Author: shyangell & MorningDawn
DISCLAIMER: All the fictional characters appearing in this fanfiction story are not mine, they're J.K. Rowling's; and they are being used with the only purpose of personal entertainment.
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Time And Tide Wait For No-One
Sirius stands in the middle of his room, in front of a small handbag, magically expanded inside to have enough space to carry a myriad of things they'll need in the not-so-distant future and no sane person would normally consider as luggage. Right now he is particularly concerned about checking that he isn't leaving anything behind. Plus the odd assortment of potions, remedies and papers, he has already put a pair of new non-descript robes, a pair of cloaks and what usable wand he's been able to get his hands onto. One never knows when you may need one, and you never can take too many precautions.
On his bed, right beside his bag are laid out four brand-new robes and some more, which he'd just bought at Gladrags Wizardwear, enjoying his newly acquired freedom. Nothing too fancy, they strive for comfort and anonymity over anything else. They are plain wizard's clothes, dark as it was what he felt most comfortable wearing, no embroidery, no crests no patterns, non nothing. Standard everyday clothing, everyday shirts all easily transfigurable.
He'd felt justified in tearing away his father's old and regal set of grey robes with golden embroidery on the cuffs, thrown them in the fireplace and watched them burn as soon as he'd gotten back from the store. Having his own clothing to wear had been like getting another chunk of his own soul back.
He is abruptly snapped out of his musings by Regulus' voice, who's apparently been trying to establish communication with him while he's been with his mind somewhere else. He turns around, only to find him leaning carelessly on the door frame looking at him expectantly.
"You haven't listened to a single word I've said, have you?" asks. Sirius simply looks at him questioningly.
"No." he says. Regulus rolls his eyes in annoyance.
"I've asked you if I should be packing, and what should I pack if that's the case." he says. "I'm assuming we're not coming back, are we? I don't even know where we're going."
Sirius looks at him with scepticism.
"Just grab a couple of cloaks, a couple of robes, socks, that's really important. Let's see... underwear, even more important… and a tooth brush, for I'm not sharing mine." he says. "And that's all you have to do because I've done everything else, lucky you."
"Oh, have you?"
"Yes, but I'm still not packing your bag."
Then he looks Regulus over. His robes scream Black, and are effortlessly indiscreet. He's already given thought to it, and clearly Regulus walking around with such outrageously démodé robes isn't a good idea.
"Take these." he says pointing to the contents inside a sliver cauldron he's got sitting on the desk. Regulus looks into it with a fair amount of caution, and tugs at them gingerly, like they might eat him. "I just thought you may like a change in wardrobe." he says nonchalantly. "But if you prefer to go out there like that, it's up to you."
Regulus rolls his eyes again, and unfolds them looking actually relieved at what he finds.
"I think I'll take the new ones." he says. "You can't truly blame me for mistrusting your taste in clothing."
Sirius looks at him, and feels amusement bubble up inside of him, which he just dissimulates with a scowl. Really, it's pretty hilarious that Regulus doubts him like this when he's the one who came back wearing that horrible ratty muggle sweater, you wouldn't have caught Sirius dead wearing it. Before Azkaban, of course.
"If you do still have those muggle clothes, take them." he tells him. "You never know."
"Anything else?" is the sarcastic reply.
"Well... perhaps you can take the china, the tableware might be a good idea too…"
"Get bent."
Sirius' uproarious laughter follows Regulus as he practically runs away from the need to punch something this early in the morning.
::::::::::::::
Sirius looks around Dumbledore's office with a fair amount of curiosity. The layout of the room has not changed very much in the sixteen years since he last saw it. It is essentially the same, with the clutter of odd trinkets and portraits covering every wall. Fawkes, today exceptionally chirpy stands o his golden perch by the window and peers at him with his intelligent eyes.
It is late in the evening. The curfew has already been called over Hogwarts.
The headmaster enters the office exactly at the appointed hour, not one minute earlier nor one minute late. He smiles gently at the not so young man as he rustles through the papers on his desk and gestures to him to take a seat.
"Sirius" he says. "Sit down, my boy."
"Good morning professor." he greets back, but takes his time sitting down, just because he can. Dumbledore observes him with a fair amount of amusement which only manages to disgruntle him a bit more than is justified.
"You already know how this works... I'm not going to pretend you need lectures." Dumbledore says kindly. Sirius' impatience must have shown then because the Headmaster has thankfully decided to spare him the sermon. "But there is a question you know I have to ask. Is what happened to Miss Meadowes going to be a problem?"
Sirius looks contemplatively at his hands. His middle fingers are unnaturally long. Witch pointers, they are called. And they are so tellingly magic.
"It wasn't any worse than any other death." he says serenely. "It certainly wasn't worse that what happened to James and Lily."
"Ah. You'll have to forgive your old Headmaster." Dumbledore says while opening and closing his drawers so many times that Sirius begins to doubt he is really looking for anything. "I should know better than to assume, or listen to idle gossip by now. Now, where on earth has it gone?"
"It was never going to work, she was older for once, and far too smart." he says flatly. "Have you tried that cabinet over there?"
"Oh, yes. There it is... Now there really isn't anything else but these." he waves the parchment he's gotten a hold of. "This is a list of the people you can get in contact with in the French, and Dutch Ministries and the Swiss as well. It is all I can do to effectively help you there. They know you are on your way. You'll only have to be your usual persona; of course everything has to pass in an unofficial manner. My old friend in the German ministry just died a year ago, I'm afraid there is no helping you in that regard; I know none of the younger folk there."
Sirius takes the list between his fingers and takes a look at the names that jump up from the page.
"Burn it before you leave England." Dumbledore says. "All this is mostly about stopping him from recruiting wizards over in the east, and specially the continental werewolves. If you feel that your life is in danger, never hesitate to fight back. Of course I've never had to tell you that before. We really can't afford any losses. And that includes you."
Sirius aims to look innocent and sincere when he nods, but he knows that with the passing of his youthful looks, and at his thirty-seven years of age, it is quite a difficult feat.
"You take your brother with you, but it is very important that word doesn't get to Voldemort about him. You know better than most what a catastrophe it could be. And, he can be very useful in the muggle world; he's lived there for quite some time." Dumbledore reminded him sagely.
Sirius acknowledges the truth with a grunt and proceeds to pick at a stray thread coming loose on his armchair.
"Have Regulus contact me by patronus; there is no point in reporting in person very often." Dumbledore's eyes are kind, and Sirius hates that he can't be angry at the old man for knowing about this weakness of his. "Let's see... I'm sure there was something..."
"Constant vigilance?"
Dumbledore's laughter is heartfelt, and Sirius feels a bit mischievous about it.
"Of course." the Headmaster straightens his demeanour. "You'll depart after sending Harry to the Durselys. You can't tell him where are you going or why are you going."
"I know."
"I'll keep him informed nonetheless." he says. "Let's not commit the same mistake twice."
Sirius snorts, but thinks that it is likely that Harry will get himself into trouble whether or not he knows what is going on. Information is a tricky gift sometimes.
"Now go, be a ghost." Dumbledore smiles at him.
Sirius picks up the letter and stands up dusting his robes. He turns to leave.
"There is one last thing." Dumbledore says suddenly grave. He speaks quietly. "Are you aware of the information your brother risked his life to get away with?"
Sirius slowly turns his head around and just looks at his old professor. Dumbledore sighs.
"But of course you do. Keep your eye open, Sirius."
"Granted, Headmaster."
The soft click of the door behind him and the motion of the stone stairs below his feet don't quite register as internally he debates whether or not to be irritated at the sudden interest in his thoughts on Dorcas, that his patronus or lack or thereof should suddenly be an issue and to top it off, that Regulus seems to be the apparent solution to all his problems.
::::::::::::::
Tuesday morning rolls by unfairly slow. Grimmauld Place, empty the previous week bubbles up with activity and everything seems to revolve around the arrival of the Hogwart's express at King's Cross.
By mid-morning Arthur and Molly have already had two rows about accepting Ministry issued protection on the Burrow and Mad-Eye's contribution hasn't helped to smooth things over.
"I'm never getting married; there is no upside to it." Sirius drawls at the umpteenth screech from upstairs while idly searching the kitchen for the hidden stash of cookies, he knows is hidden somewhere.
"That's not true. Statistically, married men live longer." Lupin points out unhelpfully, while he sits arms crossed looking at the progress of Sirius' perusal. Sirius could be a party-popper and say war brings about the opposite. But as Remus is making a valiant effort not to look upset about his mission with the ferals, he instead opts for a chauvinistic remark to lift the mood a little.
"They don't actually live longer, just seems longer."
"You're so cynical."
"You've noticed?" he grins wickedly. "I've been practicing for years."
"What I really think is the karmic retribution I'll suffer if I keep feeding your ego will be astronomical." Remus shoots back, but only gets a wider smile.
"A positive attitude may not solve all of your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort." Sirius quips.
"Stop it, alright. The witticisms really become tiring after a while."
"You don't seem to mind them when you're the one uttering them."
The loud clanking of Moody's peg leg on the basement stairs gives them the heads up they need to look grave and serious upon his arrival. There is a younger, green recruit auror trailing behind him like a stray puppy.
"Black!" Moody barks as soon as he turns the corner and comes into view. Sirius makes a point of taking his time turning around and glares. Really, he respects Moody a lot, but right now he is very aware why they say sarcasm helps keep you from telling people what you really think of them.
"Truly Mad-Eye your visits are the most delightful thing yet to happen under this roof." he sneers back at the old auror, who is perhaps, one of the very few people truly immune to it. But in truth, his old mentor is just plain irritating and as pleasant as a surly dragon with a toothache.
"No yapping at me." he says, and while his back is on him now, Sirius knows his electric blue eye has whirled around to peer though his skull at him again. "I need you to do everyone a favour, and show this dimwit a couple of things."
Sirius sees Taylor cower and look at them blithely. He'd looked happier if Moody'd announced he'd have to face an angry hippogriff without a wand.
"Great in the field, normally. But I swear to God, I think they're getting bureaucratically stupider every year." the old auror grouses. "And then go the paper-pushers up in Administration and pass a memo on these rookies that gushes over how is proper arrest conduct and good behaviour under fire."
Sirius snorts, and Lupin feels a bit sorry for the flinch of the young man at disdainfully being called rookie.
"How do you put up with him?" he asks aggravated to the room.
"It's an art." Lupin says flippantly.
"You do realize I'm old, not deaf?" Mad eye says while turning around by the other end of the table and taking a swing from his hipflask.
"Surely you know that blast in that raid in Southampton did something regrettable to your hearing, don't you Mad-Eye." Sirius countered with alacrity.
"I could not tell you why I'm here." Moody says.
"Oh spit it. What do you want me to do?" he says. "Just have in mind I'm leaving before the week is over."
"I just want you to show him what the old order can do." Moody jabs a finger in the young man's direction.
::::::::::::::
The huge tapestry of the Black family in the drawing room beckons them into the room. Sirius stands beside the fireplace looking like he's about to fall asleep on his feet from boredom; derisively looks the younger man over, but snaps his attention back to Moody when he impatiently waves him to get on with it. This would be far more interesting if the lad wasn't already half terrified of him.
In the pureblood tradition behind duelling, most youngsters of a pureblood family, male or female were trained to higher standards than self-defense. Skill with a wand was adamant for any wizard or witch, and children were taught to duel as soon they started being homeschooled. Other children who weren't purebloods didn't take part in this practice. The duelling tradition having gone into disuse, and rarely learnt it beyond a professional approach or childish fights that nearly always ended in tears or some growth sprouting someplace uncomfortable.
When folks would begin Auror Academy they knew their spells, they just weren't as good at getting them out in a hurry. To solve that problem they reduced the spectrum of hexes and curses they used in the course of a duel, to a few highly effective spells they could fire without thinking much. Of course, any proficient dueller would notice that, in fact they always did, and that was a problem when Death Eaters realized you weren't going nastier than a stunning spell. Moody, of course, disliked all this even more than he disliked the bunch of idiot retired aurors that taught them to limit themselves instead of grilling new aurors properly.
"This isn't really stealthy of you Mad-Eye." Sirius comments. "Setting me up to beat up one of your men, so you can check I haven't lost my touch. It isn't even sneaky."
"Well, don't be gentle." he growls. "You'd better still be as quick as that mouth of yours. Ore else! This one, ain't no pureblood, hasn't fought with one properly either, has all these idealised ideas of auror work too."
Sirius unfolds his body from the contours of the fireplace.
"I tought you'd want to check out for yourself."
Moody makes a good impression for growling at him in annoyance, and his magical eye doesn't quite leave him. Taylor contemplates half-horrified the familiarity with which Sirius treats his old mentor. Finally Moody grunts and shakes his head.
"Not as quick as I used to. I just need to see that down in the Ministry there was no lucky night on your part."
"There is always fortune in play Mad-Eye." he turns to the younger man looking at them nervously from the other end of the room. "We can always go downstairs there is a room for that."
The armoury doesn't make Moody blink, but barely anything does anymore.
"Bring it on." Sirius says with a wide, dangerous smirk, at the same time he slips into a void pose.
There is no tension, and no pose at all, just waiting before his muscles will lock and spring into action when he'll be fired against, not one moment sooner or later. It is complicated, and it takes years of drilling, but Sirius likes complicated, and it tends to throw people off.
"Don't make this personal." Moody warns him.
Taylor knows, just by looking at the older man that this is something he'll have to sweat; and Black, deceptively unprepared on the other end of the room is going to rely on his considerable skills to kick his rear end. The apparent disinterest and lack of preparation make him more wary that the meaner more intense fighting poses. At least his instinct does not deceive him with appearances, there is that.
He sighs jaggedly and steps into what he calls his pose, which is not nearly intense enough to be mean, and not nonchalant enough not to make obvious he is nervous; whereas Black stands with his feet spread apart, balanced by ease and practice. Auror or no, anyone would see who is more practised at duelling just by looking at them. Taylor uncomfortably switches his grip on his wand and waits. Unfortunately soon enough it is obvious that Black is not challenging, and will not strike first.
"What are you waiting for boy?" Mad-Eye shouts. "Contrary to popular belief there are suspects that will not threaten to attack first, not all will give you an overture! And you've got to catch them anyway!"
He can almost hear the prompt for constant vigilance. As soon as he starts raising his hands a spell is rushing towards him with more force and speed that he expected and he puts up a shield around himself, one of blue light. Sirius's first curse rebounds off of it and flies straight at Black who waves it away like it is a mere feather. Sirius Black hasn't moved from the same spot.
Suddenly he feels very deficient because he has never confronted a good dueller in his short career, besides his teachers, and the scallywags they've been arresting in these later years are kind of a joke.
Black lowers his arms and spreads them wide, taunting him. Come on, I'm wide open. He is not stupid enough to fall for that, and he sees Sirius's hand twitch around his wand, and he knows he is ready to fire back as soon as he drops his guard. Enough playing it safe. Or this'll never be over.
When Sirius pounces, it is almost too fast to recount accurately. It is a sad truth than one shall not win a duelling bout by shielding against a skilled opponent. But he would've sworn he'd surely kill him and hack him into bits and pieces, that he couldn't possibly survive that whirlwind motion. And the sheer focus, and gleeful joy in the duelling that Black emanes is nerve-wracking. That each spell is not truly aimed at him, that it was aimed for just over the left shoulder, or underneath a crook of the right knee; escapes him for a time as he struggled to counter a foe that overwhelmed him; the point of the duel, to show control and perfection more than the true harm that he could do. After a while though he catches on that he is being played.
Maybe it's the realization that he can see, and his subsequent newfound confidence in the fight, but when he finds his feet under him, it happens.
Sirius is a hunter, he duels decisively, with stealth and with knowing. He is the hunter and he must know the patterns his prey follows. He predicts the moves of those he fights before they themselves know, and he is fast and lethal and without pity or mercy or cruelty. And when he truly attacks he is devastating. Things happen to him too quickly, but the wind is knocked out of him by and invisible giant hand shoving at his chest, fire catches at his leg. He heaves, and there are little spots on his vision as he lays knocked over on the floor.
In the entire time, Sirius hasn't used a stunning spell once, and he's hard pressed to recognize most of the ones he has used. He lets him collect himself, and Taylor's happy to see he hasn't sustained any lasting harm.
"These new aurors, they think they know everything." Moody says from his spot by the door.
"Now don't be too hard." he says. "It is not entirely his fault. Everyone is entitled to be stupid, now and then."
"Some abuse the privilege."
"Don't feel too hurt." Sirius throws at his erstwhile opponent. "You'll get better. If you survive all of this, granted... and Mad-Eye isn't prone to positive feedback."
"What's the use for that?" grunts Mad-Eye. "You've been getting back to speed."
"Had lots of time on my hands. Regulus had to get back into the game."
"He'd better truly be, otherwise you'll be alone out there again." Moody admonishes. "No matter what Dumbledore says, if emergency messages reach you, answer. I'll warn you if there is something wrong with Harry."
::::::::::::::
The station of King's Cross is as packed as always, the unseen menace of Voldemort hangs upon the air. Sirius glances from behind his newspaper, strategically positioned to hide his face while he keeps an eye on the passersby from the corner of his eye. The relatives inside the platform 9 ¾ throw curious glances at them, but one has own up that they really are an odd group.
There is Mad-Eye Moody, looking rather sinister with a ridiculous forest green bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye. He is, in fact, as terrifying as he would be without it, but it definitely adds a sleazy dodgy note to the usual thundercloud Moody conjures around him. His body is wrapped in a voluminous travelling cloak, and his gnarled hands clutch a long staff that he taps impatiently over the slow dragging of the minutes.
Tonks, recently released from St. Mungo, stands just behind him close enough to Sirius to read the newspaper now and then over his arm. Her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleams in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass of the station ceiling. This time, in an effort to mingle with the muggles she wears heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend The Weird Sisters in neon green letters.
Next to Tonks is Lupin, his face pale, and his hair greying like usual. He's wearing a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers despite the heat of early summer and a station full of trains. Of course Sirius himself is not much better. While his eyes scan the crowd again, revealing his impatience at the delay of the train, he taps his fingers against the grey paper of the Prophet. He's dressed as neutral as possible, a white shirt and a dark cloak, trying too to look as muggle as possible while trying at the same time to look dignified and someone befitting his age. He is probably, the one that resembles a muggle the most; if not for the fact that the long black coat is most definitely not suited for summer weather.
At the front of the group Mr and Mrs Weasley, dress in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material; wait with smiles on their faces as the Hogwarts Express pulls in. After practically an hour waiting for the train, mostly Molly's fault for insisting they arrive absurdly early, Sirius uncrosses his long legs and stands up.
Students start to get out the train in waves. It makes Sirius a bit nostalgic to see all the youthful effervescence, careless and unawares of the catastrophe about to happen, that it is already happening. Mrs Weasley stands on her toes, trying to see them coming. But it is Tonks the one to spot them first amongst the crowd.
"There!" she says pointing to the other end of the platform.
"Ron, Ginny!" calls Mrs Weasley, hurrying forwards with an energy enviable to so small a woman; hugging them all tightly. "Oh, and Harry dear, how are you?"
"Fine." lies Harry, as she pulls him into a tight embrace. In truth, he looks rather down, and when he catches Sirius' eyes he lowers his eyes repentantly.
Which, of course worries Sirius, and at the same time amuses him because the boy truly thought he would be angry at him, for whatever nonsensical reason he came up this time. In the rear the bicker of the Weasley siblings rises in volume.
"Sirius." says Harry throwing his arms around him. "I'm so sorry. You are ok?"
"Of course I'm ok." He says almost offended. "Takes more than bad fall to get rid of me."
"I thought she'd killed you."
"She wishes." Sirius says, and expertly steers Harry apart from the cluster of Weasleys so Harry can vent more or less in peace. "I'm sure Dumbledore already told you. But," he says warning with his finger as much as his voice. "You must promise me that you'll never do this again; and especially that you'll never try to fight Bellatrix in the future."
"But I thought she'd kill…"
"Precisely." he says. "She is that good, and no matter how good you are, you are not ready yet. And if you're lucky all will be over before you are."
"You don't belive that, do you?" Harry says looking nervously around. Sirius shakes his head.
"No. But you can forget that for now. I'm glad I could come to see you off." says as he messes up Harry's hair.
"Dumbledore told me I couldn't come with you." he says, dejected; but looks hopefully at Sirius anyway. "Told me why too."
When Sirius doesn't go off in an angry diatribe, but looks sadly back at him, Harry looks even more dejected and let down than he did before.
"I'm leaving today." he says instead.
"Why? Where?"
"I cannot tell you." says Sirius, and Harry frowns, looking mutinous. "I'm leaving for Europe, and it's on Order business."
Harry seems disappointed, but the morsel of information seems to calm him, and at least make him understand why Sirius is already saying goodbye.
"I won't be able to write, for the safety of both of us." he places a hand on his shoulder, "but if you need anything write to Molly" he says throwing a glance at the woman with auburn hair. "or to Dumbledore if it's really important, ok? About the mirrors..."
"What mirrors?" Harry says confused. "I mean, yes I understand, but I know nothing about no mirrors..."
"The one I gave you back in September?" Sirius prompts, a bit taken aback that Harry has apparently paid so little attention, and at the same time understanding the outrageous risks Harry has been undertaking just to talk to him.
There is a moment of confusion in Harry's face before he connects the dots, and blushes profusely in embarrassment.
"Erm... I kind of forgot about it, never opened it; which is I forgot I had it..." he stutters. "I'm sorry Sirius."
Sirius sighs; berating Harry doesn't even cross his mind, which honestly surprises him. Besides, Harry is practically a man now; he doesn't need a replacement father. Beyond that, Sirius sincerely feels that he is by no means a good role model for him, what with his laundry list of character defects. So berating Harry for not doing things quite his way isn't very conducting to mutual trust. Instead he pats Harry's shoulder.
"Doesn't matter." he placates. "Someone in the Order will be carrying my mirror at all times, in case you need to make a warning. Read the note, it explains how to use them."
Harry nods and Sirius steps back letting Remus approach Harry.
"Hello, Harry." says Lupin, as Mrs Weasley is fussing over Hermione. "You're doing better?"
"Hi." says Harry. "What are you all doing here?"
"Well…" says Lupin with a slight smile.
"…We thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home." says Sirius, both of them were grinning from ear to ear.
"I dunno if that's a good idea," says Harry at once.
"Oh, I think it is." growls Moody, who has limped a little closer.
"Besides, that is why we are all here," Lupin says, looking at Sirius instead of Harry. "so by the end you still have an aunt and an uncle."
"That'll be them, will it, Potter?" Moody points over Harry's shoulder with his thumb. His magical eye is evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. Harry leans an inch or so to the left to see where Mad-Eye is pointing and there, sure enough, are the three Dursleys, looking positively appalled to see Harry's reception committee.
"Ah, Harry." says Mr Weasley. "Well, shall we do it, then?"
"Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur." says Moody.
They take towards the Dursleys, who are apparently rooted to the floor. Sirius closes the committee, quite unwilling to get too close to Harry's awful relatives.
"Good afternoon," says Mr Weasley pleasantly to Dursley as he comes to a halt right in front of him. "You might remember me, my name's Arthur Weasley."
Sirius watches unimpressed as Vernon Dursely turns a deeper shade of puce and glares at Mr Weasley, even if he doesn't say anything yet. Petunia is one piece of work he could've done without meeting again, he thinks; she keeps shooting both frightened and embarrassed looks around, as though terrified somebody would see her in such company. The son, while incredibly fat, is also completely unremarkable, and seems to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he fails extravagantly.
Dursley keeps glancing at Sirius at the back of the group out of the corner of his eye, probably because of the sober and sombre way he dresses, and the fact that Harry is standing very close to him. Possibly he thinks that he has some kind of control over the group. Sirius, on the other hand, is feeling surprisingly laid back about it all, and is letting the talking to Mr Weasley.
"We thought we'd just have a few words with you about Harry." says Mr Weasley, still smiling pleasantly.
"Yeah." growls Moody. "About how he's treated when he's at your place."
Vernon Dursley's moustache seems to bristle with indignation. Over which point exactly it is more difficult to tell. "I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house…"
"I expect what you're not aware of would fill several books, Dursley." growls Moody.
"Anyway, that's not the point." interjects Tonks, whose pink hair offends Mrs. Dursley more than all them put together. "The point is, if we find out you've been horrible to Harry…"
"And make no mistake, we'll hear about it." adds Lupin pleasantly. Which of course only makes Sirius more amused.
"Yes," says Mr Weasley, "even if you won't let Harry use the fellytone…"
"If we get any hint that Potter's been mistreated in any way, you'll have us to answer to." says Moody.
Uncle Vernon swells ominously; his sense of outrage seemingly outweighing even his fear of wizards in general.
"Are you threatening me, sir?" he says, so loudly that passers-by actually turn to stare.
"Yes, I am." says Mad-Eye, rather pleased that Dursley has grasped this fact so quickly.
"And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?" barks the massive man.
"Well…" says Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. The girly jump backwards in horror and the painfully comical collision with a luggage trolley have Sirius having to rein the laughter in.
"Yes, I'd have to say you do, Dursley." he says instead, and he actually likes the visible discomfort he causes in the muggle. "I would watch my back if I were you... You never know who might be waiting at your doorstep."
Vernon shivers visibly, how much does he love frightening people like Dursley. He can feel Remus' fond exasperation a few feet away. Maybe he knows Sirius too well by now, Sirius is fine with straightforward intimidation tactics, although maybe not the finesse of political interaction; unless he is unusually prompted or in a bit of a sadistic mood.
"So, Potter… give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along…" Petunia whimpers piteously at Mad-Eye's words.
"Bye, then, Potter." says Moody, grasping Harry's shoulder for a moment with one of his big gnarled hands.
"Take care, Harry." says Lupin quietly. "Keep in touch."
"Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can." Mrs Weasley whispered, hugging him again. "You'll be coming over later."
After hugs and promises from his friends and the Dursley, Sirius has him for himself for a few seconds.
"Be careful Harry." says Sirius as he allows Harry to hug him. "Even if we can't speak, remember that I'll always be there for you."
"I'll have it in mind." Harry says, slightly less sad and depressed that he was when they arrived.
"You do that."
"I'll be able to spend part of the summer with Ron?" asks Harry. Sirius is about to answer but Vernon cuts him short.
"And may I know who are you to tell Harry what he may and what he may not do?!" he says almost outraged, and certainly on the warpath. Sirius looks at him like someone who looks down at an insignificant cockroach.
"Well, that was rude. I'd thought you'd remember me, even if it's been a long time." Sirius says he says politely nonetheless, as manners come naturally to the Blacks, and he knows how to exploit it. He often wonders whether they do apologise in advance for any inconvenience just before casting an Avada Kedavra. "We have met before, even if you obviously forgot."
This close to Vernon Dudley there is an almost painful height difference between them, and Sirius hovers menacingly over the obese man. His face, set in a disdainful mask is stony and unmoving. While Sirius may only see the years he bears, others often see something else entirely. Like Petunia Dursley, who's way too nervous by Sirius' invasion of their personal space to feel offended by his long hair. His aristocratic features have become even further refined with age, giving him a look of careful intensity, his grey eyes shine with both deep knowledge and a near-manic excitability that in rare moments melts their icy quality. In either case, Sirius is very aware that the effect is every bit as terrifying to the Dursleys as it is on any other wizard. And he pulls into his stare every bit of icy disdain he can summon.
"I'm Harry's godfather." he says curtly, and he enjoys as Dursley is momentarily frozen in shock, and Petunia's almost whimper. He turns to Harry, and blandly ignores them again. Remembering why they had all agreed that let him interact too much with the Dursleys was a bad idea. "Of course you will go, you heard Mr. Weasley. I'll see you at Christmas, if I can."
He tries to smile reassuringly, and Harry actually smiles back, while eyeing his uncles more or less discreetly and clearly enjoying it. He raises a hand in farewell to the others, clearly choosing to forgo saying all the things that come to mind. When he goes, he turns back and gives him a one-armed hug when Sirius hasn't moved from the spot yet.
"I won't do anything you wouldn't." he whispers in his godfather's ear, which makes Sirius grin. And before he can say anything, he's leaving, which leaves Sirius with a sour taste because, having come so far, and after all these years, he still cannot give Harry what he needs.
