Give unto Rowling, etc.


Chapter 2,

Wherein Harry explores new terrain

and

Meets new people

./

The misgivings of Remus Lupin

"Harry? Harry, where are you?"

Not on this floor, it would seem. That was a pity, as it was the top floor of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, unless the damned house was hiding things from him, of course. Remus Lupin wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it did. Could it hide things from him, he wondered now as he searched the rooms on the top floor for Harry. It wasn't Hogwarts, after all. Some sort of partial Fidelius charm? No. That would require a Secret Keeper, and the only living member of the Black family was- Hold on: Sirius wasn't the only living Black. Did Bellatrix and Narcissa count as family? Probably. Could cousins inherit the position of Secret Keeper from a family member? The death of the original Keeper would have done that, if they had been into the secret. But would a seriously paranoid wizard hide a part of his house but entrust the secret to his relatives? Hardly. The only reason to hide a part of your family home was to hide it from snooping relatives, wasn't it? Anyway, Harry could not have known the location of extra rooms hidden in that way. Right. So, where was Harry?

The attic, maybe? Remus pushed open a door. The door revealed a pristine carpet of dust. One sniff confirmed this: Nothing living here, not even rodents. And that meant that Harry had left the house, alone, without telling Remus where he was going. He was not supposed to do that! Had he changed his mind about not visiting Sirius? Remus hoped that he hadn't. Or maybe he hoped that he had. Harry at St. Mungo's would be bad, Sirius's treatment was difficult enough, without interruptions. Harry not at St. Mungo's meant Harry somewhere unknown, and that was potentially awful. Dumbledore had confided in Remus that he had his misgivings about Harry leaving Surrey. Harry living in London, he must have meant. Too much temptation to leave. Damn those Blacks! Why couldn't they have put their insane wards on some nice, isolated place in the countryside? Orkney was the place for reclusive, antisocial wizards, not fucking London. Not that the Blacks had been reclusive. They had just had a penchant for avoiding and ignoring their neighbours. Also, a penchant for having neighbours who would notice that they were being ignored.

Remus sighed. He only wanted to keep Harry safe, but the world in general and Harry in particular seemed to object to that. Of course, Remus was used to the world objecting to him. He almost wished that Dumbledore hadn't asked him to step in for Sirius. Not because he didn't want to take care of Harry, he did. He owed it to James and Lily, too. A debt to murdered friends, however, did not exempt one from possible failure.

../

The dangerous escapades of Harry Potter

Meanwhile, Harry was browsing books. He had left Grimmauld Place by bus, the neighbourhood being less than inviting, and Harry simply had had to go out and walk off his confusion. His discussion of the previous night with Kreacher had been difficult, impossible, perplexing and surreal. In that order.

Difficult, because the old elf had, at first, obeyed Harry's orders, as he had to.

Impossible because upon being questioned about his problems with Remus Lupin, the old elf, instead of responding with his usual mild insults, had embarked on a tirade of epic malignancy; something like a stampede of tiny, but furious hippogriffs.

Harry had finally intuited that Kreacher had a personal problem with Lupin which was based on rather more than the latter's lycanthropy. Unfortunately, the house-elf's furious temper had prevented him from answering any other question.

Indeed, Harry soon had wondered if that had been the only reason for the tantrum. If that was the case, then Kreacher had been leading him on, but to what avail? Harry had tried to recollect his experience with Dobby, the only other house-elf he had ever met. He had wished – briefly – that he had reacted to Dobby the way Hermione would have, i.e. frantically tried to find out everything about house-elves. He knew from his experience that house-elves could avoid their masters, could even leave them, for short periods of time. When they weren't in the same room as their masters, that is, when their masters could not made them look at them, the elves could even avoid obeying.

Had Kreacher tried to provoke Harry in sending him away, so that he could then hide from him? That would have been a minor catastrophe at the very least, as the house was barely manageable with the elf.

Harry had retreated hastily and attempted to ask Kreacher about the members of the Black family that the house-elf approved of. No specific questions, just a request to tell him, Harry, about them, seeing as he was living in their house, etc. That question had been meant to divert the elf while not sending the elf away; he did not want to give Kreacher the opportunity to start hiding but he had had to think.

Kreacher however had been curiously non-averse to answering questions about his beloved masters. He had not been forthcoming, but the question had calmed him down. A little. Harry had listened patiently to the – now adoring – tirade about Kreacher's wonderful master and mistress, who would, if only they had lived, surely have ordered Kreacher's head to be mounted on a plate. Someday. Harry was sympathetic; an observer, had there been one, might have deduced that Harry's experiences with obsessed friends, death anniversaries, crazy teachers and Hagrid's adorable pets had left him with an unusual capacity for empathy and understanding. Or, alternatively, with a really good poker face.

Enquiring about Cygnus Black's daughters had left him with the impression that the sainted Walpurga had not entirely approved of Bellatrix, or stopped approving after certain facts had become known. The curious thing was that Kreacher, while abusing poor Andromeda Tonks at great length – ungrateful girl, dared to disobey Kreacher's poor mistress, always nice to Kreacher, brought shame on poor mistress's brother, such a sweet child, dared run away with dirty mud-blood, dirty mud-blood not good enough for ungrateful Black girl, disobeyed her poor father, should have married Kreacher's poor master Regulus, kind master Regulus, as kind as awful girl – had still conveyed his own fondness for her. Did that mean that Kreacher's abuse and insults was mostly his masters' words that he was repeating? Come to think of it, could it really be that Kreacher wanted to be killed and displayed like an animal?

Curious as he was, this was obviously a very delicate question, nothing that Harry could have pursued just then. He had therefore decided to enquire about Regulus Black, the last person whose name he remembered.

And struck gold.

It had been hours before Harry had ordered Kreacher to go get some sleep. He'd had to think. He had to sleep, poor Harry was unbelievably tired, not to mention poor Master Harry's poor brain, which had been blown to pieces. But afterwards he had to think. He had to corroborate this story, he had to find out what that locket was. He had to figure out whom he could trust. Kreacher had not told him what was wrong with Remus, but he had convinced Harry, had helped him see, finally, that things very often were not what they seemed.

And now Harry was buying books. He had slept well but woken up early. Kreacher had woken him, and presented him with a coffee, explaining that Master Harry could now leave the house unhindered, the nasty wolf was still asleep. Kreacher's diction had improved overnight, Harry had noticed. So had his appearance. That was interesting. Master Harry should not waste time looking at Kreacher, Master Harry wanted to go out, Kreacher knew. Harry had been a little apprehensive. Dumbledore had explained at great length why Harry should not go out on his own.

Come to think of it, he hadn't. He had- He had just said it in many different ways? Could that be true?

Harry had tried to remember every discussion he had had with the Headmaster at the end of the previous school year. His memory obliged him with all sorts of details. Dumbledore's robes, Fawkes's occasional "comments", the exact taste of the lemon drops – they were surprisingly sweet, once you gotten used to them – the portraits' attention. No reasons, though. No explanations.

Just Dumbledore instilling his worries into him.

Things are not what they seem.

He had to get out of there! He dressed in a hurry, downed Kreacher's coffee (nice, not too strong, requiring only one lump of sugar) and left. The bus had taken him to a decidedly nice part of London. Then Harry had walked. Walking, he had recently found out, would uplift his mood, no matter how bad it had been to begin with. During the first weeks in London he had taken many long walks in parks, listening to Remus's stories about the Marauders' school years. He had enjoyed the stories, of course he had. Even thought they had made him sad and somehow, despite the company, lonely. The parks seemed to be empty, all of them and all of the time, but for Remus and him.

Today he he was alone and he craved company, so he stayed on the crowed streets, always choosing the direction that seemed to lead him to more people. He was still on his own, but he did not feel so lonely, in the crowds. Strange, that. It was a beautiful summer day; many of the people he saw were obvious tourists. Harry found an inviting sandwich bar and bought breakfast to eat while walking; he did not want to stay in one place. What could he do, apart from walking? He had to do something, or he would get bored and return, and it was such a beautiful day. There were shops everywhere, weren't they? He could spend some time window shopping and browsing.

And so he had ended in a book shop in a decidedly Muggle street and holding a book with runes on the cover. An amulet, showing some sort of animal and a ring of runes around it, to be precise.

Apparently Muggles not only knew about Runes, they were interested in them, too.

Harry considered the possibility that Number 4, Privet Drive, did not contain everything there was to know about the non-wizarding world. It was frightening... it was something he had known, or at least suspected, a long time ago. Before Hogwarts.

"An interest in Indo-European studies, I see. Very commendable, young man. Very commendable."

Startled, Harry looked up at the elderly man who was talking to him. This man, looking at him as he did over the rims of his reading glasses, had a strict, but not unpleasant aura. Also, a an accent that Harry couldn't quite place and a general air of bookishness. The proprietor of the shop, apparently.

"Ah, yes. I was actually looking for an introduction." He wasn't, he had just picked up the book in surprise, but something about the situation made him modify that. "A friend of mine started learning Runes a year ago and, and she would tell me all about it, and it sounded interesting, so-" That at least was a fact.

"Really? What does your friend study?"

Damn, Harry thought. Indo-european studies? Now he thinks my friend is a university student, or something. Can I pretend that Hermione is a budding historian? He decided to stick with the exact answer: "Anglo-saxon runes, I think."

"A linguist, or a historian, then," the man said pleased. "A serious student. And she aroused your interest as well. Serious interests of young people must be encouraged, I always say. I have a couple of titles on Old English and related subjects. Most of them are rather advanced, of course, but some of them would do as an introduction, if you are not afraid of long words. I do not suppose that you remember any of the titles your friend uses?"

"Er, no, unfortunately not, sir. To tell you the truth I wasn't that interested until a couple of weeks ago. "

"Summer holidays less then riveting?"

That was a way of putting it, Harry thought: "Yes."

"Well, why don't I show you the books I have?" He stalked to a nearby book shelve, looking like a stork in tweeds and reading glasses Hm, Timofeeva is very advanced, obviously, and Wagner is both advanced and rather restricted in his views-"

Harry sneaked a look at the titles and decided that they were in Anglo-saxon themselves. Ælfric's Colloquy? Non-finite constructions? An account of old English stress? What had he done, he wondered. The proprietor was still wandering around and mumbling names, or possibly titles. Harry picked one at random and looked at the back cover:

"During the fifth and sixth centuries, England was conquered and peopled by pagans (Saxons, Angles, Jutes, etc.) from the shores of the North Sea; the center of emigration was near the mouth of the Elbe." Then came the Normans, he added silently to himself, and after them the Goblins. And somewhere in between there were Vikings, too.

Harry's historical knowledge was sketchy, if not random. The result of stopping regular education at eleven and being taught by a goblin-obsessed ghost ever since.

"This reader, I think, and this introduction into early English history. Solid introductions, both of them."

Harry looked at the covers. He was not entirely sure what he was doing here, apart from enjoying a couple of hours alone and unsupervised. The title proclaimed the book to be a history of old English. He looked at the table of contents, then at the introduction. Did he want it, he wondered?

He had wandered in here because... well, because. But he had money, he reminded himself. He could afford a book, even two. If nothing else, they would make good presents for Hermione, wouldn't they? He would need good presents for her. He was still feeling a little bad about the distance between the two- the three of them during the last year.

"I'll take both," he said.

The man appeared to have made up his mind about something: "I wonder. Does your interest in Runes have anything to do with the sowilo on your forehead?"

"Sowilo?"

"The s rune of the Elder Futhark, rather than the sigel, the s rune of the younger one, or of the of futhork."

Harry had always thought of his scar as lightening, and the s rune in his book had not reminded him of that, so he had never considered it. But now he was looking at an illustration that the proprietor of the book shop was showing him, and the likeness of this rune to his scar was rather obvious.

"It was an accident. I've always thought of it as lightening, to tell you the truth."

"That's probably for the best. Although I do wonder if-" He stopped himself, and Harry realised who he reminded him of. The man reminded him of Mr. Ollivander, and Harry braced himself for hearing something he'd rather not know.

"I wonder if you could use this book here. It is not a scientific work, far from it. I ordered it sometime ago after reading a sociological paper on the likes of this ...author," he said, managing to convey intrigue, disapproval and amusement at once. "I hesitate to show it to you," he continued now, taking a book from his desk, "but something tells me that you, and possibly your friend, would appreciate the unintentional humour of this work. Unless it is intended and they know that they are writing books for fools, one never knows with these people." And he presented Harry with a shiny black paperback. The title meant nothing to him, but the subtitle gave him a start:

"Runic magic?"

"Yes, indeed. It is not a book on such practices in ancient times, you understand, although it does contain references to ancient historians that are not erroneous."

A book on magic. A muggle book on magic. Harry had thought that muggles meant circus tricks when they used that word. Or things that do not exist, of course, things in fairy tales and films. He had another flashback to Privet Drive, where fairy tales, fantasy films and circus tricks had been as unwelcome as Harry. Only one example of being muggle, he reminded himself.

"Do people seriously believe in this," he asked, his surprise by no means feigned.

"I couldn't say. I never know if the people who read horoscopes do, either. I just know that people make money with it. Which I do not intend to do. I will give you this book as a present, if you want it. That should help remind you to not take it too seriously."

"You mentioned that references to ancient historians weren't incorrect," Harry said. It was a question, actually, and later, when reviewing this talk, he would be utterly surprised about his own sneakiness, for that was what it was. He wanted the book at all costs. A muggle book on magic, for Merlin's sake! How could he resist something as strange as that? He knew he was channelling Hermione here, but that worried him less than the option of not getting this book.

"Those that I recognise are correct, and the author cites all his sources, so you could check them for yourself."

"In that case I 'll take it. But I do not mind paying for it. If nothing else it will amuse Hermione."

"Hermione is your studious friend, I take it. No, I insist. Let it never be said that I've sold a book on occultism. I am far too old to change my view of myself."

Harry looked questioningly at him, and the man smiled in return: "Best if you don't know, young man. Best if you don't know."

/

a part of Harry that Harry hadn't known

"You dirty halfblood! How dare you befoul the house of my ancestors?"

"Harry? Harry you are back! Where have you been?"

"Kreacher has prepared lunch for master, does Kreacher's master wish to eat in the winter garden or in the green dining room? The green dining room is now fit to be used by Kreacher's master and his wolf, if master so wishes."

Walpurga Black's portrait and Remus Lupin lost their respective voices. Even Harry was amazed. Never having heard anything but abuse from Mrs. Black he had come to assume that her portrait was incapable of normal speech. However, it seemed that the moving picture was also capable of being shocked into silence.

Harry was the first to recover: "Thank you Kreacher. I'd like to eat in the green dining room. Remus, will you join me? We can talk over lunch."

Remus was looking from Kreacher to the portrait and back. Kreacher's stance was gracefully rigid; his demeanour was respectfully oppressive.

The pillow case was clean and starched. Kreacher radiated stoicism and patience with his supposedly betters.

The portrait was radiating hate and despair, as Mrs. Black looked ready to burst into terminal tears. Poor Mrs. Black, Remus Lupin thought for the first and last time in his life. Pure blood supremacist thwarted by house-elf. Obviously, Remus had no idea in just how august company Mrs. Black was in this her defeat.

"Why, yes," he finally managed to say. "Lunch in the green dining room, why not? Where is the green dining room?"

"Master Harry please follow Kreacher."

The green dining room, newly free of pests and dust was a far friendlier room than one might have expected of Grimmauld Place's previous occupants. Harry wondered if Kreacher had completely redecorated a room so that it fit his new masters' requirements. He would ask him later, he decided. He had a lot to learn about house-elves and was not going to neglect it. He had much to learn, and he was not going to neglect any of it, actually. Remus was either too relieved to have him back or simply waiting for Harry to confess his sins of his own accord. Harry was familiar with a great many interrogation techniques and he was not going to tell more than he wanted to share. But what did he want to share? How much would he have to share in order to find things out in turn?

Thank Merlin for lunch; it gave them something to do while his mind was furiously considering possibilities. Also, it was quite good and he was hungry. He wondered how Kreacher had known what Harry and Remus liked.

"Remus? Do you know how elves know what to do for their families?" He studiously avoided the word 'master'. No reason to point out that Kreacher has suddenly accepted him as such.

"Their bond allows them a certain insight into their masters' needs and preferences," said Remus who had noticed it all by himself. How could he have not? "I understand that this knowledge comes to them like intuition. They simply know some things, just as they simply know who is part of their bonded family and who isn't."

"I wondered if the nasty things Kreacher would say under his breath when we came here where his own opinion or simply what his old masters would have said. For example, when I asked him Andromeda Tonks-"

"You asked him about Andy? Why? Did you meet her, was anything wrong?" Remus suddenly sounded very worried.

"Of course you'd know Andromeda. No, I've never met her. I just thought that it could be a good idea to ask Kreacher about his bonded family, that maybe he'd warm to me if I showed interest in them. As you see it worked."

Remus broke into a wide grin: "Harry, that was a brilliant idea, absolutely brilliant. Did you read something that made you try that or did you think of it yourself?"

The odd thing was that Remus pleasure in Harry's idea appeared – felt, even though Harry had no idea how he would feel something like that – genuine. Yet he was interrogating him: Whom had he met, to whom had he talked, where was he going, what was he reading. Some of this questions would have been natural interest and care. All of them together made Harry swear inwardly.

"I just wondered what to do about him, and thought, you know, human interest. It was the polite thing to do. I am living in his house, after all, no matter that he is an elf."

Remus smiled warmly: "It is only polite, of course, but most wizards have very little regard for the feelings of magical creatures. "

"Yeah, those heads on the wall were a hint, " Harry said. Remus snickered.

"Do you know anything about the origin of that bond, Remus?" Two people could ask questions, and Harry was not going to leave the Quaffle to the other team.

Remus looked pensive: "No, I don't. That is, I have heard a couple of stories but they are all different. It is one of these things that are like that because they were always like that. You know."

Remus knew about the Quaffle, too, and he knew how not to keep it when it did not suit him.

"No common points? Pity," said Harry. "It would have been too easy, I suppose."

"Harry, where were you today?"

"I went for a walk in Muggle London. Looked at some shops, enjoyed the weather."

"Muggle London? Why not Diagon Alley?"

"Why should I? I had nothing to do there, and it occurred to me that there is more to London than two hidden streets, and that since I live here now I might just as well have a look at everything. "

"But what would interest you about Muggle London? All your friends are wizards, Harry," Remus persisted.

Now this comment would have merited a little explosion, Harry thought detachedly.

Whose fault was it that Harry only knew wizards, was one angle. So, what, was another. Was he supposed to ignore nine tenths of the world because they wear more modern clothes? Were wizards one tenth of the world population or were they less? Was Remus trying to imply that Harry should not be interested in Muggles?

Harry had spend ten miserable years with the Dursleys, far too much time with rigorous restrictions as to what he was allowed to see and know of the world. He would not accept new restrictions just because they were a reversal of the old ones.

"Remus, I am happy to tell you what I did and where I went. If you want me to warn you next time I leave the house I will do that, too. If you want to come along next time I won't mind, either, but do not tell me what I am supposed to like. I know that myself, thank you very much."

"Harry, you realise that the world is less safe for you than for other people, don't you?"

"I do realise that I lived in Surrey for ten years and no one tried to snatch me on my way to school and back, or at any other time when I was neither in the house nor with my wonderful blood relatives. Anyway, what do you expect, a Death Eater attack on the City? The old Death Eaters are too busy pretending that they have turned into proper members of society and their precious Lord is nothing but a bloody bodiless shadow. Do you really think they will lift a finger for him now? The only danger I've ever faced outside Hogwarts was Sirius, for god's sake!"

"Harry, you have no idea about Voldermort's whereabouts or plans."

"Surprise, Remus: Neither do you, or anyone who isn't bloody Lord Voldemort."

"We know what he wants, Harry."

"We think we do. What we know is that he has no body, and that in this state he can possess one person at a time."

"Harry, be sensible," Remus said tiredly.

"I will gladly consider it after you tell me exactly what you mean by being sensible and why that is supposed to be good for me. I want to cooperate, but I will not accept hiding in this house and being told nothing at all about things that concern me. "

The Harry that Harry knew would have shouted. At the very least he would have been fuming, would have spoken in a voice trembling with barely suppressed anger.

This Harry that Harry was now meeting for the first time in his life, however, was a different person. Presumably he had manifested spontaneously in the course of the last couple of weeks, although there had been traces of him in the other Harry's life. It might have been him who would talk back to the Dursleys, who would keep his self-respect no matter what that would cost him. It was the person who had planned and managed Hagrid's lessons. Harry had met the courageous Harry; he knew him quite well by now, the one who would go after Dark Lords, Basilisks and stand between Sirius and a nearly demented with rage Snape.

The new Harry was the one who knew and planned in advance. The loss of Hermione, as old Harry saw it, might have contributed to the solidification of this Harry. He had very nearly lost the person who had stepped into this role for him back in second year, and somehow he had never gotten her back. Maybe that loss, painful as it had been, had triggered something. Maybe it was something that would have happened anyway as Harry got older. Harry himself felt that it was being happy: His life was far from perfect, with Sirius in St. Mungo's and a Remus, who, as Kreacher insisted, was nothing but a mouthpiece for Albus Dumbledore – tricky old wizard, dirty old wizard, left Kreacher's family die out, dirty old man heavy with secrets, Kreacher knows, sneaky old man, trying to steal from library of Kreacher's masters, tries to take things out of Kreacher's masters' house, thieving old man –

But now, for the first time in is life Harry was neither with the Dursleys nor at Hogwarts: Neither being treated like dirt, nor being subjected to the mood swings of an entire school; pupils as well as teachers. No one was shouting at him, no-one was complaining about him as if he weren't present, causing Harry to retreat into himself and lie low lest he attracted irrational irk.

But no-one was trying to kill him, either. No danger triggering the appearance of Hero Harry, no- one expecting him to save their sorry asses. No-one in the immediate vicinity, at any rate.

Time heals wounds. Harry had always healed in less time than others; his life and sanity had depended on it. Now, being in no imminent danger, rather than healing, Harry was growing.

:::

and an epilogue in the thick of things

"You need to be patient Harry," Sirius said seriously. "Remus means well. That's the whole problem, really. He, too, lost his family when you did. We were his family, not just his friends. Now he got two of us unexpectedly back and he is besides himself with worry that something might happen to you. Or to me, I suppose," he added, smiling wryly.

Harry, still in Harry-the-Thinker mode, considered his godfather's assessment.

"There 's more to this than paranoia and over-protectiveness, Sirius. At times, when we talk, he seems to want to tell me things, or to explain something, but then he catches himself. Why would he do that if he wasn't following another person's instructions?"

"You believe in Kreacher's theories about Dumbledore," Sirius said non committally. "You realise that that elf has spend ten years taking insane orders from portraits?"

And whose fault is that, Harry did not ask. Sirius was being careful, he knew that. He was being everything that Dumbledore had implicated he would not be, namely calm and non confrontational. Unless you were one of the healers, Harry supposed. Interestingly, when he had talked to one of them about Sirius's awful manners towards them the healer had said that patients sometimes would choose to vent their frustration on them rather than on their respective families. The other way around was more common, the healer had said, and that he personally preferred serving as the target himself as anger needed venting and he knew to not take it personally. Now, if Harry would come along, he wanted to check if the potions he had prescribed were taking effect as they should. Sirius remarks about his treatment had alerted Harry to his own less-than-healthy upbringing. Hogwarts food and his stays at the infirmary had, in a roundabout way, taken care of most of his problems, according to the two healers who had examined him. Potions were extremely efficient medicine, Harry realised. A potion for the after effects of a broken bone, for example, would benefit the whole skeleton, if the subject was young and still growing. Still, they had suggested that he take some additional potions for "his nerves", not clarifying whether they were referring his temper, the cells that connected his organs with his brain or both.

It would be some time till even the new Harry realised that the healers were being spectacularly discreet, that Madam Pomfrey might have been the same, or that their nonchalant attitude towards Sirius might have originated in the general events of the past couple of months. Harry-the-Thinker was unpractised, and he had spend most of the weeks that had rocked the wizarding world in the comparative isolation of Hogwarts Castle.

"Elves mend fast. A little interest in your family was all it took for Kreacher to turn into a quintessential English butler," Harry said. "He's even taken to wearing starched pillow-cases, did I tell you that?"

Sirius grinned broadly: "Really? Like the guy in the books you bought me?"

Remus had insisted on accompanying Harry to his next Tour de Londres. Harry had included more book shops, having had the bright idea to buy a couple of 'funny novels' for Sirius's amusement. Both of them having no idea what to actually buy they had stuck to the classics, as the shop assistant had called them. They had re-emerged from the shop with a collection of very gaudy paperbacks. Harry had not resisted the temptation to add some fantasy and science fiction. Remus had laughed tears. Sirius, sensing that he was about to become the butt of a joke had chosen the book with the least disconcerting cover and met Jeeves. He was now assuming that they had meant to frighten him with the idea of human servants – preposterous, of course, but funny, once you got over the initial shock. Imagine, a servant who managed his masters!

Harry was optimistic that this false sense of security would soon lead him to pick up a book about celibate wizards and he grinned in anticipation: "Better. You 'll see."

"Pup, I know that smirk and I know how to deal with it. Prank me at your peril is all that I will say. Now, about Remus. He will calm down soon, you'll see. Remus was never as crazy a risk taker as James or I, but he has his own sense of humour. It is just a question of him starting to trust his environment again."

"Being a werewolf is that hard, isn't it?"

"You have no idea. With recent laws especially it is practically an invitation to have friends in high places or be exploited and mistreated. There's currently a proposal for a law that's making the rounds among the families with seats in the Wizengamot. If it gets approved it will be a penalty to not inform people about your werewolf status."

Harry shivered: "How about a law for free distribution of Wolfsbane potion by hospitals? Would make much more sense. It's not as if they weren't giving out all sorts of shit."

Sirius raised an eyebrow: "Shit, Harry?"

"Vastly useful concoctions that happen to taste badly. You know what I mean. Are you still on mirth in a cup and Dreamless Sleep?"

"Dreamless Sleep, and one drop of Felix Felicis every now and then. My current prison guards have decided that making me crave the occasional happy moment will work better than keeping me permanently high. I think that someone may have instructed them on human nature while I wasn't looking." He then grinned like a dog, and Harry realised that he'd rather not wonder what Sirius meant. Not if he wanted to avoid terminal embarrassment.

"Canine nature, you mean. They have realised that the best they can do is to show you a bone but not give it to you."

Sirius grinned even wider. What had Harry said?

"That's what I said. Pup. But I am not complaining. It makes no sense to get stuck in the distant past because that is supposed to be where my happy memories are."

"Aren't they there, in the time before Azkaban?"

"I'll tell you a secret, Harry. The Dementors start with your happiest memories, just as you learned at school. Normally they kill their victims fast. If you stay alive, though, they move on to the shreds of happiness in your everyday memories, turning every single memory, good or bad or neutral into a burden. Random strangers become irritating fools and friends become monsters without a single redeeming quality. And it won't be lies that you will be seeing. It will be your friends' actual bad sides, only they will have eclipsed all the good ones."

"You mean-" Harry stopped himself. Hagrid had told him about constantly relieving the worst moments on his life, but Hagrid, thankfully, had not stayed in Azkaban for long. Harry saw now that afterwards Professor Dumbledore had hastened to provide Hagrid with something really big and positive in his life, namely the post of Professor for Care of Magical Creatures. Something to look forward to, to keep him from brooding over the past. But why wasn't he seeing that Sirius needed the same? Harry knew that Dumbledore had been in favour of the original treatment.

"I mean that I know that Remus, through no mistake of his own, is leading a godsawful life, and that he is the worse for it. But this is something I know intellectually. There is no positive feeling towards my old friend. Yet." Here Sirius stopped, and looked away. "I hope that I will get there," he finally continued quietly. "I will get there, if I only keep reminding myself of what I know to be true."

...and Sirius was studiously avoiding the topic of Dumbledore, new Harry noticed, but Harry proper was in too much of an inner turmoil to make anything but a mental note of that.

"Are you all the time like this," he asked timidly. He did not dare mention his parents, now. He had been looking forwards to Sirius's stories about them, but now? How could he ask, knowing that Sirius had to remind himself that they had not been- what? What would they have turned into, during twelve years in hell? What else to call a place were the souls of living human being were eaten one piece at a time? Why not kill them for heaven's sake, and be done with it?

"I hope that you are not afraid to ask me about James and Lily, Harry. I need to talk about them as much as possible. I need to start remembering them properly."


Misc: The book seller's views on occultism are a toned-down version of things I've heard by similar people. I am not actually trying to insult anyone here.

Things are still happening in a roundabout way. I wanted to give Harry a nice time before I start throwing things at him. Also, in my experience things do happen in roundabout ways, and tend to be more interesting for it. I will tone down my attempts at stream-of-consciousness, though.