Hey guys, soliciting support and suggestions here: what do you think for a shop name? Willoughbys Wool and Weave, or Willoughbys Warp and Weft, for a wizarding craft store? Help me out.
More days passed, with Sirius continuing to refuse to come out of Harry's luggage compartment. Similarly, Kreacher refused to go in, so Harry spent his days developing a new kind of schedule.
Harry could be found, for most of his mornings, sitting at the kitchen table near where Kreacher was working and chewing a quill tip or two while scowling at his latest book. He'd finished rereading his old books all the way up to the end of sixth year, and was now busy trying to make sense of seventh-year concepts and new electives that he'd never taken before.
Kreacher tended to potter around him in quiet efficiency, occasionally ferrying a small snack or hot cup to tea to Harry's table.
When not in the kitchen, both Harry and Kreacher could be found working hard in the back half of the Black house, Kreacher using his startlingly powerful small body for hard labour, and Harry developing his wand-work.
Between the two of them, Harry found the cleaning go very quickly indeed, and had to force himself to stop thinking uncharitable things in Molly Weasley's direction.
He loved her dearly, he really did, but spell work made a huge difference to the cleaning process.
But the process was otherwise satisfying: it felt really good to see Grimmauld Place turn from a derelict house into something resembling a home. The task was something of a blessing, because it let Harry move his body (he needed those lesser-used muscles exercised), and let Harry practice his life skills (cleaning was necessary. He thought fondly of Andromeda Tonks' sock folding spell), and it also let him explore the new concept he'd discovered in his spell-work.
Punctuating all of this, Harry also found himself walking into the compartment in his trunk where Sirius remained ensconced. A late breakfast, lunch and dinner were the best chances for Harry to have a good conversation with his godfather.
Over enticing scents and warm, curling steam, sometimes it even worked.
On good days, Harry sat crossed-legged on the floor and listened to Sirius talk about being at Hogwarts, his half-full spoon gesticulating excitedly with stories about the secret passages, the Whomping Willow, and near misses on the staircases. Sirius loved to talk about his "best mate, James" and Lily, who was apparently "scary bright" and "intense when she wanted to be, your mum."
On bad days, Harry slipped into the soft, quiet voice he'd used with Sirius those few days back, back when Padfoot first arrived in Little Whinging. He walked softly and slowly down the stairs, wand held loosely by his got used to talking Padfoot out of his corner with nonsense sentences and hopeful pleas. He took a bite or two out of Sirius' food to prove it was safe, and backed slowly up the stairs so that Sirius could eat it in peace, unthreatened.
When those days happened, Harry found going back to focused study and manic cleaning a relief. The activities left his mind busy and unable to focus on worry or guilt. That way, he could push past the knowledge he should have come back for Sirius earlier. Should have planned ahead better. Should have more support ready.
The study itself was going very well, now Harry had experienced that little insight into…well, he hoped it was the next level in spell-craft. Not only did the theory stick a little better in his head because it made sense, but the possible adaptions of every spell seemed suddenly more accessible.
His transfiguration was suddenly effortless. Seventh-year concepts he'd struggled with – having never been taught them officially – flowed out of his wand with ease. Charms was a little more complicated – more variety to learn, basically, but Harry was getting there too.
It felt good to indulge in the magic, work out the kinks in the process and somehow explore the effects of a wand twitch, or a different image, or incantation emphasis.
Plus, suddenly all Harry's spells could be silent. How could he have gone through so much and only realise this step now?
Using his wand – even just for cleaning – felt so satisfying when it all came easily.
It was infinitely preferable to that feeling in his stomach when worrying about Sirius and his plans, Harry's plans, Pettigrew…
The sudden increase in spellcasting mastery meant Harry could fill up all his newly discovered free time with research on potions.
Above and beyond Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep, Harry learnt of Sweet-Sleep Lozenges, the Potion of Patience, Restful Remedy, and Digestion Concoction, to name a few. They all seemed pretty simple, even though they weren't on the Hogwarts curriculum.
They were easy to make, he shortly discovered, having set up his own cauldron in a quiet corner of the kitchen. Although a few early attempts had to be thrown out because the colour was off or the consistency was wrong, after a couple of hours each morning for a couple of days Harry thought he had the idea.
All up, the new potions were everything he'd hoped for – as long as they worked out as advertised.
They also seemed gentle enough to help Sirius without complications, if only Harry to get him to drink them.
Which, currently, he tended to refuse.
Harry returned from his regular lunchtime visit carrying an empty plate of casserole and a tankard still full of Restful Remedy.
"Again?" Kreacher asked, looking supremely unsurprised as Harry handed over the empty plate and plonked the full mug with its shimmery blue contents on the table in frustration.
"Hm." He sighed deeply. "I don't get it. He was fine yesterday! Well, pretty much. Kind of. Okay-ish. I thought he was getting better."
Kreacher busied himself washing the dishes, pulling a rickety wooden stool out from a cupboard so he was tall enough to stand in front of the enchanted sink. He clambered up to the top step and fiddled with the taps to fill the sink with the gentle sound of clean and running water.
Harry continued. "You think he doesn't like it because it makes him pee green?"
Kreacher sniffed. "The naughty young master likes to be contrary."
"I'm sure it can't be that."
The dishes in the sink seemed to rattle with extra-forced scrubbing. "The odd young Potter is just wasting his time."
Harry scoffed. "I'm not. Really. I mean…" His scrambled thoughts darted back to his original memories of Sirius: wild, manic, full of frenetic energy and force. "He's not supposed to be like this."
Elbow deep in soap suds, Kreacher nodded gravely towards the sink before him. "Naughty Master Sirius is always loving to disappoint."
Frowning at the tankard, Harry sighed before he tossed the blue shimmery liquid back and swallowed the potion himself. "Ugh. Here you go. Thanks."
Kreacher added the empty mug to his dirty pile and waited for Harry to keep talking. Small, domestic sounds of swishing water and clinking cutlery filled the silence while Harry contemplated.
He eventually continued. "It's not that though. I mean, he's really supposed to be different.
"The Ancient and Noble House of Black is being a family of dignified heritage," Kreacher volunteered.
Harry startled. "What? Oh…yeah. Yeah, of course. But somehow I just expected Sirius to be, y'know, outdoors and running wild." Harry shrugged. "I mean, it's convenient for me that he's not going after Pettigrew and all, but it's really odd that he's not."
Kreacher scrubbed thoughtfully. "Naughty Young Master is sneaking out of Mistress' good House all holidays, before."
"See? This isn't like him!"
"Hm."
Harry waited for Kreacher to say more, but he seemed engrossed in doing his dishes. Harry supposed, now he thought about it, that Kreacher wasn't particularly invested in Sirius, after all. Kreacher was probably only talking about Sirius because it was important to Harry. He wasn't sure how that made him feel.
Harry scraped his fingers roughly through his hair again, tugging a little before he gave up. "I guess I'll go do some more research," Harry exhaled loudly. "Effects of Azkaban. The Dementors too, I guess. I, uh, I'll pop off to Diagon Alley now, if you don't mind. Buy some more books. Is there anything I should pick up while I'm out there?"
"More cheese," Kreacher suggested, a single soapsud stuck on the end of his long nose. "Eggs. Fresh milk. Some more floor wax."
Harry scribbled the list down on the back of his hand and then nodded. "Awesome. I guess I'll be back shortly."
It was good that Harry's study and spell-work had accidentally advanced ahead of schedule since nothing else seemed to be following the plan.
Despite all of Harry's new books, and even a trip to a muggle library for help, Sirius remained determined to stay in Harry's luggage for the foreseeable future.
"That's okay," Harry found himself complaining to Kreacher as they shared another dinner together on Monday night. "I could cope with that. But I can't let him stay here until I get the Fidelius sorted, and that's not really working out yet."
"The odd young master is actually not too bad at spells," Kreacher offered.
Harry scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Thanks? But I dunno…the Fidelius is something on a completely different level."
Kreacher muttered a phrase or two under his breath. Harry had grown used to ignoring his low mumbling, but just as he finished the last of his black tea a certain phrase caught his ear.
"Sorry, but what was that, Kreacher?"
"…The odd young Potter asks?"
Harry remembered that Kreacher never knew he was speaking out loud. "Er…what was on your mind just now?"
Kreacher scowled into his oversize mug and muttered darkly. "Kreacher is not wanting the naughty young master to stay when you leave. Kreacher is hoping the spell is not working so that he must go."
"Oh." Harry froze, pondered, and swiped the last of the warm dampness from his lips. "I…guess I see where you're coming from?
Harry pondered the practicalities of his plan for a minute. Sirius to stay in the house required the Fidelius; even if Harry got hold of the actual spell incantation, how long would it take for him to learn it? But what information existed that he hadn't yet looked for?
"Assuming I can get it to work, though," Harry tried optimistically, "do you reckon you could just feed him then?"
In the face of Harry's looming return to Hogwarts and Kreacher's apparent new sense of responsibility for Harry's, he had reluctantly agreed to bring food to Sirius daily. "If there is being no better idea," of course.
Harry took it as a success.
"I guess," said Harry pensively, looking at the remains of the meal before him. "I'd better get on with it then. But there's one more thing I suppose I could try." He furrowed his brow briefly before upending the dregs of his tea quickly. Then he peered into the shapeless blob of damp tea leaves that remained.
"I'm not very good at this divination stuff," Harry muttered, disheartened. "But this year looks like it'll be a right chaotic mess to me."
He groaned, pushing up from the chair with a huff. "I guess I should get some more of that research done quickly. Wish me luck."
I think I'll need it.
In the interests of keeping Sirius safe, Harry passed the days in diligent research, trying and failing to discover any information on the Fidelius Charm. All of the books he could buy, all of his Pensieve memories failed to show him the practical, step-by-step instructions to casting the Charm.
The history of, the arithmancy of, famous examples of the Charm, they were all well-documented. The tragic story of the poor Potter couple and their ill-chosen Secret Keeper popped up in those books a lot. In the wake of the recent Sirius Black gossip in the Daily Prophet, it had Harry flipping through the books in a rather bad temper.
With reluctance, Harry finally flipped through his notes on mind magic, and stepped into the trunk for a conversation with Sirius.
The room itself was becoming a little bit stuffy. Warmer than Harry preferred, with the smell of dog and not enough fresh air. Harry stifled a grimace.
His godfather, as Padfoot, looked up with a sniff when Harry entered, and snuffled around Harry's ankles for a moment or two before he settled down again, apparently content in identifying his visitor and disappointed in the lack of food.
"Hey, Padfoot," Harry had to say. "It's not dinner time, so sorry to disturb you. I thought we could just…hang out…for once. Y'know. Get to know each other better. What do you think?"
Padfoot barked once.
"That's good?" Harry assumed hopefully. "You look like you've got a bit of energy, at any rate. Do you reckon we could chat?"
Padfoot's tail wagged.
"Sirius, can you change back, please? I need to talk to you."
Somewhat to Harry's dismay, Padfoot lay down on the ground and rested his head on his two front paws. It was very endearing, but not quite what Harry had in mind.
"I also need you to talk back. Y'know, so I can understand you. Is that okay?"
After a long silence, in which Padfoot scratched his right ear with his hind foot enthusiastically, Harry was relieved to finally see a response. His godfather's body stretched and lengthened, finally emerging into the form of a human wizard, but his body language was no longer quite so welcoming.
"Harry?" Sirius asked. "Are you Harry?"
"I'm Harry," said Harry patiently, having been through his process over the past few days. "I'm your godson. I'm James' boy."
"Harry!" Sirius beamed, "It's good to see you so big. I had a dream about you last night, and you look just like him!"
"Er, who?"
"Dream-Harry, of course," Sirius chuckled. Then the grin faded from his face like a wandlight failing. "But who are you really?"
Keeping what he hoped was a non-threatening smile on his face, Harry swallowed noisily, and made sure his wand was within easy reach. Just in case.
"I'm Harry," he repeated, the skin around his eyes feeling tight. "We've been through this, Sirius. I'm your godson."
Sirius edged back to stand against the solid wall, and scowled. "Everyone knows that dreams can't be trusted. What do you want from me? What are your plans?"
Slowly, Harry crouched down on the floor and tried to seem non-threatening. "I don't particularly want anything from you," Harry lied. "I've missed you for years, Padfoot!"
"I don't trust you!" Sirius snapped, his voice slowly rising higher and higher and making the hairs on Harry's arms stand up in discomfort. "I…I don't have anyone to miss me. Y-you must be lying! You're messing with me, aren't you! Wh-who are you, you imposter?"
Harry felt a pang in his chest, and barely noticed as he clawed at the front of his robes again. "I'm around to miss you, Sirius," he tried, pleadingly. "I wouldn't," he swallowed again, "wouldn't 'mess' with you. Just relax, alright? It's just me. Harry. Harry Potter?"
Harry watched through damp eyes as he saw Sirius' pupil dance around the room. Looking for an escape, perhaps?
"An-and who's that then? What are you here for?"
"It's…I'm your godson. We spoke earlier? I brought you lunch, Padfoot, um, maybe you can remember? I…I just…Can't I just come and talk to you? I'm your godson, Sirius!"
Sirius glowered, crouched and hunched, looking as dog-like as possible with two hands and no tail. "Nobody ever just wants to come and talk to me. Friends all gone, family dead. I've spent twelve long years alone in Azkaban and the only visitor I ever had was the lawyer who came to tell me that my mother had died still hating me. How I might have 'seen the light' and fallen in with the Dark Lord, but betraying my good, pureblood friend was 'darkening the Black name'. Claimed it was worse than anything he'd ever done. So how are you going to hurt me today, huh?"
"Goddammit Sirius, I'm trying to help you!" Harry exclaimed. But he must have shouted too loudly, because Sirius flinched back and whimpered. The anger drained from his body and all Harry was left looking at was an empty shell of a man with pain lines around his eyes and mouth. "Sorry, Sirius. I'm so sorry, Padfoot. I didn't mean…my mistake." Harry apologised. "Sirius? Are you listening? I…shhhhh, shhhh, it's okay."
Sirius shivered and keened in the corner for a while, and Harry sat on his knees a short distance away and worried.
"Sirius? Can you hear me? I'm sorry I lost my temper. I've been looking forward to spending time with you for years, and it felt like you didn't want me."
Sirius' shaking seemed to calm a little.
"I," Harry tried, "I'm Harry. Harry Potter. James and Lily's boy? You know me, you do! I brought you food recently?"
Sirius the man was a lot less stable than Padfoot the dog, Harry knew. But perhaps Sirius was…backsliding a little, now he was safe? That sounded like the kind of thing Dementor sufferers might do.
Either way, Harry's chest hurt and he couldn't help the feeling of rejection that stabbed him right through the heart.
"You knew me as a kid, but I've grown up now. I...people say I look like my dad, but with my mum's eyes. I...don't…don't you remember me, Sirius? Don't you want me?"
Sirius looked up with a lost look on his face, the plaintive tone in Harry's voice apparently doing some good. "Want you? Of course I want you. You're my godson, Pup. What's up with that?"
Mood changed, Sirius crept out of the corner where he had huddled to try and give Harry some comfort.
Harry spoke, relieved that he had real emotions to base his manipulations on. "I'm so tired, Sirius. And I'm doing everything wrong. I'm so out of my depth. I…So you do want me after all? I'm not a bother, despite everything?"
"My godkid could never be a bother." Sirius claimed, his confidence once again rising. "What can Uncle Padfoot do for you today?"
Harry's hands scraped through his hair and he finally managed to settle on the floor, crosslegged. "Oh, you know." He lied, "Nothing much."
This was such a bad idea. Harry almost gave it up, but…He needed this for his plans to work. Vanquishing Voldemort was a much bigger plan than just getting on with his godfather. Harry sank down into his Occlumency trance and slowed his breathing down carefully. Timing would be everything. From somewhat behind his back and hidden by his sleeve, Harry pointed his wand subtly at his godfather.
"I was hoping you could tell me what you knew about how to cast the Fidelius Charm," Harry admitted.
There was an awful void of silence that blossomed out from his godfather and seemed to dominate the whole room. Sirius' face darkened, and Harry found himself swallowing noisily. He promptly cast a silent Cheering Charm and crossed his fingers.
Sirius beamed. "I am so happy that I can tell you all about the Fidelius Charm, Pup. You came to the right person."
Harry leaned forward eagerly.
They resettled themselves into comfortable positions. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief that things seemed to be looking up.
Sirius chuckled in that gravelly voice of his. "The Charms master used to say that the Fidelius is an immensely complex spell involving the concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. It required someone as clever as Dumbledore – or your parents, they would have managed it too," Sirius began, his face relaxed and cheerful, his body sprawling comfortably against the end of the bed. "Dumbledore and James – he was a great man, your father – spent hours together talking about it. Your mother – have I told you how absolutely brilliant she was, your mother? – you mother got all technical about it, even while she was holding you on her lap. She was all, 'But how does it relate to the Anthropian Principle?' And, 'What are the theoretical limits of size?' 'What variations exist on the Fidelius Charm and what different types of Secrets have people tested it on?' She'd be sitting in the kitchen talking to Albus, feeding you up, and hexing me down on the carpet, all at once." Sirius paused. "It was all in good fun, the hexes never hurt me. I'd forgotten about those times."
Harry watched as the weight seemed to drop from Sirius' shoulders and suddenly he looked ten years younger.
"That's fascinating," said Harry, honestly intrigued. "But back to the topic. Would you mind very much if you gave me those memories so I could have a look at them in the Pensieve?"
"Of course you can, Pup! I…" A slightly confused frown crept its way onto Sirius' face. "I don't know why I shouldn't. I can trust you, of course, right Harry?"
It was probably Sirius' paranoia fighting the Cheering Charm, but Harry still felt guilty at manipulating his godfather when he plastered on his smile. "Like I can trust you, I imagine," Harry blustered, his fingers clutched tightly around the base of his wand, not wanting to let it go. "Of course you can trust me Sirius. I'm your godson, after all."
Hiding his great reluctance, Harry handed over his wand and a handful of phials. Sirius eyed them all cheerfully as they clinked merrily in his hands and he grappled with the small, glimmering vessels. Then, smiling all the while, Sirius plucked memory after memory out of his head, tapping the silvery substances into the tiny bottles. When the sixth phial filled, Harry's eyebrows rose, and he found himself passing over another handful from within his mokeskin pouch.
"There you go, Pup. If you want to follow your parents' steps and research the Charm, everything's in there." Harry accepted his wand and the precious phials back with relief, but Sirius went on. "But if you really want to follow your dad's footsteps, what you need are these two." Sirius waggled two phials up in the air with a grin, before surrendering them to Harry's outstretched hands.
"What are these?" Harry wondered, holding them up to the light.
"Our greatest secret," Sirius grinned again, winking at Harry roguishly. "We made Unbreakable Vows never to reveal this secret to the Authorities. True friendship, true freedom, the Marauders against the Man. We stuck it to him good, Harry."
"Oh," said Harry. "Well, isn't that nice."
"Those were the days," Sirius slouched backwards, smiling vacantly. "And Prongs Junior is following in our steps! What d'ya think you'll be, kiddo? A stag like your dad?"
"Animagi," Harry gasped, as it all fell into place. No wonder Lupin had never told anyone that Sirius was an Animagus if they had all made an Unbreakable Vow. It answered so many questions he'd never known he had. "I…" Harry thought. "I don't know. What's the first step?"
"The mandrake leaf," Sirius smiled. "Sweet Merlin but what a great few weeks. Stick it to the root of your mouth with a temporary Sticking Charm, Pup – I can't emphasise that enough – and don't swallow it, or you'll die a particularly grisly death. Terribly poisonous to digest, but just the juices? Fabulously titillating. You'll be having nightmares and hallucinations every night for one lunar month. It'll put you in touch with your animalistic side." He waggled his eyebrows. "All the hard yards come after that."
"Awesome," Harry breathed, feeling like he actually was thirteen again. "Can you help me with that, Sirius? I want to try."
Sirius smirked. "What are godfathers for? I've put a bunch of stuff in the memories, but you be sure to come back once you watched them and I'll answer any questions."
A short time later, Harry emerged from his Pensieve with a smile. The Animagus thing sounded brilliant; he would buy a fresh mandrake leaf from the Apothecary tomorrow if they sold them, and get started as soon as the new moon rolled around. And he'd have to practice with the Fidelius too, but it looked like he finally had everything he needed for that. Now he just needed to wait for the Ministry watchers to get bored and leave, and Harry could effectively make Grimmauld Place disappear.