Susan M. M.: Re: smart girls allowing boys to win at checkers. Yup. Marigold meant well, but instead of telling Petunia to find someone who could appreciate her sarcasm, she tells her to dumb herself down to the level of a person who can't. We see how well that works out, at least for Petunia. But yes, Marigold's generation believed in it devotedly, and Marigold herself is obviously a bit of an example of it. It worked well for her, thus the advice.

Moi: Good point.

Re: Guest: Yes, I'm aware I whiffed second year. Sorry about that. Not my favorite book. I may rewrite the relevant chapters.

Many thanks for the reviews, I'm often fascinated what works for the readers and what doesn't.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: DARKNESS VISIBLE

In which Sirius Black replaces the problem of being incarcerated with the problem of being not incarcerated, and Petunia struggles to find a solution.

After Sirius's acquittal, the Aurors had processed him through their system, returned to him the pitiful cache of belongings that he had been originally arrested with, and unceremoniously dumped him on the street outside Carrick Court. A rag-tag group awaited him, consisting of his old friend, Remus Lupin; his cousin Andromeda Tonks, her husband Ted, and her daughter, Nymphadora; Minerva McGonagal; and Petunia Dursley and Titus McWhirter.

They escorted the bewildered Sirius back to his family townhouse, 12 Grimmauld Place, in London. Despite his disinheritance by his family, this piece of family real estate still belonged to him, apparently as a result of the wizarding equivalent of an entail. There was also an inheritance from a renegade uncle, a country estate in a state of complete dilapidation (fit only to be torn down, according to Pompey's report), and a small trust of entailed capital; it appeared at least that Sirius would not be penniless. Petunia was distressed to see the state of the townhouse; it was scarcely a cheerful spot. She had never visited an aristocratic pure-blood abode before, and after an encounter with the shrieking portrait of Sirius's mother, had reason to congratulate herself on the omission. She also began to understand him rather better. I don't think Walburga Black was a nurturing soul. Just a random guess.

The Sirius Support Group divided their tasks equally, or tried to, but because Petunia was the only one without an outside job or a spouse, the lion's share just naturally seemed to fall to her. At first she didn't really mind that she had to escort Sirius to Gringotts to discuss financial ways and means with the Goblins. Following Marcella's example, she demanded an accounting for ever service they claimed that they rendered his estate during his sojourn in Azkaban, and received a sizable discount of their fees after a good deal of wrangling. Sirius was not the slightest bit interested; but Petunia found that she enjoyed it nearly as much as Marcella had on her previous Gringotts visit.

Petunia then analysed Sirius's income to determine whether he needed to rent out the townhouse to survive. It appeared not, but he would have to live within a budget. She organized that for him and set out spending limits, which he exceeded within the first five minutes. He seemed to do it deliberately, just to demonstrate to everyone that he had no restrictions on his behaviour now that he was out of Azkaban. Titus had warned her that he would find a lack of structure disorienting, but Petunia felt his actions smacked more of defiance. I think I'm becoming a replacement for his mother, and as such, I'm already on his nerves, and vice versa. Just what I don't need: another rebellious adolescent.

Speaking of Titus, Petunia urged Sirius to commence treatment at St. Mungo's for the effects of his incarceration. Sirius refused outright. He wasn't crazy, he said. Not now, and not ever, and he didn't need a mind healer, thank you very much. That was his opinion, Petunia thought. Sirius seemed to have a host of self-destructive habits, each more distressing (and irritating) than the last. Maybe Walburga Black was a screaming lunatic because he'd driven her mad. There are times when I consider it not at all impossible.

Titus, whom out of desperation she had taken to consulting on the sly, warned her that Sirius's behaviour was the equivalent of a toddler's testing of a parent, and Petunia could see this clearly enough; it didn't, however, make it any easier to bear. Especially because Sirius was not a toddler, but an alleged adult with a collection of not necessarily useful coping mechanisms all of which Petunia recognized very well from her days of incarceration by the King of Passive-Aggression, Vernon Dursley.

She decided to concentrate on what she could change for now. Petunia looked at the grimy state of Number 12, and decided to invest in a cleaning crew, and to discourage pilfering, supervised them closely. Sirius couldn't stand the noise and dust, he said, and went to stay with his cousin Andromeda Tonks for the duration. Petunia was rather relieved. She was able to complete the work far quicker that she would have had she had to monitor Sirius at the same time, and he took a good bit of monitoring, especially his moods.

The moods were nearly always negative ones, no surprise. Sirius still suffered from nightmares, depression, insomnia, and anxiety attacks. The physical symptoms of his incarceration were just as enduring; he had migraines, stomach pains, skin problems and chilblains, among other things. Under these circumstances, it was often very difficult to keep his mood elevated, especially as he refused medical help beyond routine visits to Madam Pomfrey.

Petunia did try. The boys helped; in their undemanding company, Sirius relaxed, and even intermittently cheered up. He talked with them about his school days incessantly, and like Lupin, hit all the wrong buttons, as far as Petunia was concerned. She had to ask him to include Dudley more and to de-emphasize the risk-taking in his past. Sirius would try hard for a bit, and then regress. Petunia, trying not to lose her temper, would ask him again, and again he would amend his behaviour-for awhile. But it was never permanent.

For that reason, and others, Petunia did not like to take the boys to Number 12; it was quite a trip during the school year, and even after it was cleaned up, the place had a depressing, funereal air. "Like the Dementors take a trip through it once per week, just to maintain the gloom," as Harry phrased it.

Sirius dealt with that problem characteristically. No, he didn't go out and rent himself a flat. That would have been logical; God forfend a wizard ever use logic. So one morning when Petunia passed the same cottage in which she and Titus had hidden Sirius while he was on the run, she noticed that it was occupied. When she opened the door and stepped in, wand at the ready, she encountered Sirius himself, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and eating what looked like stale biscuits.

"What on earth are you doing here, Sirius?" Petunia asked blankly.

Sirius looked guilty, but explained that he wanted to be closer to Hogwarts, where he could more easily visit the boys and Lupin.

"You could have taken a room at the pub, or asked me if you wanted to stay here," Petunia said, annoyed, looking about the untidy cottage.

"You've done a lot for me already," Sirius said, staring at his hands, "and I didn't like to ask you for more." No, you just took it. And you didn't ask because you suspected I'd say no. But Sirius's hangdog air made Petunia feel ashamed of her irritation, and she eventually agreed that he could stay in the cottage until the end of term, and pay her a peppercorn rent for the privilege, such as it was. But then, she insisted, he would have to find his own quarters. Oh, be honest. At the end of term, I'll have to find new quarters for him, or he'll be here until Doomsday, and beyond.

By way of getting Sirius on his way, Petunia considered getting him a job; it would help distract him, she thought, and he'd meet some new people with whom he didn't have a past, which she felt was probably desirable. He had been a trainee Auror in the past, but it seemed that was impossible now. She talked to Dumbledore about a teaching position, aware that Sirius's demonstrative lunacy would be no bar at all to his enlistment in Dumbeldore's employment to judge by the Headmaster's hiring history; but he told her regretfully that there were no openings on the staff at present. She then decided that Ministry should employ Sirius and engaged Mr. Flywheel to threaten a lawsuit over wrongful imprisonment, not to mention a complete lack of due process. She had hoped that the Ministry would offer Sirus some sort of job in compensation, but alas, they decided upon a lump sum settlement instead. Petunia was exasperated. If there was anything Sirius didn't need right at the moment, it was more money. It would just encourage idleness on his part, and idleness encouraged him to obsess about his past, rather than plan for his future.

Then Petunia had the bright idea of seeking a girlfriend for Sirius; someone suitable to take him off her hands. I don't like to phrase it like that, but that's what it's beginning to amount to. There were very few candidates in Hogsmeade or on the Hogwarts staff, however. After due consideration, Petunia invited Septima Vector, who appeared to be the youngest staff member, over for Sunday tea with Sirius and the boys. Alas, Vector proved to be one of those people who lived so far into their own heads that nothing short of a mallet to the knee was likely to get their attention. She drank tea politely, but appeared to be computing logarithms in her head. Sirius was restive; he obviously resented her presence. "Why did you ask her?" he asked Petunia later. Petunia told him that she had wanted to discuss with Professor Vector the possibility of Dudley taking Arithmancy, and for once was glad that wizards seemed unable to process logic of any description, because Sirius appeared to accept this without comment.

Petunia next thought of Nymphadora Tonks, the young daughter of Sirius's cousin, Andromeda Tonks, nee Black. Tonks, as she preferred to be called, was probably too young, and rather too flighty. But she was pretty enough, and magical, and had the distinct advantage of being cheerful. She also had a sense of humour, an absolute requisite for dealing with Sirius. Not a perfect match, but a possible one, until it became obvious that she had an inexplicable—to Petunia-crush on Remus Lupin, of all people. Petunia could just imagine the scene when Tonks introduced him to her parents. Oh, God, I can remember my own father begging me not to marry Vernon Dursley. There must be a special circle of Hell designed for parents watching their children making horrifying mistakes. Not that Sirius was much less of a horrifying mistake than Lupin, she supposed, but at least the casting of silver bullets need not be involved.

Petunia remembered the posters she had seen in Sirius's old bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place during her supervision of the cleaning crew: they had featured motorcycles and bikini'd girls, and he had favoured, she noted, buxom brunettes. Marigold Evans had used to laugh at one of her cousins, who showed up at every family event with a girlfriend; and though it was a different girl each time, they all looked exactly alike. "Men usually have a template of what attracts them," she had said to her daughters, shaking her head, "and it very seldom changes."

With this notion in mind, Petunia looked about Hogsmeade, and settled on Madame Rosmerta, the barmaid at the Three Broomsticks. A bit older than Sirius, perhaps, but having sampled Walburga Black's parenting style, Petunia concluded that perhaps he needed the maternal type. And indeed, when they lunched in the pub with the boys, Sirius showed more interest in Rosmerta than he had in Vector or Tonks. Or at least Petunia thought so, given his staring at Rosmerta's well-displayed décolletage. He responded, rather hesitantly at first, to her gentle teasing. For awhile, Petunia was quite hopeful that it might develop into a relationship, but though Sirius seemed to enjoy visiting the pub, and joking with Rosmerta, he appeared to make little progress beyond that.

Maybe I'm rushing it, Petunia thought despondently. It's going to take time. The only problem with that is, Sirius is going to drive me as mad as his barking mother if this goes on much longer.

Petunia did try hard to be patient, but gradually she began to resent the suspension of her own life in favour of directing Sirius's. And it's hard to always be the most cheerful person in the room, dammit. And equally gradually the rest of the Support Group simply faded away and let her do nearly all the work of supporting Sirius's spirits, and damn hard work it was. Requests for help were politely declined; everybody seemed unfortunately too busy right now, maybe in two weeks... Titus, who could have assisted her, was only able to help indirectly, because of Sirius's allergy to mind healers. Petunia grew exhausted and frustrated. Both she and Sirius might have muddled through to the end of the term, when she expected to regain her freedom, but the boys were the rock on which they split at last.

Sirius had, to Petunia's deep disapproval, recovered the motorcycle he had owned before Azkaban. She tolerated it, simply because riding it was one of the few things that seemed to cheer him up. But she drew the line at the boys riding with him. He took chance after chance, he speeded; in short, she felt he was both an unsafe driver and a bad example to two impressionable thirteen-year-olds.

Sirius duly promised her that he would not give the boys rides on his motorcycle, but somehow Petunia was not the least bit surprised to come home from shopping one Saturday afternoon to find Sirius aloft on the bike, speeding happily along, Dudley riding pillion, and Harry riding piggy-back, and just barely hanging on, to Petunia's horror. Her furious denunciation of his manners and morals (and his inability to keep his promises) made Sirius abashed; the boys had begged him, he said, and he couldn't bear to say no.

"You had better learn to say no, or you can leave at any time," Petunia snapped, for once unafraid of his reaction. She was frightened, which made her angry.

So Sirius promised again. Petunia would not see the boys riding the bike again, he swore. That promise meant only that he and the boys moved the location of their motorcycle rides to the fields behind the gameskeeper's hut, where indeed Petunia would not have seen them but for a stray comment by the ever-indiscreet Hagrid, which alerted her to what was going on.

This time she slapped Sirius's face, wiping the would-be charming grin off it. "This isn't funny, Sirius!" she snarled, and swept off, with both boys' collars in her hands, and both boys inside their collars. Sirius sulked a good bit over the slap, and holed up with Lupin in his quarters at Hogwarts for the next few days. Apparently Lupin found him just as wearing as Petunia did close up, because Petunia received a serious apology from Sirius within the week. Lupin was his agent, because Petunia refused to see Sirius, and he confirmed that Sirius was very sorry, and realized what he owed Petunia. He couldn't eat nor sleep, Lupin said; Sirius wanted her forgiveness. Very reluctantly, Petunia agreed, but told Sirius that there could be no further motorcycle rides for the boys.

Sirius promised faithfully: no more rides. For the next few weeks, Petunia saw no evidence he had not kept his word. She was well aware that meant nothing, however, and something in the boys' manner warned her that all was not well. Well, that and Hermoine Granger, who indignantly told her that Sirius and boys and moved their riding activities to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest and were using notice-me-not spells to conceal them. Did she know that Dudley had sprained his wrist when he had misjudged the landing just recently? I do now, and I also know what white-hot rage feels like.

So when Sirius and the boys landed the motorcycle that day, they found Petunia waiting for them, very still, her gray cloak blending in so thoroughly with the dusk that they didn't see her immediately. They were laughing and chattering, but then Dudley caught sight of his mother. He fell silent. Harry was next; he stopped talking in mid-sentence. Sirius seemed confused at the boys' sudden silence, and then he saw Petunia, too.

He stood well outside the range of her slaps, and tried at first to brazen it out. He cheerfully greeted her, just as if he hadn't been caught breaking his word for the third straight time. Petunia did not answer. She merely stared at him. Charm won't work this time, Sirius.

Sirius bit his lip, and tried telling her that her rules were ridiculous for growing boys; they needed to take few risks, have some fun. She was too controlling; it was her fault that they had to hide from her what they were doing. Yes, you are the poster boy for risk-taking, Sirius Black, not a doubt of it. She noted that both boys-much better acquainted with Petunia that Sirius was- tried to shush him, but he would not be quiet.

Baffled by her lack of reaction, Sirius then apologized, rather sulkily. Gracious apology, indeed.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Sirius said, almost pleading with her. Petunia looked at him consideringly, but did not respond.

Finally, to Dudley, Petunia said: "Has Madame Pomfrey seen your wrist?"

"No, Mum," he replied meekly.

"Go see her, then," Petunia said. "Now, if you please."

Dudley ran towards the Castle. He didn't look back. There was rather a long silence.

Then Petunia said: "Harry, aren't you going to miss curfew?"

"Yes, Tante."

"Go then. I'll talk to you and Dudley later."

Harry went. Petunia could tell Sirius was surprised at his acquiescence.

Just after Harry disappeared, Petunia produced her wand from her cloak in a lightning-quick movement and stunned the distracted Sirius. He fell to the ground. Petunia knelt beside him and stared into his unblinking eyes.

"Pompey is clearing the cottage of your belongings," she said, "and taking them back to Number Twelve. I've ordered him to seal the cottage magically and block the floo. You are no longer welcome on my property or in my home. When the boys are seventeen, you can contact them again, if you and they both want to. Until then, you are not welcome to visit them, and I have instructed the school staff to that end, including Professor Lupin. I warn you that I have developed an excellent system of informants at Hogwarts. I don't advise you to flout me further on this."

She stood up. "This is Scipio Africanus," she said, indicating a house elf standing at the edge of the clearing-Great-Aunt Cressida had a weakness for the names of Roman generals. The elf was Pompey's second in command. "He will chaperon you here until the spell wears off. He is then going to escort you to Professor Lupin's quarters for the night. No, you don't get a choice. If you wish, you can then use the floo to go back to London in the morning.

Sirius, with an almost superhuman effort, whimpered.

"Be thankful I don't know how to cast an Unforgivable, Sirius. If I did, you would have been in much worse trouble. I won't have you lying to me or teaching my children to lie to me. Dudley told me he'd sprained that wrist at Quidditch."

She motioned Scipio forward, and murmured, "Give me twenty minutes." He nodded. She turned into the dusk and did not look back.