A/N: I think this fic might need some explaining. It was sparked off by my sudden revelation that Sirius was born and bred in London and so, from my humble Black Country perspective, is a bit of a posh Southerner. I'd long thought of Remus as being Northern (spurred on by David Thewlis' Lancashire roots) thus I reckoned some good old fashioned ribbing of the North/South divide was in order.

To help with this, I've spent 'bath' as 'bath' when said with a flat, Northern /a/ sound, and 'barth' when said with Sirius and Dora's longer, RP /ɑː/, and the same goes for path and grass.

(Oh and to save any confusion, in the North, 'aunt' is pronounced 'ant')

The title makes reference to Watford Services being the gateway to the North.

Disclaimer: All of the characters featured are the property of J. K. Rowling.

The Watford Gap

"Are you having a bath tonight, Dora?" Remus, huddled into a corner of Andromeda's charity shop rescued suite having swiped Sirius' copy of 'Brave New World', called over to the Tonks' five year old daughter, who was absorbed in vivaciously creating tangles in Sirius' usually immaculate dark hair. Remus caught him flinch as her toy brush snagged on another knot. He was lying on a Ribena stain in the cream carpet, pretending to be asleep, much to Dora's amusement.

"Bath?" Dora repeated, pausing to look up at him, her small hands entangled in Sirius' matted hair, curiously echoing the flat, Northern vowel. "Bath. S'not bath," she said, and giggled, "It's barth."

Sirius cracked open an eye and grinned sleepily up at her, "You tell the nasty Northerner, Dors."

Remus glared affectionately at him, and Sirius stuck his tongue out in return. "It doesn't really matter, Dora."

She nodded with a five year old's firm conviction, "It does. It's barth."

"Well I say bath," Remus smiled, closing his book and dropping it onto the coffee table, where it lay between interlocking rings from countless mugs, and rested against a disused place mat.

"Why?" Plaintive and pouting, Dora shuffled across the carpet towards him, "S'not right."

"It's right where I come from," Remus laughed, "Bath and grass and path."

"Barth and grarss and parth," Dora said, nodding with every correction, "Siri says barth too."

"So it's got to be right, yeah Dors?" Sirius rolled over onto his stomach and grinned up at Remus. "Not like those funny Northerners who don't know barth's got an 'r' in it."

Dora considered this for a minute, her brow furrowing in confusion, "But-"

"Ignore him, Dora," Remus laughed, "He's having you on."

Dora only continued to look confused, pulling herself up lazily using Remus' knees. "What's having me on?"

"He means I was joking, Dors," Sirius said, stretching his long arms away over the carpet, "See, Rem, gotta talk proper to Dora. None of your weird Northern crap. She's a proper little Southern darling like all the best people."

Remus glowered at him, taking Dora's hands and pulling her up next to him on the sofa. "Everyone speaks differently, Dora," he smiled at her, "Which is why I don't sound like your great Southern nancy of a cousin."

"And why I know how to say aunt." Sirius grinned back up at him, "And I know bus has an 's' in it."

Dora stared raptly at Remus, as if he was some sort of linguistic experiment gone horribly awry. "Say bus, Rem."

"Buz," Remus said, and then laughed, as Dora giggled happily, her and Sirius sharing a conspiratorial look. "Alright, alright," he smiled at them, "You've marked up Dora's map of the North with 'here be dragons', Sirius. Now are you having a bath of not, Dora?" He shot a pointed glance in Sirius' direction, only to have 'barth' thrown back at him, the vowel drawled out long and loudly.

Dora laughed happily, proud to have been the cause of such linguist commotion. "I want a bath," she beamed, adopting Remus' Northernness with aplomb.

"You gonna thank, Rem then, Dors?" Sirius grinned.

"Thanks," Dora said, glancing at her cousin for reassurance. He winked back at her.

"Rem doesn't understand thanks," Sirius smirked, "You've gotta say 'ta'." Sirius impression was a scarily accurate approximation of Remus' soft, Northern burr. The two men's eyes met, and Remus couldn't help but laugh.

"Ta," Dora beamed, "Ta, ta, ta, ta."

"S'right," Sirius grinned, "Mommy's not gonna understand you, Dors – she's never been past the Watford Gap in her life."

"Dora's been asking me if she can have a bath," Andromeda's voice floated from the dull plastic receiver and into the cramped living room of the Brixton flat. "I don't understand where's she's got it from."

"Remus's been leading her astray," Sirius laughed, winking at the perpetrator of that heinous crime against Southernness, who was curled up in his usual armchair by the radiator. "He'll have her asking for black pudding and tea cake next."

Remus glared blearily up at him, finishing the last few pages of his book as the conversation wound down to a close.

"Your Northernisation of my little cousin has been very successful." Sirius came and sat on the arm of Remus' chair, brushing his fingertips over the newest scar, glowing pinkly underneath his left eye. "I hope you're happy."

"Not everyone talks like they've got a plum up their backside, posh bastard," Remus murmured, leaning into Sirius' palm, his tired eyes flickering shut.

"Barstard, Remmy, get it right," Sirius admonished. "I'd offer you a barth, if I didn't think you'd decline on principle."

Remus opened his eyes and stared at him, "You can't refuse me a bath on the basis of our linguist differences," he yawned. "That's barbaric."

Sirius smirked and kissed him deeply, "Thought the North was full of barbarians, and dragons and cold tin baths."

Remus knocked him gently, "And the South was full of nancys and fruitcakes. Well," he smiled, sliding a hand under Sirius' t-shirt, "They were right about that, at least."

"North not full of homophobes either then?" Sirius grinned at him, resting his forehead against Remus', his eyes blackened by the cheap halogen lights, "I've never caught you sneaking around in a flat cap."

Remus laughed quietly, "You are ridiculous, Pads."

"But…" Sirius stroked a strand of hair away from his face.

"But I will accept your offer of a bath, despite our linguistic differences," Remus smirked.

"That was not what you were meant to say," Sirius snorted, kissing him softly.

"What exactly was I meant to say then, Mr Black?"

"I love you, you ridiculous idiot," Sirius mumbled.

"I love you, too, you posh prat," Remus murmured in reply, "Despite the silver spoon wedged in your mouth."