Chapter 76: Let's All Just Hope for the Best
Music suggestion: '39, Queen
Even with Kreacher having taken for his own the room that had previously contained Sirius's records (the smallest bedroom in the house), they had enough space to house every Weasley plus Audrey and Leonora. Every one of those rooms was already empty when Sirius and Hermione made their way down to the kitchen in the morning.
Ergo, the breakfast scene Sirius walked into could be described as a wonderful Weasley madhouse. The consummate matriarch of the family was simultaneously attempting to help Kreacher cook, directing her children to actually use cutlery and crockery, filling a tray to take up to an Arthur on bedrest, grumbling about Bill's hair, and packing lunches. Percy and Audrey were having quite an intense-looking conversation off to the side; dishevelled and in rumpled versions of the previous day's clothes, Fred and George were dashing about at top speed, in a hurry to get to their shop; and Bill, though dressed in clean and pressed work robes, was likewise in a rush.
In stark contrast to them, Fleur and Leonora were sitting in a placid oasis at the table, chatting comfortably between bites. Both witches had seemingly woken early to collect fresh clothes from home – which would explain why Fleur was wearing a pair of sparkly high-heeled boots Sirius would have thought wholly impractical for watch duty had he not seen the bizarre woman hustle about in such things before.
'Really, Bill!' Molly huffed as Sirius and Hermione helped themselves to scrambled eggs. 'You're not running around pyramids anymore – a nice, mature business cut! For the office. You're getting too old –'
''Ong 'air's no' age-sp'ific,' Bill grumbled around the slice of toast hanging between his teeth as he stuffed an apple into a paper bag. ''Ook a' Siriugh.'
Molly paused to shoot a look at Sirius, then hurried off towards the knives slicing wildly in the cooking area.
'Sorry 'ate,' Bill said, glancing apologetically at Sirius. He pulled the toast from his mouth. 'She lets up if I bring you into it – least she does until she forgets you've saved half the family's lives.'
A second later Bill had to duck as two lumps of scrambled eggs soared past his scarred head and landed on the twins' plates.
'Watch your eggs!' he shouted to them. 'There's recently showered heads here!'
'Then why does yours look like you fell into pumpkin soup?' Fred shot back. 'Bit of egg won't make much difference.'
'It will,' Bill warned, now stuffing papers into his bag. 'But to your eyesight, not my face. You'd have to try to see my glorious plumage out of your arses.'
'Bill-ee-um!' Fleur sung at him. 'I set your razor on ze seenk!'
'Thanks honey!' Bill retrieved the toast from where he'd accidentally stuffed it into his bag along with the papers, stuck it back between his teeth, dodged the twins, and hurried out of the kitchen.
Sirius looked back to his breakfast. That was the problem with "honey" as an endearment: it always sounded sardonic to him, even when it didn't seem to be intended that way.
He scratched his own clean-shaven chin. It would likely be the sandpaper Hermione complained about by midday. Maybe he should try one of those Forty Eight Hour Stubble-Free Guarantee razors. That'd last his face a solid day…
That thought made Sirius frown at his spoon. When had he started to give a toss about appearing ungroomed? In Azkaban he'd taken pleasure in how quickly his beard grew out. Pulling each individual hair out with his fingers had been a decent way to spend the endless hours. And there was something about the pain of clumsily plucking chin hairs that did wonders for dimming toothache.
Still, how long he could pull off the scruffy puppy look before he was too old for it was a good question.
Ron, Harry, and Ginny arrived in the kitchen then. There was the evidence of a recent row about them: Ginny had a look in her eye much like the one Molly would get when she was shouting at Sirius; Harry's neck was flushed, a very James-esque angry line to his jaw and a glinting fury Lilly would be proud of in his eyes; and Ron, his ears red, was being obviously cool towards them. Hermione watched the group for longer than Sirius did. They didn't remain in the kitchen long, Ron just grabbing himself something to eat before heading upstairs with a departing Leonora. Harry and Ginny seemed to calm down over breakfast and, whispering together, followed Ron up the moment they were done.
'What's that about?' Sirius asked Hermione once Molly disappeared up the stairs with Arthur's tray, leaving them alone with Kreacher in the kitchen.
Stacking up used dishes, Hermione made a little noise.
'I expect Ron's being touchy about Ginny sneaking down to share Harry's room,' she answered, straightening up with the pile of plates.
'Sound's a bit hypocritical,' Sirius remarked.
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but was waylaid by a harried-looking Kreacher who directed her to just leave the plates by the sink. With a snap of his fingers, the rest of the dishes followed that directive of their own accord, flying from the table and out of Sirius's hands right over Kreacher's head as he hustled a massive bag of potatoes over to a worktop. The makings of a pie large enough to feed about two trolls was receiving a downpour of chopped carrots next to him.
'I can wash them Kreacher,' Hermione told him, setting down the plates as she eyed his preparations. 'I don't mind. You've got enough to do.'
Kreacher shooed her away on his way back into the pantry.
'No need, Mistress Hermione!' he croaked jovially. Under his breath, he added in a mutter, 'Kreacher wants to make his pie in peace. If Mrs Weasley wishes to help, she can do the dishes.'
Sirius fought a grin.
'Well,' Hermione resumed as they headed out of the kitchen, 'Harry broke things off with Ginny last year to try to keep her from being targeted by Death Eaters. Ron's still reluctant to fully accept that, so he flairs up about it every now and again. Usually when them getting intimate comes into it, or when he's feeling insecure about himself and gets the need to take it out on someone who he feels is doing better than him – which is probably part of it, as it didn't matter Harry had broken up with her, Ginny was still there waiting for him when he came back; so, as far as Ron would see it, Harry can't mess up like he can. And,' she said with aloof finality, 'from what I've seen, men just have some bizarre fascination with and aversion to their female relatives having a sex life.'
That last one wasn't a theory Sirius could identify with. He'd enjoy never knowing anything about anyone else's sex life – particularly if they were someone he was related to.
'They'll be fine,' Hermione assured him. 'I expect Ginny will bite Ron's head off about it later, but Harry will let it go and they'll return to normal after a bit. It's an old and relatively small fight for them.'
From what Sirius saw, she seemed to be right. Not needed to serve as a dedicated teacher that day, he set up his painting things around the students' study group in the stripped and prepped drawing room. Ginny was her usual annoying younger sister self to Ron, and the awkwardness between Harry and his best mate dwindled away over the hours they practised whatever they needed to. It was one quality Harry seemed to share with his father: you could get James angry, sure, but in all the years Sirius had been friends with him, only once had it taken more than just an (often half-sincere) admission of being a prat to get a nod and shrug of forgiveness from James.
Though he was asked for help here and there, for the most part the other students turned to Hermione for assistance, leaving Sirius to his mindless task. As usual, Hermione was well ahead of the pack, having progressed from charming a time-activated levitation spell on a quill to attempting to charm a temperature-triggered dousing of conjured bluebell flames in the space of a few much-interrupted hours. Refilling the paint try, Sirius took a moment to watch Hermione walk Harry through the next stage in a charm.
There was a reason Harry didn't have a godmother. It was a simple one: there'd been no ready and able witch around that his parents trusted enough at the time of his christening. That and…
Suddenly uncomfortable, Sirius looked away and focused on his paint roller. That he'd end up falling head over heels with someone at some point, settle down and start his own family was something Lily had always been sure of. James had his own opinions about it, but they weren't far off Lily's. Both had been decided on the matter of Sirius being Harry's guardian if they died, and both had been pretty sure if that happened Harry would know a surrogate mother when Sirius married one. It would be simpler that way, Lily had said. Then there wouldn't be some kind of split custody between a godmother and godfather that didn't care to raise Harry together. He'd have an adoptive nuclear family all there together for him.
And… quite frankly, in a twisted way that was exactly what had happened. From what Sirius had seen in Hermione's mind the previous day, she'd certainly been there for Harry time and time again – on all those times Sirius hadn't been able to be. Sirius would wager Harry had gone to Hermione for help and advice more times than the boy had ever come to him. In all honesty, she'd done a lot more to look after him than Sirius had.
Sirius busied himself redirecting enchanted brushes and rollers. It didn't keep his mind off the matter long. Casting a sideways look towards Hermione, it took only a second to decide he wouldn't tell her James and Lily's intentions. More than anything, she was like a sister to Harry – an older one, as Sirius would like to argue, largely for his own selfish reasons. Never a surrogate mother, and Sirius was reasonably sure she wouldn't want that role even mentioned to her. And all saying it aloud would do would be to highlight the fact that he and Hermione probably shouldn't be together.
Yet, silently, he called to that other plane of non-existence: There you go, James and Lils. Not quite what you were expecting, though. Sirius didn't want to think on what their reaction to how things had turned out would be.
It was finding a hole one of the destroyed chandeliers had left in the ceiling that finally redirected Sirius's focus. On a day like today, with thick grey clouds outside the magically enlarged windows, more illumination to call on would be welcome. Particularly in a room as large as this one, where the gas lamps on the walls just weren't good enough. What sort of lamp he'd want, though… that was the question. Chandeliers weren't quite Sirius's thing.
Molly came to find her two children at midday, looking for help packing overnight bags and putting the house to rights back at the Burrow. Ginny was further ahead in her charmwork than Ron, and so, reluctantly, she got up and followed her mother out.
They broke for lunch not long after, taking a stuffed tray of sandwiches and an extra plate with them to Arthur's room. The wizard was propped up on his pillows when they entered, looking reasonably recovered and reading a much-perused copy of that day's Daily Prophet.
'What's it say, dad?' asked Ron, taking a seat at the foot of the bed and snatching a sandwich off the tray before Hermione could set it down.
'Oh, as you'd expect,' said Arthur, folding the paper closed and handing it over. With a thanks, he accepted the plate Neville handed him. 'Brian's assumptions were close. No mention of the changes to a Dementor's Kiss sentence or the alteration of the Border, but there is a new notice to remind people the appropriate procedure for international travel is to seek approval from the Department of International Magical Cooperation beforehand.'
Pulling up a chair, Sirius sat to take a look at the paper with the others. The Ministry's response to Skeeter's article was on the second page. Considering it had taken them a few days to come out with a response, what The Prophet's Ministry sycophants had come up with wasn't very imaginative. It reported that, to the best of the Office for the Protection of Muggle-born Rights' knowledge, no one was being mistreated, but that, according to the Anthropomorphic Toad herself, a full investigation had already been launched to ensure "due diligence in light of these distressing claims".
Coincidentally, just one page on from that article was a statement that Rita Skeeter and Xenophilius Lovegood were being asked to come forth and provide more information with regard to the claims they had published and, in a curious curveball, for questioning in the matter of two Muggle-borns who had "recently" been found dead in a creek. Harry had reached the same conclusion Sirius had. He looked up at Sirius, eyebrows high.
'Reckon it's the same two who were found dead with Smith months ago?' Harry asked.
'Yup,' Sirius said.
'Anything they could pull out of the woodwork!' Hermione huffed irritably. 'Well, I suppose they couldn't try to discredit Skeeter and Xenophilius by suggesting they were suspects in Penelope's disappearance – not when they'd just claimed to know nothing about that.'
A couple more pages in to the paper was a headline about Ensuring Community Trust and Safety in a Revitalised Wizarding Society. The information about the Ministry "taking reports of local threats seriously" was there along with a direction to the Ministry office open to receiving reports of concerning individuals or behaviours in one's local neighbourhood. Rather than an office in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, it was one in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, something which spoke volumes in support of Brian's assumptions about the target of the Ministry's new prerogative.
Just below this was the notice Arthur had mentioned about the correct way to seek permission for international travel. Sirius may be misremembering things, but he was fairly certain when he and James had gone on their post-graduation trip abroad the only permissions they'd had to seek through the British Ministry's Department of International Magical Cooperation was from the countries they were planning to travel to, not the one they were leaving; and that it was largely just a formality centred around documenting the trip and their mode of travel. That wasn't how it read in this notice, and Sirius didn't think it was due only to the greater leniency he'd felt there had been in the 70s.
'Gotten to the bit where we're not allowed out of the country yet?' asked Ginny, coming into the room with several bags over her shoulders. She dumped two by the door, and the other two at the foot of the bed.
'Aren't we?' Neville craned over Ron's shoulder to reread the notice. 'It doesn't say that…'
'Not explicitly, no,' said Ginny, leaning over the bed to grab herself a sandwich. 'But I'm sure the Ministry,' she said, affecting an air of supreme pomposity, 'reserves the right to deny your winter getaway to Malta without providing a reason of any sort whatsoever.' She took a bite of her sandwich and dropped to sit sideways on the bed. 'Anyway, dad,' she said around her mouthful, 'mum packed you a bag. She told me to unpack it for you, but you'll excuse me if I don't – I already had to pack Ron's bag and that was scarring enough for one day. I can't take any more potential surprises.'
Ron frowned at her, his cheeks more full with sandwich than Ginny's. He gulped a huge swallow.
'What surprises?' he asked.
Ginny rolled her eyes at him.
'Your Chudley Cannon pants.'
Just the tips of Ron's ears reddened.
'I don't have any Chudley Cannon pants,' he mumbled.
Ginny stared, unimpressed, back at him.
'Then why were they bright orange,' she said pointedly, 'with a cannon on the front and "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best" on the back? I'd say you'd want to tell people they're Chudley Cannon pants.'
Sirius held his laugher back and looked away from Ron, who had now gone very red indeed.
'Right, well,' said Ginny, looking to her dad, 'some bloke came to the door looking for you while I was home.'
Arthur, who'd been scratching Crookshanks's head, stopped and looked worriedly back at her.
'What happened?' he asked, suddenly much more alert.
'Nothing much,' answered Ginny. 'Mum told him you weren't home and that she didn't expect you back anytime soon, then shut the door in his face. He went away easily enough. No idea who he was or what he wanted – didn't introduce himself. But mum decided to stay home for a while to finish tidying the kitchen and sorting out the chickens, and keep any eye out for any other people stopping by.'
'She's there alone?' Arthur said, perturbed.
It took only a moment's thought for Ginny to fetch her wand and send a message to her mother prompting Molly to check in regularly until she was back in headquarters. The big, bustling bear that was Molly's Patronus responded in minutes.
'Oh, all right then,' was Molly's splenetic response. 'But I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'll be finished soon – though the orchard is getting quite overrun with pests. We'll have to sort that out before long.'
Smiling to himself, Arthur went back to petting Crookshanks.
'Guess what?' Ginny said excitedly on their way back to the drawing room. Without waiting for an answer, she hurried on, 'Nah – you'll never guess – Susan owled me just before I came here –'
'Nooo!' Ron said in very sarcastic astonishment. 'Really? I can't believe it!'
'Shut up Ron,' Ginny said automatically. She bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to divulge the juicy gossip. 'Oh, it's good: Susan's pregnant!'
Hermione turned right around to look back at Ginny.
'Yeah, I know!' gushed Ginny. 'Reckon she's the first of us lot to be.'
'Was it… intended?' Harry asked uncertainly.
'Nope,' said Ginny. 'Complete accident. Something about leaving the bottle of Contraceptive Potion in the sun too long – which is interesting considering just how much sun we've been having. Makes you wonder just how long that bottle lived on the windowsill before they realised Contraceptive Potion and sunlight don't mix. She's about a month along – realised when she missed her period, you know.'
Making a face, Ron slumped into the chair he'd occupied previously.
'Stuff it Wingnut,' Ginny told him, 'it's relevant to the story.'
'No it isn't,' contradicted Ron. 'Why girls have to bring periods into everything…' he let that grumble trail off.
'When,' Hermione said haughtily, 'have I ever talked about periods around you?'
Ron blinked up at her.
'Yeah well,' he said, 'you're… different…'
Ginny snorted.
'He's just realised you're a girl, Hermione,' she said, dropping into a seat next to Harry. 'Though, actually, how you kept that one from him when you were living together in a tent I have no idea.'
Staying silent, Sirius took a seat himself. He knew the answer to that one: Hermione hadn't had a period for most of the time they were in that tent. He very much doubted Ron was privy to that information. Sirius ignored the resultant small sense of superiority he felt over the boy.
'So… are Susan and Justin happy about it?' Hermione asked cautiously.
'Oh yeah,' said Ginny. 'Course! You know Susan – been wanting kids since she was born. And Justin's apparently both over the moon and flipping out. They told the Ministry. Weren't sure they wanted to, but it's required of them as they were married under the Act and they had it checked at St Mungos, so they figured it was safer that way.'
It wasn't expressly required. Thinking back to the papers he'd signed, Sirius was pretty sure announcing that a child had been born to one of these enforced unions was only implied as required… much as the couple sharing a bed was.
'They want to stay married?' Harry asked, surprised.
Ginny turned an incredulous look on him.
'How do you miss these things?' she asked, astounded. 'They've been mooning over each other for ages!'
Harry shrugged. 'Other things on my mind…'
'Still… seems a bit young, though, doesn't it?' mused Neville. 'And being an accident doesn't sound nice. It'd be weird to know your existence was just a result of a faulty potion.'
Again, Sirius stayed silent. Better not let Neville know he'd been an accident, then.
'It's not so bad, Neville,' said Hermione. 'I was an accident, and I'm pretty sure Teddy was too. Both of us are very much loved by our parents.'
'You were?' asked Harry as Ginny said, 'Teddy, you think?'
'I was,' answered Hermione. 'And for Teddy… well, the way Remus reacted, I can't see that as having been planned, can you?'
'Nope,' said Ginny. She looked over at Neville. 'They're not that young,' she added. 'Mum was only, what, twenty when Bill was born? And Harry, your mum was younger than that, wasn't she?'
Though he thought about it, Harry didn't seem to know for sure.
'Same age,' Sirius provided.
'Do you know about Teddy?' Ron asked him. 'Was he planned?'
Sirius did know.
'He wasn't planned, no,' he answered.
Ron took that with a nod. Harry watched Sirius thoughtfully. Sirius knew it was coming, then, when Harry asked, 'Was I?'
Sirius groaned internally. He should have stayed silent. But he met Harry's gaze. Lily's stare, but James's determination. For a second, the sight of Harry was discombobulating – like Sirius was seeing two ghosts, rather than a person in his own right.
'Your parents,' he began carefully, 'wanted to wait for safer times before having kids – which, considering how things turned out with Voldemort…' Sirius changed his mind, leaving that line of thought alone. 'But you were wanted long before you happened. James had it all planned out by the time he was fourteen – told me so. He'd have…' Sirius smiled a little, remembering. 'Well, I called them "Prongs's Moments of Sentimental Pontification".' Or, at least, that was what Sirius called them when he was being kind. "P" was a great letter for alliteration. "Poncey Prongsie" had been more common.
Harry's mouth had twitched into a smile, but the look in his eyes was hungry. Sirius had seen that look before on the boy. He'd have to make a point to let Harry know all he could about his parents.
'Your mum,' he went on, 'called them James's periods of "Maturity-Coated Mushiness". Anyway, James's plan – from well before she could stand his company – was to marry Lily and have an even number of kids between four and twelve.' Harry's eyebrows rose at this. Sirius grinned and continued, 'So that, he explained – at length, mind you – with four he and Lily could join them and play three-a-side Quidditch, and with twelve they could have a full game going. The sweet spot, according to James, was six, so they could play four-a-side at the least, and have full teams if friends joined in. Lily capped it at four children, but if you asked James he reckoned she'd come round.
'So you just came about a bit early,' Sirius told Harry. 'They wanted to wait until Lily could be pregnant without having to hide away – any stray Cruiciatus Curse would have been the end of you, you know – and so you kids could have grown up in a happier time. But don't think they weren't pleased when they found out Lily was expecting.'
Sirius was going to leave it there, but Harry was still watching him, eager for more, so he added a bit more.
'James went into mad planning mode for a couple weeks,' he said, remembering the time fondly. 'Planned everything – very little of it useful. He had your day-by-day progression and milestone expectations written out from embryo to five years, including – 'cause it was James – your hand-eye coordination and flying skills – at which point Lily lost patience with his madness and hid all the childrearing books. So, instead, he tried to calculate what your favourite baby food would be from his and Lily's tastes and his own brand of wonky logic.'
'What'd he decide on?' Harry asked, amused.
Sirius snorted a laugh.
'A banana-haddock combo.'
Harry pulled a face and Sirius chuckled.
'That,' he said, laughing harder, 'was exactly your reaction as a baby!' Sobering a little, he added, 'To be fair, your dad was basing his prediction on Lily's tastes at the time, and her cravings had her wanting some weird stuff.'
'They sound great, Harry,' Neville said earnestly.
'It doesn't mean anything if you weren't planned,' Sirius said.
'No,' Hermione agreed. 'And being planned doesn't mean you were loved either.'
Sirius looked at her. She gave him a small shrug.
'You were planned,' she told him.
'How do you know that?' Sirius asked, surprised.
Hermione pulled a little grimace.
'Your mother wrote it in her day planner…'
Sirius stared at her.
'They had your name picked out too,' Hermione went on. 'Even before… you know.'
A frisson ran down Sirius's spine.
'Oooaargh!' He shuddered violently. Now he could sympathise with James on this matter. He felt sick. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to force away recollections of his parents' appearances and some weird and business-like directive conjured by his imagination that went something like "time to make Sirius now, Orion". 'Why,' Sirius moaned, 'did you have to tell me that?'
'You asked,' Hermione snickered and reached to pat his back.
'Ah – no!' Sirius yelped, flinching away. 'Don't touch me! I've got… baaaad images in my head!'
Hermione laughed harder.
'Think of butterflies,' Ginny suggested. 'And… a zephyr through a field. A bubbling stream? Or dog food.'
Sirius battled the thoughts down.
'Gor-blimey,' he grunted, rubbing at his eyes. 'Dog food, dog food, dog food, dog food…'
'Glad that one worked!' Hermione laughed.
'… Dog food, dog food, you're evil, dog food…'
Apparently Sirius's disturbed plight was hilarious. The group laughed themselves out only slowly. The afternoon didn't provide him as much time to paint as the morning did, but Sirius didn't mind. He rather enjoyed helping the students, and Neville, in particular, still needed quite a lot of help to manage adding trigger layers, time or otherwise, reliably to his charms.
He hopped down from his ladder when the rest started packing up for dinner and set about tidying his paining things up. With some pride, Sirius watched on as Neville tested the successful word-activated colour change charm he'd placed on his textbook, then pulled himself away to end the enchantments on brushes and rollers and give them a clean. He looked up again as Neville, Ginny, and Ron's conversation disappeared down the corridor. Harry was still there, packing his bag notably slowly, and Hermione was hovering in the doorway. She looked from Harry to Sirius, gave a brief smile, and left to catch up with the departing others.
Figuring Harry had something to say to him, Sirius kept his ears open as he tossed brushes and rollers into a large bucket. He looked up again as he sent the paint in his small can soaring into the large one. Harry met his eyes.
'You all right?' Sirius asked.
'Yeah,' said Harry, then added hurriedly, 'I – thanks, Sirius, you know, for… what you did for my parents and… everything.'
Sirius eyed him a moment longer before looking away to pound the lid onto the paint tin.
'You don't need to thank me,' he said. 'Were it not for your family, I'd have just about nothing.'
It was true, and it included his wife. By unspoken mutual agreement, though, his relationship with Hermione wasn't something he and Harry spoke about.
'Still…' said Harry, rather awkwardly. 'I'm… glad you're back.'
Sirius nodded, wiping his hands on an old t-shirt he'd designated as a rag.
'Me too,' he said honestly.
'And I should have remembered the mirrors,' Harry went on rapidly. 'You know – the two way mirrors. You gave me one to contact you…'
The significance of that wasn't lost on Sirius. He'd carried his mirror on him every day after he'd given Harry the other one. Harry could have reached him easily on it. He hadn't needed to resort to using Floo and end up… well, thinking he needed to go to the Department of Mysteries.
Hermione had said Sirius was the closest thing to a father Harry had known, not having really gotten to know his own parents. Sirius wondered now whether Harry's guilt had a bit – or a lot – to do with why he was the one standing here, once more alive. Sirius smiled, somewhat amused, and shook his head. The funny thing was that he felt guilty for dying – could still call to mind an echo of Harry shouting after him. That, and the fact that the day he had died was one of those few times he'd actually felt appropriately like the boy's – man's, he corrected himself – godfather.
'It doesn't matter, Harry,' he said. Harry didn't look reassured. 'Don't try to compete with me on who has the more regrets,' Sirius warned. 'I'll win hands down.'
Harry pulled a small smile. Sirius dropped his rag on the top of the paint tin. Already cooling down, he moved over to where he'd left his overrobes and picked them up.
'It'd have been nice,' Harry said, trying to sound offhand, 'had things worked out the way my parents wanted them to…'
They… sort-of had. But Sirius just smiled and gave Harry's shoulder a small shake that felt affectionate as he came up beside the wizard.
'You'd have liked five siblings?' he asked.
'Yeah, well,' said Harry, swinging his bag over his shoulder and walking with Sirius, 'it would have made practising Quidditch easier. Wouldn't have been hard to get a full team together either. You and Remus would've come round to join in…'
Sirius laughed. He looked over and, on impulse, gave Harry's messy hair a ruffle. It was something he'd never done to James's identical mop.
'James,' he chuckled, 'would have been so proud to hear you say that!'
Harry batted him away and shot him a glare.
'What's with you and Ginny and messing up my hair?' he grumbled, trying ineffectually to fix it.
The answer to that was that Sirius was feeling strangely (and a little uncomfortably) paternal, but he just laughed and lead the way down the stairs.
Molly had returned, though not as soon as she'd promised to. She was irritably defending her ability to look after herself against Arthur's protests when Sirius and Harry entered the kitchen. It wasn't the only sound filling the large basement room. There were multiple conversations going on, making the space feel more like the Great Hall at Hogwarts than Sirius's own kitchen, though a Great Hall populated almost exclusively by Weaselys.
'None,' Molly answered Arthur's question about door knockers. 'Just that bloated little bother this morning.' She sliced into one of the half dozen pies set along the table. 'Thought I saw someone when I was in the orchard, but when I turned around no one was there – so if their intention is to scare the mage's custard out of me, they're doing a fine job – as if an infestation of Bolivian Horned Scorcher Beetles wasn't enough!'
That explained Molly's appearance then. There were a number of new holes in her dress and healing remnants of acid burns on her hands.
'Take some help tomorrow,' Arthur suggested concernedly. 'Ron, Ginny –'
'They have their studies Arthur,' said Molly. 'I took up enough of Ginny's time today.'
'I'll give you a hand,' Sirius offered.
Molly glanced up, a little surprised, from filling a plate.
'No no,' she said dismissively. 'Thank you, Sirius, but if the Ministry is watching the house you helping out would make them reconsider their estimation of you. And the children sing your praises as a tutor, I won't take you from them – no, I'll ask Percy if he'll have a moment tomorrow.'
'I am – 'ow do you say? Off tomorrow, Mrs Weesley,' said Leonora. 'Eet would be mon plaisir.'
'Er…' Ron eyed her incredulously. 'Have you ever seen a Bolivian Scorcher Beetle? Killing them is the only a pleasure so far as it's revenge.'
'I like revenge,' Leonora replied with a breezy smile and wave of her hand. 'Eet sounds like malfaisant beetle target practise, and I 'ave anger toward my boss. 'Ee looks like a beetle.'
'The bald wizard with the pincers?' Ginny laughed, indicating a horseshoe moustache on her face.
'Ze very same,' Leonora agreed. Perfectly and dignifiedly composed, she added with venom, 'Le fils de pute – il peut sucer ma bite.'
Ron snorted wetly on his Butterbeer, Bill started coughing and twisted away from the table, Hermione looked mildly affronted, and the rest looked confused. Sirius was laughing. Either Leonora was freer with her words than he'd initially supposed, or her boss was a real wanker.
'Yes, well,' Molly looked away from Ron's attempts to mop himself up and went back to serving. 'I'd appreciate the help, thank you Leonora.'
'So we weren't obvious about it,' said George, he and Fred dropping into seats beside their father.
'But we did milk it,' said Fred.
'Called in extra attendants for the shop and locked ourselves away in our flat so we could experiment with new products.'
'But if anyone wanted to think so,' went on Fred, 'we were in mourning.'
'We'll stay just one more night,' said George, looking to Sirius. 'Then we'll get out of your hair. Think we got the point across and there wasn't all that much interest in what we were up to today anyway.'
'Would you mind terribly if we stayed a little while longer?' asked Molly, looking, this time, at all three of the house's human occupants for an answer, not just Sirius.
They didn't mind. Kreacher, though, might find it annoying. The elf didn't look miffed when Sirius answered it was fine, however. He just hunkered more protectively over the desert he was fixing.
