In Which Home Calls.
Harry awoke to the sound of a crash, a shriek, and a robust holler for order. He had rolled out of his cocoon of blankets with his wand clenched in one fist and a hex ready on his lips when he realised the bleary smudges of the room surrounding him were not his familiar dormitory. He fumbled at the bedside table for his glasses, jabbing himself clumsily in the eye as he got them on, and blinked stupidly.
He was in the Leaky Cauldron. Mr Lupin- Mr Potter, now, though Harry had yet to verbalise it, much yet compass it entirely in his weary mind- lay snoring in the other single bed, oblivious to the noise, which came from, Harry discovered, their window, which Mr Lupin had cracked open last night to let in the cool night air. Harry shivered in his pyjamas, bare feet cringeing from the cold as he stepped off the rug and onto the unprotected wooden floorboards. It was bright and sunny outside, at least the bits of sky he could see from their height overlooking Diagon Alley. The Alley itself was in full thrum. In addition to the usual crowd of witches and wizards going about their business in the shops, there was some sort of commotion over a delivery of several dozen cages, which had evidently toppled over and released their contents. Violently pink creatures the size of rabbits were scattering in all directions, one even climbing a drainage pipe up the wall of the Leaky Cauldron. It bared its vicious fangs at Harry as it scrambled past his window.
A knock startled Harry out of his daze. 'Um, yes?' he called hesitantly.
It was Tom, the owner, barman, hotelier, and, evidently, the cook and servingman who let himself in, bearing a large tray of covered dishes. 'G'morning, Mr Potters,' the old man lisped, grinning a jack-o-lantern smile full of missing or mis-aligned teeth that nonetheless conveyed great good cheer. The tray floated to a small table set against the wall beneath a painting of several stentorian types in fussy robes engaged in a vigorous game of Exploding Snap. Tom mopped at his sweating bald head with a lace kerchief as the dishes sorted themselves into two piles, cutlery clinking into place and a candle lighting itself. 'Great pleasure, great pleasure, Mr Potter,' Tom said, exactly as he'd done the night before, when Harry, almost numb with exhaustion, had let his hand be clasped and shaken repeatedly. He did so again now, but Tom didn't linger at it, apparently a mark of pride in his personal professionalism, for he departed with his now-empty tray a moment later, shutting the door behind him with a crisp thump.
'Don't wait on me, boy,' said Mr Lupin, who had waked after all in the commotion. 'You look as though you haven't had a proper meal in ages as it is. Don't care for the food at Hogwarts?'
'No, sir, it's very good. There's just... there's just been a lot to be getting on with.' Harry hesitated, then took it on himself to bring his own pillows to Mr Lupin's bed, tucking them into place as Mr Lupin struggled to sit upright. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'
'I would do, thank you.' Mr Lupin sipped the contents of a small phial of green sludge and a much larger one of oily brown globs suspended in an opaque jelly. 'Four sugars,' Mr Lupin requested, grimacing, 'plenty of milk, there's a lad. Doesn't quite cover the taste, but anything's better.'
Harry rather overfilled the cup and it sloshed onto the saucer as he carried it carefully back to Mr Lupin's bed. Warm hands covered his momentarily, and Mr Lupin thanked him gruffly. 'Eat,' Mr Lupin directed him, so Harry did, seating himself at the table and lifting the lids from the dishes to discover a full rack of toast with little pots of jam, a plate piled high with greasy rashers of bacon and thick slabs of ham, a proper fry-up of mushrooms and tomatoes and eggs and a big slop of beans and several knobs of black pudding, several kippers and curried rice, fried bread, a dish of sausage eggs, and a whole apple charlotte pudding glistening with caster sugar. It was enough food for a whole family- a whole family for a whole day. Harry took bites of everything and was full well before he got to a second round. Mr Lupin ordered him to drink a full glass of milk atop that, and by the time he tottered off to the en suite for a wash he was almost sleepy again with the effort of digesting so much.
He emerged to find Mr Lupin fully dressed and donning a long cloak of pale spring green, a colour complimentary to the robin's egg blue of his suit and matching boots. He looked quite natty, with his sparse hair slicked back and a fresh shave. He turned a disapproving eye on Harry's hair, which had gone more nest-like than usual after tossing and turning what had been left of the night. 'Wear your best,' he advised Harry. 'We've a few visits to make before we leave Diagon Alley.'
'Are you, er...'
'Certain potions can lend these old bones enough strength to accomplish what needs doing.' Mr Lupin settled himself with a stifled groan at the table and with shaking hands spooned selections from every dish onto his plate. 'My son has had reason of his own to become acquainted with certain disreputable Potions Masters- if they could even claim the name.' He turned an eye toward Harry as he refreshed his tea. 'There's no point in family secrets now,' he added. 'I won't pretend RJ's perfectly well if you won't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.'
Harry diverted his eyes to the business of digging out the good clothes Sirius had given him for Christmas, stuffed to the bottom of his trunk. 'I know,' he admitted softly. 'I'm sorry.'
'He's a good boy, my RJ. I'm proud of him.' Mr Lupin eyed Harry sidelong, shoulders defiantly tight. 'Even if he did go and get himself arrested over that good-for-naught Black.'
It was Harry to lift his chin in defiance, this time. 'Sirius is innocent,' he said stoutly. 'He proved it under Veritaserum. There's going to be a new trial and everything.'
They stared at each other for a minute. Then, quite as suddenly as that, Mr Lupin nodded his acceptance and went back to his food. 'Well, then. For my son's sake and for yours, I shall hope so. Get dressed, my boy. Much to do this morning. RJ wrote me a list as long as the Mumbles, thinks I'm that daft. We've got our tasks, both of us, to finish what he started.'
So with Harry in the nicest of the clothes Sirius had got him, a pair of dark trousers (wrinkle-free, thanks to a charm performed by Mr Lupin) and a tweed jacket with brown leather patches at the elbows and buttons of heavy gold and shoes that were so new they squeaked with every step, they paid up their room and had Tom hold Harry's trunk and set off into the Alley. It was early afternoon, Harry discovered- he'd never in his life slept so late, even if the Express had got to London nearly three in the morning- and he was unsurprised to see headlines in the Prophet speculating luridly about Hogwarts' sudden and early close. Mr Lupin paused long enough at the news stand to purchase a magazine printed with purple ink on stiff broadsheets, and checked something toward the back, snorting to himself. He thrust the magazine at Harry.
'What's The Quibbler?' Harry asked, following as they set off again.
'Generally good for a chuckle, that, and not much else,' Mr Lupin opined. Walking was quite difficult for him, and sweat already gleamed at his temples, but he moved quickly for a man so reliant on his crutches. 'That old quack Xenophilius does stumble on good information here and there, however. When I sat the Wizengamot- many years ago, now, I gave it up when RJ was a boy- it was quite the tradition to side-step the main publications and leak the more inconvenient truths to rags like that. He must have rushed the presses all night to get that story out.'
Harry checked the contents page. It was buried between articles proclaiming 'Secret Agency Hunting Alien Lifeforms Repels UFO Invasion: Cardiff' and 'Queen Elizabeth: Squib Or Squid-Monster?', but, sure enough, almost banal in its normality, was a headline reading 'Anonymous Source: "Dumbledore Missing In Action, Sirius Black FOUND; One Dead In Connexion Unicorn Murders".
'Nothing about me,' Harry muttered, relieved more than he could say, when he had skimmed the article frantically for his own name or any variation on Boy Who Lived.
'Likely there will be, sooner than later,' Mr Lupin said, dashing cold water on that momentary respite. 'Not an ounce of respect for the truth, that lot. Hence our hurry today. The sooner we finish this, the safer you'll be. There- Gringott's.'
'I thought you said the paperwork was done?'
'They decided the entail in my favour, sure enough, but only that. I may have bluffed it a bit, with your aunt. All's not etched in stone yet.' Mr Lupin canted a sly little smile at him. 'I've got you, and that doesn't count for nothing, but we'd best have everything else in order by the time someone coaches her into a legal challenge. RJ tells me you play Quidditch; think of this as having the Snitch in hand, but not the points you need to win the Cup.'
Harry considered this as they queued to visit Harry's vault in the goblin bank. The goblins seemed intent on ignoring Harry, this visit, which only struck him oddly when he realised they'd been standing in wait long enough that Mr Lupin's knees were knocking together with the effort of keeping upright. Harry worried at his lip, then heaved out a breath. He broke away from Mr Lupin and ducked under the velvet rope confining them to a rigid lane in the lobby. An elderly witch gasped at his temerity as he trotted toward a desk, but that was nothing to the glare he was getting from the goblin who stared him down.
'Could you please maybe open another desk to move the queue along?' Harry asked.
The goblin blinked. It had eyelashes like barbed wire, gnarled and spiky surrounding its black beady eyes. 'No,' it said, and took a placard from its drawer that read, in no uncertain terms, 'Next Register'.
Harry glowered, since the goblin didn't even pretend to go away, but continued at his writing in a large ledger as if Harry weren't still standing before him. But he went. There were plenty of other goblins, after all.
'Could you please put out chairs?' he asked the next goblin.
'No,' it said, and put up a placard.
'Could you please at least tell us how long it will take?' Harry demanded of the third one, and slapped his hands onto the desk where the placard was already descending. 'Excuse me.'
'No,' said the goblin.
'No you can't tell me how long it'll-'
'No excuses,' said the goblin, and left the placard balanced on Harry's knuckles.
'Mr Potter.'
Harry turned, ignoring the clatter of the placard hitting the floor. 'Mr Griphook?'
Gringott's general manager inclined his head to Harry stiffly over the bristling wings of his cravat. 'You recalled.'
'Yes.' Harry hesitated. 'I still don't have a key,' he said carefully, 'but I was hoping you could take me to my vault again.'
'I could,' Griphook told him, 'but there would be little point to the venture.'
'Why?'
'Because the contents of your vault have been removed to another.'
Harry went cold. 'To my relatives? To Dumbledore's?'
Something odd happened to Griphook's brows, which hung over his eyes like icicles dripping from the eaves of a roof. 'No, Mr Potter. On instruction from your godfather, your funds were transferred to the Black vault.'
'My...'
'Harry.' It was Mr Lupin, who couldn't duck the velvet rope but could blast it aside with his wand and come stumping towards them, his crutches clacking like thunder on the marble floors. Griphook scowled.
'Sirius moved my money,' Harry blurted.
'Well.' Mr Lupin's face relaxed. 'RJ will be pleased. That's one less worry.'
'You knew?'
'I knew he tried. That's my boy for you. Multi-tasking, they call it. He must have had it from his mother, for he never learnt it from me.'
'Mr Black's owl reached us with instructions,' Griphook explained, and Harry finally figured out what was happening to his face- it was a goblin's manner of smiling. It glittered with malice. 'Albus Dumbledore's owl also reached us.'
'Albus Dumbledore has no authority as regards the Potter vaults.'
'So said Mr Black. As the primary account holder, naturally he has the authority to determine who has access and who does not. Unfortunately for Mr Black, he has previously used that authority to grant Albus Dumbledore the key, and Albus Dumbledore has chosen not to return it.'
Mr Lupin did not look the least bit pleased with that news. 'And what exactly did Dumbledore ask for, with this owl of his?'
'That no action be taken without consultation and consideration.'
'With a member of the Wizengamot who has no blood relationship with the boy?'
'The highly influential Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot who has the power to determine which bills are floored for vote. Such as an upcoming renewal of a protective tariff favourable to my bank.'
Harry slumped. But Mr Lupin's narrowed eyes made him think, too, and he said it aloud as quickly as he realised. 'But you moved my money anyway.'
'You are also highly influential, Mr Potter.'
His stomach sunk again, as if the brief rise had never occurred. 'What do you want from me?' he asked dully.
'Nothing you have not already given.' Griphook reached his claws gingerly into a pocket in his double-breasted suit coat. A folded bit of paper emerged, and Griphook extended it across the distance between them. Harry took it. It was newsprint, an article clipped from- Harry recognised it as soon as he saw it. It was an article from the Prophet. He unfolded it and turned it a few times til it faced upright and legible.
Oh. It was an older article, as it happened. HARRY POTTER ADVOCATES REVOLUTION, CHAMPIONS GOBLIN MINISTER! trumpeted the headline. Harry wet his lips. 'I have to tell you the truth, Mr Griphook,' he said quietly. 'I didn't actually champion a goblin for Minister of Magic.'
'I doubted you did, Mr Potter. You are a half-blood raised in the non-magical world. It was clear at our first meeting you had no experience of the magical world, nor of magical creatures such as goblinkind. It would be most extraordinary for you to have formed such a radical opinion so rapidly.' Griphook paused. 'That does not mean, however, you won't form it over time.'
'You... want to be Minister?'
Griphook showed his sharp teeth in a rictus grin. 'I wouldn't rule it out. But I am quite content for you to merely to speak your questions aloud when you have them.'
'Preferably near a reporter's quill?' Mr Lupin added acidly.
'Preferably,' Griphook echoed, his grin wider still. 'Now. An escort to the Black vault would be in order, I believe. While we travel, Mr Potter, and Mr Potter, I'd like to tell you about our high-yield venture capital promotion...'
With Harry's bottomless pouch strained to the limit carrying a truly incredible amount of gold Galleons, Mr Lupin led Harry out of Diagon Alley into Muggle London. 'My wife was a Muggle,' Mr Lupin confided, as he hailed a taxi somewhat stiffly. 'RJ's better at this than I am. She used to take him into Muggle cities- Bangor, Cardiff, Manchester. She wanted him to know his heritage. I can't claim I took it very seriously, shame on me.'
'It's not that scary, not really. Just loud, a bit. And bright.' Oddly, though, Harry found the noise and bustle a bit relaxing. It reminded him of Crowhill, the constant rush of vehicles on the street beyond the fence, and the press of people in familiar Muggle clothes, kids dodging up the lane in trainers and jeans, men in suits shouting into their mobile phones. 'Er,' he said, 'we'll have to pay with pounds, not Galleons.'
'RJ always leaves some at the house.' Mr Lupin fumbled in his pocket, nudging the coins about on his shaking hand. With a grumble, he thrust his hand at Harry. 'You do it,' he said, clearly embarrassed to be found lacking. Harry said nothing at all as he sorted crumpled notes into a stack of fives and tens and the coins into two and one pounds. By the time a cab pulled up to the kerb for them, Harry was ready to provide both the address, whispered by Mr Lupin, and their payment.
The Ministry for Magic Headquarters in Whitehall was a grand building in the Muggle tradition, or so Harry thought as they were let out by their driver and stood on the corner. Every building was very grand, everything white or dun so that the bright red splash of colour as buses rolled past stood out like blood. A few bare trees dotted the landscape, but the crowds of Muggles hurrying this way and that in their dark winter coats seemed like ants crawling below the looming colonnades and towers.
'There,' said Mr Lupin, and stumped up the lane to a telephone booth. He yanked on the accordian door, which screeched as it wrenched open, and gestured with one of his crutches for Harry to go in. Harry took down the receiver on its long metal cable, fishing out a twenty p coin. 'What number do you want me to ring?' he asked.
Mr Lupin came in after him, forcing Harry to step closer to the phone. 'Six two four four two,' he said, shutting the door behind him and enclosing them snugly.
'That's not a full number, sir.'
'It's the number we're wanting, though.'
Obediently Harry dialled, depressing the cold buttons one after the other. 62442. He turned with the receiver, holding it out. Mr Lupin put it to his ear.
'Harry Potter,' Mr Lupin said a moment later. 'And Lyall Potter. To visit the Auror Office.'
Harry jumped as the change return chute rattled. He poked at the flip door. There were two badges. They had the names printed on them just as Mr Lupin had said. 'Pin it for me, boyo,' Mr Lupin asked, and Harry affixed a badge to Mr Lupin's lapel, and his own likewise. No sooner had he hooked the pin than the phone booth began to shake and shudder. Harry grabbed for the rattling glass walls as the floor dropped out from under him- no, as the booth itself began to fall. Lower. He stared at the pavement climbing the walls as they sank, til all the weak London sunlight was vanished and they were in a dark tunnel.
'Steady on,' said Mr Lupin.
'Where are we going?'
'To the Ministry Headquarters.' Mr Lupin nudged at Harry. 'A Lumos would go a long ways, child.'
'Oh. Sorry.' Harry fumbled his wand out of his pocket. He swished it and cast the light spell, rather too brightly at first, clenching his fist about the glowing tip til he properly lowered the intensity. He couldn't see out the sides of the booth, now, but it didn't seem there was much to see, anyway. Til the movement beneath his soles halted abruptly, and a tall crack appeared, light from the outside spilling in, as they were let out from the booth into a huge lobby of some sort, proper as a Muggle lift.
'The Atrium,' Mr Lupin told him, removing a phial from his pocket and struggling with the stopper. Harry took it gently, and pulled it free. Mr Lupin got most of it down in a swallow, brushing away a greenish drip from his lips. 'Best behaviour,' he warned Harry hoarsely. 'Bound to be a bit of a to-do, and we'll want for calm on our end of business.'
'Yes, sir.'
They registered their wands with a bored witch who perked noticeably at Harry's name and stared openly at his head, clearly seeking his scar. Harry flattened his fringe uncomfortably, ducking her eyes, and thus noticed the wizard who stopped dead in his tracks, on espying Harry, and abruptly took off running in the opposite direction.
'Off to owl someone in a hurry,' Mr Lupin guessed, sotto voce. 'Friend or foe, I wonder.'
They had another trip by lift- it went backwards, forwards, and sideways as well as up and down, and Harry was quite nauseated by the time they stepped off again- to the second level. Though they were clearly undeground, Harry didn't know if second level was closer to the top or the bottom, he was that turned about. The Auror Office was a big open room with a ceiling of bronze tile, dark over the ubiquitous white marble tile that seemed to define the floorspace everywhere in the Ministry. Witches and wizards in red Auror robes worked in cubicles with half walls surrounding their desks, only about a third of which were occupied. There were rooms lining the sides of the Office. Some had placards reading 'Work Room' or 'Conference Area' or 'Magic Dampening Arena', but far more ominous were the rooms labelled 'Interrogation'.
'Can I help you?'
Mr Lupin inclined his head to the middle-aged Auror who had stopped their progress. 'My son is in holding,' he said. 'I've been told I can speak with him.'
'Name?' she asked, summoning a roll of parchment with a flick of her wand.
'Remus John Lupin.'
Her eyes tripped upward, for a moment. Then slanted down at Harry. They widened slightly. 'Ah,' she said, a sort of cross between clearing the throat and trying to cover her slip. She officiously checked the scroll. 'Yes, he's here, and allowed visitors. I can direct you to a room. We'll bring him up for you. Would you- ah-' She glanced at Harry again, and again pretended she hadn't. 'I'll bring you a pot of tea.'
Harry did not have much patience for his wait. Mr Lupin was looking terribly weak, slumping in his chair to rest his head back against the wall, one hand on the table wracked with tremors so that he could hardly hold his tea. Harry hooked his heels about the legs of his chair, gripping the seat beneath him til his muscles pulled tight and tense, then standing and checking out the frosted glass window to see if any of the shadows of people passing might be coming near. The Auror had brought a plate of digestives as well tea, but Harry had only one bite before confirming he wouldn't be able to eat any of it. He crumpled it to crumbs on a serviette, smearing his fingertips with chocolate.
The turn and click of the latch was like thunder. Harry launched to his feet again, but stood frozen in place as the door opened, and Professor Lupin came in.
'RJ,' Mr Lupin murmured, and the taut lines of Professor Lupin's face relaxed into a tiny smile.
'Da,' he answered, and circled the table. He bent and pressed a kiss to his father's temple. 'You look a sight. You should be in bed.'
'Fine way to talk to a man flitting all about town on your business, isn't it.'
'Thank you,' Professor Lupin interrupted quietly, and Mr Lupin huffed and hunched and took his son by the collar, yanking him down for a one-armed embrace. But then Professor Lupin raised his eyes and took Harry straight with his pale gaze, and put out his other arm.
Harry buried his eyes in Professor Lupin's rumpled shirt. Professor Lupin hugged him close, and rested his chin on Harry's hair, his arm wrapped tight and secure about Harry's shoulders.
Professor Lupin listened mutely as Harry talked. They were alone for it; Mr Lupin had stepped out, to chase down paperwork he'd said, and Professor Lupin seemed to know what that meant, but Harry didn't ask. He crumpled another biscuit, and another after that, and mushed the crumbs back into lopsided balls. He had to go back several times as he remembered things Lupin hadn't known, like how Harry had met Mr Flamel even before Lupin had gone after Sirius and then been arrested, and that led him even further back to how he'd suspected the Philosopher's Stone had been hidden at Hogwarts, because of what the men in the Forest- he knew, now, it was only one man, Quirrell and Voldemort possessing him- had said about it, and the unicorn blood, and reading about it with Hermione, and how he'd thought as long back as Christmas that Quirrell was the one behind all of it. He told Lupin about the dreams. He told Lupin about suspecting Snape. He told Lupin about Fawkes, and Sirius, and the Knights, and the Dementors, and Mr Malfoy, and how they had lured Voldemort to Hogwarts and it had gone so wrong, so wrong. How he'd convinced Snape he could secure the Stone, and he'd gone to Dumbledore's office with Sirius and his friends, and Voldemort had been there in Quirrell's body, and-
And. And how Harry had killed him.
Professor Lupin was mute even after Harry had gone quiet, for a long time. He held Harry's hands, loosely, something he'd moved to do when Harry had started to talk about the scream he heard when Dementors came near, his thumb occasionally stroking over Harry's knuckles. He sat forward, now, mouth opening and then shutting.
He said, 'When I was a boy, a little older than you, I hurt someone.'
Harry glanced up, caught. 'You did?'
'Another boy in my year. I'd like to say it was an accident. It was, in that moment, an accident, or at least something I couldn't control. And it was awful. It was all the more awful because I couldn't understand- I couldn't understand how something so awful could be allowed to happen. Because it was at school. Hogwarts. My friends should have stopped it. Dumbledore should have stopped it. Or God. I wanted-' His voice went dry as a rasp. 'I wanted to die. And, worse, I told my parents I wanted to die. I think that more than anything was the worst of it. The look on their faces. What I'd done to them in that moment with the truth.' Lupin's thumb made a circle about the round of Harry's fingernail, bitten ragged. 'I'd never seen my father cry. He was angry and shouting when I told him, but later, that night, he came to my room, and he was crying. He said, as a father all you want to do is keep your child safe, but part of you thinks- it's good he's scared. You never want him scared, but it's good he's scared, in a way, because he'll believe you now when you tell him the world is full of frightening things that can hurt him, too, and he'll believe you when you tell him how to be safe.'
Harry bent his head. There was wet in his eyes, and Lupin holding his hands prevented him wiping it away, so it leaked out, down his cheek. 'I'm sorry,' he tried to say, but it got tangled up on his tongue, impossible.
'I know. That look's haunted me many years now.' Lupin left his chair, and came to kneel beside Harry's. 'But let me tell you what my mother said. My mam, she was always a bit fragile, you know. She was there, but not always there, and there were times when I desperately wanted her in the now, with me, holding me, helping me, and she couldn't. It took me a long time to understand that. Because I had been the thing that tested her, you see. But she told me about being frightened by the bad things, being too frightened to live in the same world as the bad things, and she said- I don't want that for you.' Lupin reached up to brush the hair away from Harry's scar, and tenderly brushed away the tears on his cheek. 'I don't want that for you, Harry.'
'I hate what I did,' Harry whispered in aguish, more tears squeezing out his burning eyes. 'I can't stop thinking about it.'
'It will get easier. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it will. And until it does, let us help you. Promise me?' Lupin used Harry's wand to conjure a kerchief, and put it to Harry's nose. 'Blow,' he said, as if Harry were a very small child, and between an awkward attempt to obey and embarrassment at the absurdity of it, Harry ended out snot-faced and laughing, and Lupin smiled.
The ivy-covered cottage in Beddgelert was just as Harry remembered from his first visit the summer past. The hills surrounding it were barer, true, the trees shorn of leaves after the winter and spots of white lingering where snow had yet to melt in the thin spring sunlight, but the burble of the stream nearby and the puff of smoke from the chimney and the calming chatter of birds and insects were impervious to the seasons and, altogether, calming. Harry sat on the back portico wrapped in an old blanket of scratchy Welsh wool, watching the sun rise and thinking of nothing in particular with great relief at being able to do so.
The sound of a car on the road didn't immediately alert Harry to their visitor. The cottage stood well back from the road and was, Professor Lupin had told him before, not exactly invisible to Muggles, but not of interest to them either. It was the best way to handle mixed magic and Muggle communities, where neighbours might be curious enough to drop by and inadvertantly discover dishes washing themselves, or rooms that didn't precisely obey the laws of physics, or children flying on brooms rather than sweeping with them. Harry was deep in contemplation of the shape of a cloud overhead, trying to decide if it were more like an elephant or an especially fat horse when boots in the dirt path snapped a twig. He scrambled to his feet, reaching for his wand.
'Bore da,' said the rosy-cheeked woman puffing up the path. Her breath steamed, her thick coat damp with dew, her headscarf flattening her grey curls. 'Sut mae?'
'I, er... I'm sorry?' Harry asked, hesitating. She didn't look threatening, but she definitely looked Muggle. Her wellingtons were well-used, cracked and muddied, and she had a Muggle wristwatch that winked at the left and carried a pair of plastic grocery bags from Morrison's.
And she looked at him in like suspicion, til suddenly her expression cleared. 'Oh, you're RJ's boy,' she said, a bright smile erasing her scowl. 'Aren't you darling? I've heard all about you for months, love, it's wonderful to meet you at last!' Harry found himself enveloped in an embrace, quite unexpectedly, and stood awkwardly as she clucked over him. 'Barefoot? Haven't you any slippers or socks? Well, inside you go, let's get you warmed up.'
She knew her way inside, that was clear, letting herself in through the back door to the kitchen. Harry followed warily at her heels, but when she deposited her bags in his arms and directed him to unpack, he obeyed. Just as he was working up the nerve to ask who she was, she clucked. 'Oh, I'm that daft,' she said. 'You won't know me from Eve. I'm Glynis Owens, everyone calls me Glynnie, I come every other day to keep house and make meals for Lyall. I came up yesterday and the house was empty, I thought he must be in a bad way, but if you're here all must be well. Is RJ here, then? Usually he rings me up if he's visiting.'
'No,' Harry said quietly. 'Professor Lupin's... he's not here.'
She shed her coat onto the back of a chair. 'That's a shame. He's a good one, that RJ, even if he must live so far away. Always comes back once a month, don't he, to stay a week with his old da. And believe you me, love, a week alone with Lyall Lupin is a trial and a test and then some.' She smiled as she opened the cold cupboard. 'Don't be shy, now. We'll cook up a big breakfast and have a little chat as we go, shall we? I want to hear all about you.'
'Er, miss-'
'Glynnie.'
'Glynnie,' he repeated uncomfortably. 'Do you know about... about...'
'Magic?' she said carelessly. She chuckled at his expression. 'I know enough, though I'm not one of you lot. My brother married a witch, quite a surprise that was for the lot of us. I've a niece your age, in fact, she goes to that school, what's it called?'
'Hogwarts.' Harry tensed back up, but if Glynnie knew anything about Harry Potter or that Harry himself was the infamous boy in question, she didn't show a whit of it. She was bringing a griddle out of the cupboard and lighting the oven with a match and the burners with the knobs, and the ease of her very normal movement around the kitchen was proof enough for Harry that she really was a Muggle. She reminded him a bit of Cook back at Crowhill, though quite a lot kinder.
'Silly-sounding name, isn't it? I've always thought it would be a treat to see, but who has time? Well, maybe someday. Let's start with the bacon, love, bring me that packet of rashers. Now, have you ever had a properly Welsh breakfast? It won't be entirely what you're used to, you know.'
Harry was spared having to talk much about himself over the next hour. Glynnie kept up a largely one-sided conversation, interspersing stories of growing up in Beddgelert with brisk instructions and cheery praise whenever he did something right, and before he knew it Harry found himself patting oats and gooey green laverbread into cakes to fry in an oiled pan, and learning how to fry an egg without crisping the edges, and how to get a good brown on the cockles on the griddle. His near-year of Potions stood him in good stead, having learnt to monitor a flame by the colour and intensity, not to mention precision in handling knives and stirrers, and he found himself rather proud of the meal they made together.
Mr Lupin had taken himself to bed as soon as they'd returned to Beddgelert. They'd taken a taxi from London- the Floo was difficult if you couldn't step lively, said Mr Lupin, he only maintained the network license for his son to visit- and, despite sleeping the majority of the evening ride, Harry had had no difficulty sleeping in. Mr Lupin had merely pointed Harry toward the room he'd had before. Harry had crawled into bed without changing his clothes, mumbling a sleepy thanks.
But Harry was young, and his long rest had more than restored him. Mr Lupin was another matter entirely, and he was still abed and asleep when Glynnie knocked briskly at his door and let herself in. Harry, following her with a heavy tray of food, found reason to linger in the corridor til he heard Mr Lupin answer her determined enquiries. Welsh might as well have been gibberish to Harry, but he recognised grumpy tones and accordingly kept himself out of sight til Glynnie called for him. He kept his eyes on his toes as he crossed the rug, and slid the tray onto the side table at her instruction.
'I know it's not a pretty face, but it's the one I've got,' said Mr Lupin. 'Eyes up, child.'
'Sorry, sir.'
'Don't let him boss you this way and that,' Glynnie advised, pouring out potions from bottles she fetched from the en suite. 'Thinks he's still an MP, don't he.'
'I wasn't an MP, you silly bint,' Mr Lupin grumbled. He thrust out his stubbly chin at Harry. 'Sat the Wizengamot for eighteen years,' he said. 'My father held it for sixty-four. You think I'm a pain, that man was a bloody tyrant. Right to the end he thought he could order the pox itself to leave him be. Sit here, boy, eat something. Glynnie will think you don't like her cooking.'
'His cooking,' Glynnie pointed out, serving him a loaded plate with a wink. 'And a fine job he did. Refused to poison your portion, old man.'
Harry had munched his way through two eggs, the salty laverbread cake and saltier cockles, four sausages and thick rashers of bacon, and was scooping his mushrooms onto a slice of fried bread when the owl tapped at the window. He didn't wait for Mr Lupin's order to go, he abandoned his plate immediately onto the bed and hurried to get the window open. A brown barn owl with a gold Ministry badge squawked imperiously and wouldn't let Harry at the bundle tied to its jesses til Mr Lupin directed him to a bowl of bronze knuts and silver sickles on the dresser. He paid the owl by slipping a few coins into the little pouch it wore, and then the owl allowed Harry to untie the package. It waddled onto the window ledge and launched as Harry carried the bundle back to Mr Lupin.
'The Daily Prophet,' Mr Lupin said, surprised, unrolling the paper. 'I don't subscribe, why on earth-'
'Sir!' Harry remembered just in time not to grab, but he jabbed at the paper in his excitement. 'The headline!'
Mr Lupin exhaled a startled huff. 'Well I'll be damned.'
'Who's Sirius Black?' asked Glynnie.
Harry clambered over a pair of orange alligator boots to join Mr Lupin at the head of the bed. Mr Lupin held the paper so Harry could read along with him, but Harry got no further than the picture of a dignified Chief Auror Scrimgeour shaking Sirius's hand with Minister Fudge giving off a queasy smile on the other side. His reading was interrupted by a hollered greeting from downstairs.
'Sirius!' Harry tripped on the same shoes as he threw himself toward the door. He took the stairs two at a time and that only because, barefoot, he nearly slipped, and caught himself on the railing only with quick reflexes. Still, he hurtled round the corner and into the Floo room at such a pace that he couldn't stop himself before he hit Sirius. Sirius laughed brightly and pulled him off his feet altogether, swinging him around in an unsteady pirouette that ended with both of them breathless and grinning.
'You're free?' Harry demanded.
'Free,' Sirius repeated with relish. 'It's not all signed and sealed yet, there's to be a trial, but I'm to be free on my own remand til then!'
'Under a Trace from the Ministry,' said someone behind Sirius, followed by a fondly cross, 'Look at you, you've tracked ash everywhere, you great oaf.'
'Professor Lupin! You're free too?'
'There's no good in holding me,' Lupin said drily, taking Sirius's cloak too. 'I'm not nearly important enough for a headline. Sirius is all the press Scrimgeour wants- if he can't be the hero who arrested the dastardly Death Eater Sirius Black, he can be the hero who brings justice to the wronged innocent Sirius, heir of the Ancient and Noble House Black.'
'No politics, Moony, not til we've celebrated!' Sirius sniffed broadly. 'Brekkie?' he asked hopefully.
'Not til you've gone and properly greeted my father. And,' Professor Lupin warned, 'apologised for breaking in.'
Sirius grimaced broadly. 'He didn't even know I did it, did he?'
'You want to set a good example for your godson, don't you?'
Sirius turned wide eyes on Harry. They were bright and laughing once again, not dim with Veritaserum and guilt, and something in Harry unwound, seeing that.
'Guess I'd better,' Sirius said, scrubbing a sheepish hand through his short hair. 'I'll, er, yeah. Remus, you coming?'
'In a mo.' Lupin cocked his head for Harry to follow, and they went, alone, into the sitting room. Lupin removed a thick packet of paper from his blazer, and set it on the chintz cushion between them. 'These are papers for adoption,' he told Harry softly. 'I had planned that once my father had the entail and had taken the Potter name, it would be possible to move to this next step. I never dreamt it might be possible for you to have more than that. But... Sirius is your godfather. And I think it's clear at this point he'll be exonerated at trial. I thought you should know you had the option.'
His mind whited out. Just pure numb. 'Sirius could a-adopt me?' he stuttered.
Lupin's lashes swept low to hide his pale eyes. 'To be quite candid, I think, for your protection, a decision should be made as quickly as possible. The entail isn't nothing, but your relatives have a better claim by blood. I can't tell you what's going to happen with the Dursleys or Lucius Malfoy or Albus Dumbledore, but my gut tells me it will happen fast, that's it's already happening- that, somewhere, someone is drawing up very similar papers to ensure you go where they want you. I think you should have your say in it.'
Harry stared at the papers. They almost made his hands itch, so he rubbed them flat on his pyjamas. 'If... this were the best solution, though, you'd've said. Sirius adopting me, I mean.'
'There's no solution that's perfect. There will be problems, even with Sirius.' Lupin hovered just short of touching Harry's knee. 'Do I think he would love you, protect you, and give you everything a boy your age should desire? Of course I do.'
'But?'
'Leave the "but" to me. For now, just think it over. You've only had the worst of circumstances to get to know him at all. Now you've got the Easter holiday in close quarters, with no relief but Glynnie and dear old Da.' The little parenthetical line at the left of Lupin's mouth crinkled. 'So don't waste any more time with me. There's a couple of old brooms in the shed. Sirius nearly shouted it out first thing at you, but for me threatening to hang him by his thumbs.'
'We can fly here?'
'Absolutely.'
Harry hesitated on his feet. 'Professor...'
Lupin tucked the papers back into his coat. 'Yes, Harry?'
'You'd adopt me, wouldn't you? If you could.'
Lupin inhaled. His eyes closed. 'I hope you know I would.'
'I do,' he said. 'But it's nice to hear.' He took ginger hold of the shoulder of Lupin's coat, and carefully applied his mouth to Lupin's temple. It was only a quick brush, the bravest he could be. And he ran before Lupin could say anything, anyway.
