "And one of Voldemort's followers tried to kill him, but he got away. He's in hiding somewhere."
"Oh."
"But you're safe here, Harry," Moony added from the doorway. "There are protections on this flat, and on you."
Harry sat in silence for a while, secure against Sirius' warm body, while Sirius stroked his hair.
Sirius could only see the rise and fall of Moony's shoulders, but he knew his friend too well not to see that Moony was weeping, silently. He felt no need to join in the grief; he felt distant, detached from the story he'd told, and knew that the Pensieve had worked.
"Why is Moony crying?" Harry whispered.
"He misses your dad and mum," Sirius answered.
Harry slowly disentangled himself from Sirius' arms and walked over to Moony, who crouched and hugged him when he held up his hands.
"I miss them too," Harry said, and Moony pressed Harry's face to his neck. He felt a few hot tears slide out of his eyes, for the parents he didn't remember.
"We will always, always protect you, Harry," Moony said hoarsely. "Sirius will always look after you, I will always make sure you're safe."
Harry nodded against his neck. He heard Sirius moving, felt him brush past them into the kitchen, and after a while, felt him return. Moony gave him to Sirius and wiped his face. Sirius was grave and silent, Harry's head pressed to his hip, one of his large hands covering the boy's head.
"It's so close to being done," he said, to Moony. "It's so close to being history. They're hardly ghosts anymore."
"Except for Peter."
"Except for Peter," Sirius agreed. "I hope you find the bastard."
"I'll keep looking until I do."
***
As it turned out, Remus didn't get back from India for a week and then some; he sent a desperate telegram to Sandust saying that he was going straight to the Shrieking Shack, and would Sirius please tell Harry he was simply delayed. The telegram was probably the best thing to have done -- Sirius was still wary around telephones, even after seven years in the Muggle world.
Harry knew better, this time, than to shout and stomp when he came home to find Remus curled on the bed, covered in cuts and scratches. Instead he clung to Sirius, who made them a quiet, subdued dinner and took soup in to Remus. Harry, not wanting to be left out, listened secretly at the door as Remus ate his soup, hunched over the bowl, Sirius sitting on a chair nearby.
"This can't go on," Sirius said quietly.
"Other people do it. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're about as far from fine as you've ever been."
"It's not scarring," Remus said petulantly. "And your soup is awful."
"Don't change the subject."
"We've gone over this," Remus said, proving his lie by drinking the soup hungrily. "It's the only way to keep Harry safe. If neither of us are human it's as bad as if we'd left him alone all night. One of us has to be human and sane."
Harry stared hard at the two dim figures.
"What about that potion you were reading about in the Prophet?"
"It's not finished yet," Remus said, coughing as he choked on a noodle. "Mightn't be for years. It's just until Harry starts school, Sirius, that's not long at all."
"Twelve times three is thirty six," Sirius said.
"Two and a half," Remus countered.
"Thirty."
"Minus two -- "
"This isn't a bidding war! This is your life!"
"Yes, it is my life," Remus replied, softly. "My life, Sirius, not yours, not Harry's. We knew there'd probably be some time when you married, or when I moved on from Sandust. You can't be my guard-dog forever." A pause. "What? What's that look?"
"I always thought...I know you don't spend much, I thought maybe you wanted to buy half of Sandust. Someday. Own it with me."
"Oh."
The pair of them lapsed into silence, and Harry slunk quietly into the room.
"Hi there, Harry," Remus said, smiling suddenly. He set the empty soup bowl on his nightstand and gave Harry a hand onto the bed. He might look sick, Harry thought, but his grip was still firm. "And how've you been? Haven't starved, I hope?"
"Nope," Harry answered. "How was India?"
Remus smiled. "Crowded. And futile. But I did bring you a present."
Harry's eyes lit up, but he waited patiently while Remus directed Sirius to his satchel, and a paper-wrapped parcel inside it tied with twine. He untied the twine deftly, and Harry tried not to look at the marks on Remus' hands as he accepted the box from them. He tore off the paper, pulling up the lid, heedless of the tape and slightly torn cardboard.
"What is it?" Harry asked delightedly. He lifted an oblong bronze object out of the tissue paper. It had a scowling, toothy face on one end, and a strange triangular blade on the other.
"It's called a Phurba," Remus supplied. "Tibetan Buddhists believe it's the only kind of knife that can kill a ghost."
"You got him a knife?" Sirius asked.
"It's not sharp," Remus answered.
"Did you go to Tibet?"
"Of course not, do I look daft?"
Harry, meanwhile, was jabbing at Remus' pyjama-clad chest, prodding him with the rounded, dulled blade.
"So if ghosties and ghoulies try anything smart," Remus said, catching the blade in one hand, "you'll be prepared."
"Where can I get one of those?" Sirius asked with a grin. Remus gestured at the satchel.
"Under my socks," he said. Sirius lifted an eyebrow and pulled out another parcel, rather more flat.
"What, you think I was going to bring Harry something and not you, o spoilt one?" Remus asked. Sirius grinned and tore the paper off with significantly more abandon than Harry. He pulled out a flat piece of glass, about the size of a Galleon coin, covered in what looked like gold leaf.
"It's your name -- the name of the Dog Star in Hindi," Remus said. "It's for..." he tapped the side of his neck and Sirius grinned, unbuttoning his shirt collar to reveal the thin nylon dog collar, reading PADFOOT along one side, underneath. He hooked the glass onto the collar and leaned over Harry.
"Think it's good?" he asked. Harry grinned and nodded, and poked him in the collarbone with his dagger.
"Hey!" Sirius swung him up, holding him upside down; the dagger fell onto the counterpane. "I'm not a ghost!"
Remus watched as Harry wrestled his way around Sirius' side, grabbing onto his belt and hitching it up. After a moment they both tumbled to the floor, roughhousing, until Sirius cried uncle.
He thought briefly about the memory he'd shown Sirius in the Pensieve, and gave a little prayer of thanks to any god that might be listening, for the lost owl that had kept him in England on that awful night seven years ago.
***
This time, one of the cuts on Remus' face didn't heal fully, and there was a thin brown scar on his cheek, just in front of his left ear. When he returned to Sandust, several of their regulars commented on it, until Sirius -- slumped on the floor as Padfoot, enjoying the squealing attention of a couple of youngsters in the children's section -- began to growl whenever anyone brought it up. Remus didn't seem bothered by it, but then with Remus it was hard to tell.
It might almost have seemed that their lives had settled once more. Sirius wasn't satisfied with Remus' solution to things, but he accepted it. Harry was attending school, and every so often would go to Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley with Professor Snape. Remus twice caught Sirius trying to sneak after him as Padfoot, and while he agreed that this would have been smart, he didn't approve of spying on them. How was Harry to trust them if he knew they were following him? he asked, and Sirius caved. As usual.
It even seemed as though some kind of truce had been made with Dumbledore, between Remus' peace offering of a rare volume on Phoenix mythology and their agreement to allow Snape to be a part of Harry's education. Snape kept his own counsel on that, though there were murmurings from both men living with Harry that he spent entirely too much time with Slytherins.
Which was why, though Sirius shouted, Remus was pleased when Harry tumbled out of the fireplace one afternoon, after a Saturday spent at Hogwarts, to announce that he'd been invited by Oliver Wood (whowaseleven, Sirius, andkneweverythingabout QUIDDITCH!) to stay in the Gryffindor dormitory for a night.
"He's arranged it with Dumbledore and everything," Remus said reasonably. "And it shows a remarkable independence of spirit..."
"It shows remarkably stupidity on Dumbledore's part!" Sirius was shouting, but at least he was shouting in the mainly-soundproofed back room of the shop, while Harry was out in the front.
"It'll do the boy some good to see how Wizarding kids live," Remus countered.
"He's ours, Remus! He doesn't belong to Hogwarts yet!"
"Oh, I see," Remus said, only a trifle sourly. "This isn't about Harry, this is about what you own and don't own."
Sirius was suddenly dangerously quiet.
"He's ours only in as much as we raise him, Sirius," Remus continued. "He doesn't belong to us. He's a boy, not a book or a strange new toy to play with."
"I know that! Don't think I don't know that!" Sirius snapped.
"Then act like it," Remus said sharply. Sirius stopped, mouth open to reply. After a moment, he shut it.
"You have to be so fucking logical," he said sullenly.
"Well, excuse me for spending two minutes at a time in thought, I'm sure," Remus replied, not at all in the mood to deal with Sirius' attitude.
"I don't want him sleeping in some strange place where we're not there in case he -- in case he needs us!" Sirius continued.
"Sirius, when was the last time Harry needed either of us during the night?" Remus asked mildly.
"He might yet!"
"He's a boy, Pads, he wants to spend the night with his friends in the dormitory. Wood's a Gryffindor, it'll do him good to escape the Slytherins for a while. Why are you so against this?"
Sirius gave him another sullen look, and Remus shook his head. He knew why Sirius was against it. He was used to the lad, used to him being there, used to expecting to wake in the night with Harry needing something, even if he never had.
They were used to Harry, and Sirius didn't like change.
"He'll have fun," Remus said quietly.
"I know."
"Be good for him to make more friends than just Ron and Ginny and the twins."
"I know."
"Give us both the night off. You could..." Remus swallowed and played a bitter but important card. "Take Moira out somewhere. And...and stay out, if you wanted to. Without having to explain it in the morning to Harry."
Sirius rubbed his eyes. "If you make me go out with Moira one more time, Remus, I might kill her."
Remus stared at him. "Make you go out with her? You do realise how very little I like her, don't you?"
Sirius stared back.
"But I thought you...you kept bringing it up..."
"Well, I'm not happy about the idea, you know! But I thought I ought to at least show willing!"
"Show willing?"
"Willing to let you marry if that's what you wanted," Remus answered, controlling himself. "I don't know that it's really very...healthy, the two of us giving up our lives completely. That's why I thought, I don't like the idea of marrying just to give Harry a mum, but..." he made a frustrated noise. "If that was what you wanted I thought I ought to at least offer to watch Harry for an evening."
He gave Sirius a sudden smile.
"And it's not right, you know, a sex maniac like yourself not getting any," he added. Sirius, who'd been staring in consternation and deep thought, grinned.
"Who says I'm not?" he asked.
"I see you in the mornings -- "
"Locker room talk from a respectable shopkeeper like yourself! For shame!"
"Well, are you or aren't you?"
Sirius laughed. "No, as it happens, I'm not. And now that I know you aren't actually behind me going out with Moira, I can stop doing that, and I won't even have any female contact," he sighed.
"She's that bad?"
"She's just not for me. Perfectly nice girl on her own. Not my type."
"Well, what is your type?"
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, making some of it stand on end. "Well, you know. You've met my dates."
Remus made a gesture that might have looked, to a casual observer, as though he was holding two cantaloupes in front of his chest. Sirius laughed. Harry's head poked through the door and he emerged from the front of the store carrying a quill, inkpot, and roll of parchment.
"I need help," he said plaintively. "Mrs. Weasley wants two inches on Muggle literature by tomorrow."
"Well, Harry, welcome to Sandust books," Remus said, with a wry look. "That's all we sell, you know. Mostly, anyway," he added, glancing at one of the high shelves, with the magical books locked in it.
"No, she wants it on someone named..." Harry consulted the scroll. "James Joyce. I'm supposed to find a bi'graphy and Copy Down Important Facts."
Remus saw Sirius' eyes light up. Sirius, against all odds, was passionate about Joyce. Remus privately decided it had something to do with a similarity in lack of coherent thought between the two.
"All right, Harry, let's see what we can find," Sirius said, leading him out into the shop and towards the back sections. Remus was going to follow, out of curiousity, but just then Mr. Barin came in for his weekly helping of gory murder mysteries, accompanied by his daughter, and Remus stopped to talk to them instead.
When he glanced over from his conversation on the merits of Rex Stout he saw Sirius lifting Harry up so that the boy could pull a weighty volume on Joyce off the shelves. Sirius pulled the boy back, whispering something in his ear, and Remus could tell by Harry's reaction that he'd just told him he could spend the night in Gryffindor with Oliver.
It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment.
***
Most of the Gryffindors knew of Parvus, Professor Snape's nephew, because they'd seen him in the halls or heard talk of him; none of them but Oliver had ever had anything to do with the boy, and there were some disgusted looks at Oliver for having invited the eight-year-old to stay in Gryffindor. Some of them were a full ten years older than Harry, after all, and were put out enough that they had to share a Common Room with sprogs like Wood.
But Oliver shared a love of Quidditch with Harry, as well as the feeling that he was always the youngest in the room -- he'd yet to hit any kind of a growth spurt, and was easily the smallest of the Gryffindors. One student, a Slytherin, had remarked nastily that Oliver just wanted someone around who was tinier than he was.
Oliver didn't care. It was worth it to see the look on Harry's face when he walked into the Gryffindor Common Room.
"Hallo then, Wood, is this Parvus?" someone called. Harry glanced up at the portraits on the walls, the old Gryffindor banners, and the high windows, eyes wide.
"Say hi," Oliver urged. Harry grinned shyly and set down the knapsack he was carrying.
"Hi," he said. "Do you really live here?"
There was a general wave of amused laughter.
"Most of the time," one of the bigger kids said. "You like it?"
"Oh, yes," Harry breathed. It was much...well, it was warmer, and friendlier -- though a little shabbier -- than Slytherin's dungeon quarters, which he'd seen a peek of once on his way to Professor Snape's office.
"Wotcha, Parvus, I'm Bill," said the big red-headed boy who bore more than a passing resemblance to Ron. "That's my brother Charlie," he added, and another redheaded boy, somewhat younger, waved where he was bent over some schoolwork. "And that's my other brother, Percy." he pointed to a first-year not much larger than than Oliver. Percy waved. "Perce, come say hi."
"I'm studying," Percy complained. Harry wandered over and peered at his book, which was full of strange symbols.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Percy's advanced," one of the other Gryffindors said, rolling her eyes. "He's already taking second-year Transfiguration. And he's at school a year early."
"Transwhat?" Harry inquired.
"Transfiguration," Percy said. "Want to see?"
"Here, Perce, better not be like last time," another of the bigger kids called. A couple of the younger ones crowded around to watch.
Percy took a chocolate frog out of his pocket and unwrapped it, holding it between his fingers until the charm wore off and it stopped squirming. He set it on the table, pointed his wand at it, and said a few words in what Harry vaguely recognised as the same language Remus and Sirius used when doing magic. The frog twitched.
"Did it work?" Bill asked, leaning over the smaller students.
"I don't think so," Percy sighed.
Suddenly, the frog twitched again. There was a collective gasp. It seemed to leap into the air. Harry watched, utterly fascinated, as it changed into --
A small, yellow rat fell to the table with a thud. Percy looked pleased.
"Caramel!" he said, picking the rat up. He snapped it in half and offered the head and shoulders to Harry. Harry, in turn, broke off half and gave the head to Oliver before popping the front legs into his mouth.
"Not bad, Weasley," Oliver said around the caramel. The other Gryffindors, with looks of approval, began to disperse. Oliver led him over to a table where some children were playing Gobstones, but Harry cast a longing look at the other end of the table, where there was a Wizard's Chess game going on. One of them noticed and grinned at him.
"Like the chesspieces?" he asked, holding up one of them. "Kinda looks like Gryffindor Tower, doesn't it?"
"That's a rook," Harry said a trifle scornfully, and the boy grinned.
"D'you play?" he asked, as Harry moved away from the Gobstones game.
"Si -- " Harry stopped, realising he'd almost made a mistake. "My dad taught me how," he said carefully.
"Want to watch?"
"Check mate," said the girl he was playing against. The boy thudded his head on the table. "Ought to let Parvus play, I bet you two'd be a match," she teased gently.
"I can play," Harry said stoutly. The girl grinned and gestured him forward.
"You sit with me and play Richard, and I'll help you," she said, scooting over and pulling up another chair. Harry sat down and realised his eyes were about level with the table. Bill grinned and, with a flick of his wand, the chair shot upwards, legs lengthening until Harry was on a level with Richard.
Oliver found him, ten minutes later, deep in contemplation of the chessboard. He was looking at it carefully while explaining to Richard how his dad had trained some of the pieces to swear. Richard had obviously decided this was a good idea.
"Who's winning?" Oliver asked.
"He is," Harry answered. "But I'm..." he glanced at the girl, who'd given her name as Nina.
"Making him work for it," Nina said. Harry nodded. Richard made a move, amidst jeering from Harry's pieces.
"He's got the house chess champion helping him," Richard complained.
Oliver patted Richard on the back comfortingly as Harry moved a knight and took one of Richard's bishops.
Harry lost, though it was a close thing, and Oliver took him up to see the first-years' dormitory, showing him the big four-posters and the pictures pasted over peoples' beds, the school trunks and books and rolls of parchment that were the normal detritus of a student bedroom. They looked at Oliver's Quidditch books until the others began to troop into the room and Charlie Weasley, who was apparently a Prefect, poked his head in.
"Lights out, lads. Parvus, are you bunking with Oliver?"
"My dad gave me a bedroll," Harry said, digging in his knapsack and pulling out what looked like a small, squashy red sack. He shook it once or twice and it snapped out into a full, child-sized sleeping bag. Charlie looked impressed.
"Your dad's got a knack, all right," he replied, ducking out again. Harry climbed into his sleeping bag next to Oliver's bed and listened as the others talked about classes, traded quips and teasing one another. It was almost as though they were trying to include him in a way the Slytherins, when they talked about things, never did; with the Slytherins he sometimes felt a little ignored, while with the Gryffindor boys it seemed like they were sometimes talking for his benefit alone.
He sighed happily and curled up in the thick scarlet sleeping bag, listening until he drifted into sleep.
***
In the night, the wind howled around the Gryffindor tower rooms and Harry woke with a start as something crashed; he could see the other children sleeping and thought it must be something they were used to, but not before panic had made his heart thud in his ribcage.
Oliver snorted and rolled over. Harry fumbled for his knapsack and dug around until he found Frog in the very bottom. He hadn't wanted to take Frog out in front of the older boys, but they were all asleep and he wanted something from home. He curled around Frog, pulling the sleeping bag over his head, and tried to block out the sound of the whistling wind, the spring storm that was attacking the castle.
Inside the sleeping bag, it smelled of good things; their flat, and Sirius -- who smelled like leather and motor oil, and usually chocolate -- and Remus' old dusty books that he was forever bringing home to read. Harry inhaled deeply.
"Parvus?" a voice said softly. There was another crash; Harry identified it as thunder. Oliver Wood lifted the top of Harry's sleeping bag slightly. "Are you scared?"
"No," Harry mumbled against Frog's soft fur. There was a rustling, and Oliver crawled into the sleeping bag with him.
"I was, the first time there was a storm. It's all louder up here," Oliver said. The bag was big enough that Oliver could sit crosslegged in it, though the top pressed against his head and made him slouch. Harry grinned at the way it flattened his hair. He sat up too, trying to pretend that he wasn't holding onto a plush frog for dear life.
"We don't have to be scared, though," Oliver continued. "I mean really, we don't, the castle is safe as anything."
"It's loud," Harry whispered. Oliver grinned.
"But we're Gryffindor!" he said. "We're stronger and braver than any other house."
"Do you get to pick what house you go into?" Harry asked. Oliver shook his head.
"You get Sorted," he said. "You should come watch the Sorting next year if Professor Snape lets you. It's brilliant."
"What happens?" Harry asked. Oliver launched into a whispered, detailed description of the Sorting ceremony, complete with a boat ride across the lake, a singing hat, and Professor McGonagall, who could turn into a cat, Harry recalled, whenever she liked, just like Sirius could be a dog.
Harry held Frog and listened, and thought about the fact that years ago, before he was born, Remus and Sirius would have slept in Gryffindor Tower. His dad and mum, too.
At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be Gryffindor House, and play Gryffindor Quidditch, and wear a scarlet-and-gold badge on his school robes.
***
"It's quiet without the lad around, isn't it?"
Remus looked up from where he was stirring the sauce and grinned. "You can say boring if you want."
"I'm not bored," Sirius replied, checking on the noodles. "Five more minutes...you have to admit it is quieter without him."
"He's a good lad."
"I'm just used to being pelted with a thousand questions while making dinner," Sirius continued. "Here, let me..." he took the spoon as Remus stepped aside, promptly licking the end of it. Remus made a disgusted noise.
"Yes, because you never borrow my hairbrush or razor or anything," Sirius replied. "Meatballs ready?"
"Mm, I think so." Remus pushed Sirius' legs out of the way, and took a pan out of the oven. "Looks it. Shall I?"
"Be my guest." Sirius stepped back and let Remus add the meatballs to the sauce, turning down the heat on the noodles. "Shame neither of us took magical cooking seriously."
"Well, I personally remember a black-haired young man announcing he was going to live on Chinese take-away the rest of his life," Remus said, stirring again. Sirius moved to a foil wrapped package on the table and pointed his wand at it. It began to steam.
"I'm glad Harry asks questions," Remus continued. "Shows he's thinking. He'll be years ahead of everyone else when he finally gets to Hogwarts."
"Molly says he's a bright lad."
"Of course Molly says that, she loves the boy like her own," Remus answered with a grin.
Sirius took two wide, shallow bowls from the cupboard, along with a colander. "Well, it's easy, isn't it? I mean, he's smart, and he's a happy little lad, though Merlin knows how that happened, growing up with the Dursleys, and he's going to look -- "
" -- just like James," Remus finished in unison with him.
"I took him to lunch last weekend and when the waiter took our order he asked me what my son was going to have," Sirius said, slightly wistfully.
"Well, it's the hair," Remus answered. "And probably the predilection for making trouble."
Sirius grinned and poured the noodles into the colander, shaking it before dumping them into the sauce. Remus obligingly spooned the spaghetti into the bowls, and Sirius added the garlic bread from the foil package.
"Not too bad, for two confirmed bachelors," Sirius announced.
Remus gave him a dry look. "It's a Friday night, and our idea of a good time is Muggle cooking."
"Well, it's sort of like a hobby, I suppose. And besides, it's a full time job, caring for Harry."
"Mm. I don't know about you, but by the time he's in bed, I'm knackered myself."
Sirius, who didn't often talk at dinner, nodded over his meal. They ate in companionable silence, occasionally broken by a comment on the food or a question about something to do with the bookshop. When they were finished, Remus gathered up the plates, carrying them to the counter and putting the leftovers away. Sirius took the glasses and the pots to the sink, where the scrub brush began to wash them. He turned to take the dishes from Remus, who was hovering behind him, and they nearly collided. Remus froze, dishes in hand.
Sirius was shorter than he was, and Remus had to tilt his head down just slightly, while Sirius, in surprise, looked up.
Remus held his breath, pulse humming. Sirius' nostrils flared.
"Good thing we stopped," Sirius said, after a second. "That could have been a mess."
He stepped back and Remus exhaled quietly, moving to put the dishes in the sink.
"What cologne are you using now?" Sirius asked, as he bent to wipe down the kitchen table. Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I borrowed some of it. Good stuff, thought I might get a bottle."
"Use mine, it's all right," Remus offered. "Less clutter that way."
"Ta. I'll pay you back."
"Wasn't that expensive."
Sirius set the rag next to the sink, washing his hands with some spare suds from the scrubbing brush. Remus leaned on the counter, hip propped against it, watching him.
Sirius stopped, dried himself on a towel, and in one swift, fluid movement, turned and twined both hands in Remus' hair, kissing him.
Remus was so stunned that for a full three seconds he didn't even tense, and by then Sirius' tongue was working its way between his lips and warm laziness was flooding his body. His hands reflexively gripped Sirius' biceps, mouth opening to deepen the kiss, skin oversensitive to the touch of his fingers down his neck, across one shoulder, around his jaw --
He stopped and pushed Sirius away, slowly. The other man looked puzzled, breathless.
"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, tense and wary. Remus reached up unconsciously to touch his own lips.
"No," he said, hand slipping down to rub his chin. "I'm sure you never do it wrong. Why...?"
Sirius looked embarrassed. "Erm. You all right, Moony?"
"Sirius, I..." he shook his head. "Listen, if you want to know what it's like, that's great, I could show you ten or twenty men who'd be glad to tell you, but...you don't get to use me to find out, all right?"
"I wasn't using -- "
"No, it's fine, I know you'd never -- but I'm not a toy, Sirius. For anyone. I stopped that game a long time ago. However good your intentions are, I'm not the one to try them out on. For my sake, for Harry's sake -- not me."
Sirius, dark eyes watching him, nodded slowly. Remus felt his shoulders relax, felt his body settle back into something approaching normal.
"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered.
"It's fine, I said," Remus replied.
He wandered out of the kitchen, sitting at his desk in the corner, neatly sorting the papers waiting for him there. He heard Sirius go into the bedroom, and then duck into the bathroom. Water ran for a moment before Sirius re-entered with a book, and settled into the battered old couch to read. Remus breathed a barely-perceptible sigh of relief.
To the Next Part
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ROFL!
And I am not a R/S shipper, but I like the way you write
them!
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latin
Re: latin
Re: latin
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But I love the sputtering and the "you don't get to use me" bit :)
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(Anonymous) 2012-09-20 01:47 am (UTC)(link)no subject
Perfect.
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Is there more?!
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it's nice...
it's as if you're saying that in all "side-reals" (in all infinite possibilities of reality) somethings are constant and meant to be:
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"Molly says he's a bright lad."
"Of course Molly says that, she loves the boy like her own," Remus answered with a grin.
--------
wonderful.
some things were meant to be.
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Looking forward to reading the rest...
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this reminds me that you get rid of hermione, and it's one of the only things that i'm dissatisfied with in this series.
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/random nosiness
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Stealing Harry, 9 - 11 of 28
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...love.
The scene where Sirius and Remus were telling Harry about his parents was absolutely bloody brillant. Just...okay, I cried. And the line about Remus couldn't tell who he loved more in that moment made me squee.
And that end....*sputters again*
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Clever.
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Didn't know if it was deliberate, thought I'd point it out.
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I love, love, LOVE this story. While I'm no R/S shipper (generally I'm not a big shipper), this is just beautiful. Everything.
I rarely come across a story that makes me feel so excited and warm inside, this does. I've also laughed out loud and said something worryingly close to awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww during the last chapters :) You probably heard this before, but you are a brilliant writer. I need to get up in five hours and I'm in love with this story.
It's perfect perfect perfect.
The name Parvus Rana is hilarious, but the godawful Latin student in me (emphasis on godawful, sadly) is wondering whether it shouldn't technically be Parva, even though Harry of course isn't female. Is there a masculine form of rana? What about all the male frogs? :D
Sirius and Joyce is another gem. I'm trying to read Ulysses, which works somewhat as an antidote against boring English lessons I spend in an almost comatose state, and I simultaneously love and hate Joyce. Lack of coherent thought, indeed.
And now I'll read on.
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I quite like Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, but it's really the only Joyce I'm at all fond of.
Tom Stoppard said that James Joyce was an essentially private man who wished his total disregard for the rest of humanity to be universally acknowledged. :D
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I love the characterization of Harry (although I wouldn't know much about eight-and-a-half year olds), especially his boundless enthusiasm for Quidditch. I also think that you've handled the relationship between Remus and Sirius extremely well.
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I figure I might as well mention something, even though it's been forever since you posted it, but I guess for future reference-- Hindi is the language, while Hindu is the religion (I'm refering to the Dogstar's name being written in Hindi). It's obviously only a minor detail, so whatever. :-D
I'm really enjoying all your other work as well, and hope to see more of "Legion of Ghosts" soon.
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And thanks for the tip about Hindi versus Hindu -- I try to do my best to keep everything accurate, but some information is less easily accessible than I could wish. I need to do some reading-up on Indian and Hindu culture...
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Some of the best writing i've ever read in fandom. Very intelligent and witty. And, anyone who can toss in Joyce is a god. And yes, Joyce is just as incomprehensiable as Sirius. I love that he loves it.
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It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment. "
Awwwww.
"Somehow, he felt as though they were trying to include him in a way the Slytherins, when they talked about things, never did; with the Slytherins he sometimes felt a little ignored, while with the Gryffindor boys it seemed as though they were sometimes talking for his benefit alone."
I love the Griffindors.
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I think I've re-read the whole thing through, so far? Hmm. A good five times, maybe? Six? A little bit more? Someone ought to be keeping track of it. *g*
I can't wait for the next chapter of LCC, considering it's been a while since you updated. *g* Thanks!
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Again, let me say how very well this is written and how much I enjoy this. And finally, a kiss! Although I am a bit disappointed in Remus´ response, pushing Sirius away like that... I realise I hadn´t commented on Harry yet, who is an adorable and lovely child. I actually do like him a lot more than canon!Harry, so kudos to you.
My favourite lines from this installment:
When he glanced over from his conversation on the merits of Rex Stout, he saw Sirius lifting Harry up so that the boy could pull a weighty volume on Joyce off the shelves. Sirius pulled the boy back, whispering something in his ear, and Remus could tell by Harry's reaction that he'd just told him he could spend the night in Gryffindor with Oliver.
It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment.
This made me go all soft and smiley.
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"Twelve times three is thirty six," Sirius said.
There's thirteen moons in a year, not twelve. XD
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Oh, that is just too good lol. No comment on that :-P Other than I love their interaction. It's so dear. Sirius IS such a whiny brat and Remus is just so practical in a Remus way. I simply adore them. And Harry, ... sure Remus is right, they don't own Harry, and if I recall he means it in other ways too. But he's wrong. Harry's THEIRS. Just looking at it, I mean I like to imagine James and Lily alive and Harry having to deal with Uncles Sirius and Remus, and some tot they've adopted as their own (Yes, in my mind Remus is very much gay/bisexual and Sirius is bi. That is canon :-P lol). But that's not what worked out and I enjoy how this has worked out, they've become such a family. They're becoming more and more of a family, I adore it. It's a natural progression that isn't rushed because they're all growing and dealing with Sirius posessiveness and Remus' worries and Harry learning how to be a kid. Fantastic way you display it, it's written and depicted really well and clearly.
It would have been impossible for Remus to say which of the two he loved more, in that moment. Bah! *sighs* Point exactly :-D
Oh, and Little Ollie? Oh, goodness he's soooo adorable! He is elevenandknowsomuchaboutquidditch! Your depiction of children is very well done.
Oh and thumbs up on how you did the first kiss. The uncertainty and the 'it'll shatter if it goes wrong' feeling was very palpable.
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"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, tense and wary
I especially love that. It's such a Sirius thing to be worried about. :)
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Sirius
(Anonymous) 2009-08-18 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)B: Barely straight. Barely. He's just made it past the fine line.
C: Crazily oblivious. He's kind of clueless when it comes to poor Remy. I love them together. It's something that obviously happened, I mean, how couldn't it have?
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and as a Latin major, just when I thought you couldn't do better that Parvus Rana, you have Remus quote Ovid!! Fantastic!!