A/N: Wow, many thanks for the reviews, favourites and follows; I didn't think my fic would attract that much attention right off the bat, given how AU it is.
Betas: My thanks also go out to my dear betas Crippled Witcher and Darkened Void for their time looking for my odd lingual quirks and bad habits. Kudos! Also, if you haven't done so already, please go and read Void's newest fic - The Shadow of Death.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor the mentioned brand names. They belong to their respective creators.
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Chapter 1: A Normal Life
8 years later...
August 20th, 1994
Black Manor, London, England
Harry jerked at the sharp beeping sound of his alarm, squeezing his eyes shut and folding his pillow to cover his ears to dull the annoying sound. But no matter how he went about it, the alarm kept stabbing at his drowsiness. Bit by bit, the noise cut away at the dreamworld he'd built in his sleep, the vague shapes and forms disappearing from his inner eye's sight, his memory of them quickly crumbling before he could try and remember.
Slowly opening his eyes to the sunlight coming through the Venetian shutters that illuminated the dust that hovered in the air, he sighed in defeat and raised his heavy and wobbly arm to hone in on the enemy laying siege to his sleep.
At the sound of a lazy but clear knock, Harry knew instantly that he wouldn't even be able to squeeze in another five minutes, blinking rapidly to let his tired eyelids get used to the idea of working.
"Up you get, mate. Rise and shine and carpe diem or whatever the people tell themselves to get up from bed every day," Sirius greeted with an equally tired voice, his unkempt demeanour portraying the same disdain for the alarm as Harry did.
"I'm up," Harry muttered into the pillow, a groan escaping his chapped lips.
"I know how you feel but it's still a weekday, so up and off to work with you."
Harry finally accepted that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep and slowly pulled his thick comforter off himself, carefully steadying his body with his hand on the mattress. Rubbing at his eyes, he cleared his vision of the residual crumbs of sleep before taking another look at his godfather.
"How is it that you can lounge about all day in this ginormous estate of yours and I have to work?".
Sirius snorted in amusement at the valid question, a point that Harry had raised on many occasions when he'd taken extra notice of his godfather's laidback lifestyle.
Considering the man's seemingly uncaring behaviour when he was at home, Harry had brought up the question many times over the past eight years. It wouldn't be the last time Sirius would reply in the same manner he'd always done so far. It would always be the same, both comforting and vexing simultaneously. Sirius would take the mickey out of his godson.
"Well, as I've already told you many times before, and I really don't mind repeating it for you again, I'm from the aristocracy. So, I can lounge about as much as I please. Second, I've got loads of money, so I can lounge wherever I please. And third, you have neither of these things and are therefore obliged to make quid to aspire toward what I already have: independence." The older man held up three fingers to visually express the legitimacy of his arguments, his long black hair bedraggled.
"Not unless I pass and bequeath my title and possessions to you. And last I checked, I'm in perfect health and in no need of even writing up a will. So work it is for you, mate," he added before Harry could argue his extremely well thought out points.
Harry gave him an even stare, having heard that line more often than he could count.
"One day, you'll need to change up that answer of yours. Do, at least, make it entertaining so I won't actually fall over dead from excess boredom."
"Maybe that's the point. Alas, you have figured out my true intentions, my dear godson." Sirius cackled at his own, rather flat, joke.
Sometimes, just sometimes, Harry hated Sirius for his cruel sense of humour, but he appreciated it all the same, as well. His godfather, despite the privilege and honour his parents had given him - Sirius' words - had an uncanny ability to remain grounded. It was a trait he'd yet to discover in most other people. And while he'd moved in and been raised by Sirius since his parents' passing, he'd barely learned anything about the man that could be construed as 'intimate knowledge'. Sirius clearly cared for him, as any foster parent chosen by real parents probably would, but Sirius still maintained a certain distance from him that he couldn't quite explain. It wasn't physical distance but, rather, a distance he'd just felt in his mannerisms and odd choice of words.
"Are you getting up?" Sirius interrupted his musings, reminding him that he still had to get out of bed and begin his morning routine of getting ready for his part-time job at the bookstore. It wasn't far away but he'd begun cutting the time from waking up to arriving at his place of employment down to mere minutes. It had become an efficient routine but recently he'd begun dragging his feet in the mornings, leaving himself only a handful of minutes to take care of the one-off household chores Sirius had given him recently.
"Yeah, give me a moment. I'll be downstairs shortly." He yawned, forcing himself to slide off the bedsheet and land on his feet, the wooden floor giving off a loud creak.
Satisfied with his godson's response, Sirius nodded at the boy and turned to walk toward the staircase, leaving Harry to listen to the wood groaning under the man's bouncing weight.
Left alone with his thoughts again, Harry contemplated what was on the day's agenda. His job at the bookstore would start in about half an hour, ten of which he would need for the walk there. That would leave him with about twenty minutes to shower, get dressed and have a bite. Any more delay than that would force him to run.
Realizing that time was moving and waiting for no one, he shook himself awake and went to fetch some fresh clothes from the shelf in his cupboard. He then tip-toed over the colder floor outside his room into the bathroom, his face grimacing whenever he touched a particularly chilly spot.
This house needs more carpets or some damn floor heating, he groaned inwardly.
About ten minutes later, he entered the kitchen, where one of the housemaids had prepared a meal for him. A cup of tea sat patiently by a few newspapers, steam curling from its surface in invitation. Smiling to himself in anticipation of tasting said drink, he dropped himself in one of the chairs at the breakfast table close to the sink where his de-facto foster mother was leaning casually.
"Morning Harry," she greeted him with a singing voice.
"Morning Celine," he responded flatly in protest to her obvious good mood.
While she was the head of the house staff, a female butler if you will, she was far more than just that to him. Celine had taken to him as a mother would to a lost child, only she'd never referred to herself as such and never claimed she was anything more than what she was hired to do.
When he was much younger and would wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, screaming for his parents, she would come rushing to his side of the bed and hold him. She embraced him until his cries rendered him exhausted in his grief more, but even then she would continue to hold his hand until he'd drifted back to sleep. Sometimes he had even found her sitting on a stool by the bed, her head laying on the sheet and her hand still holding onto his loosely.
She'd continued to care for him so intimately until he'd grown a bit older and found her fussing and hovering nature too overwhelming. While he'd noticed an evident look of hurt on her face when'd lashed out at her, she'd never seemed like she'd taken it as a sign to stop.
Instead of mothering him like the way she'd done before, she'd taken a step back and begun taking care of him without his notice. He'd gained what he felt was more control over his life but remained otherwise unaware of the things she'd still do for him anyway. The breakfast that was sitting on the table in front of him may have been prepared by the other members of the staff, but he would be correct to assume, she'd made sure it was the way he liked it.
He would never complain about things being off or not according to what he was used to. Harry dearly appreciated the things being done for him since his arrival over eight years ago. Back then he'd been a very difficult child to deal with, of that he was certain.
"I see you've just gotten out of bed. At least, that's what people will think when they see you," Celine observed with a grin forming on her lips, her eyes travelling over his head.
Self-consciously stroking at his hair, trying and failing to make it submit to him, he grimaced at her.
"Well, it is what it is. This hair will never stay the way I want it. And please, stop reminding me. You've suffered through it just as much."
"I know but where's the fun in that?" Celine shrugged at him happily.
"Why should there be fun at my expense? Am I a joke to you?"
"No, of course not, but let me enjoy the small things while I still can. One day, you'll be gone and there won't be anybody left to tease," she moaned with a hand raised to her forehead, her grin not leaving her face.
"There's still Sirius. He seems to appreciate the odd tease." The teenage boy eyed her mischiefly before adding, "And, also, I can't wait to get away from the lot of you."
"Oh hush, you secretly love this," she teased back with a smile.
"Again, not really. And again, Sirius surely would," he repeated while he took a ginger sip from his tea. It wouldn't do to burn his tongue in front of her. She would take that as an invitation to treat him like a child. She would absolutely love to blow on the tea for him, same as when he was much younger. Her love of embarrassing him caused him no small amount of grief, though he would never admit that he loved her for it all the same.
"Ouch, such harsh words from one so young. The ladies won't appreciate being brushed off so easily," she faux-complained, turning back toward the sink to clean.
Rolling his eyes at her, Harry shook his head and took another sip from his tea. "You are hardly a lady, Celine. You're more like my nanny. Nannies don't count."
It was a statement of fact, rather than a comment made to cause hurt. It was their normal, nice even.
The woman turned her head toward him, a snicker waiting barely contained behind her lips. "Last I checked, statistics indicate that most nannies are boys' first love. So be nice to me and I might just give you a smooch," she explained, giving him a small, teasing wink.
Harry huffed as an involuntary need to shudder rolled off his shoulders. "That's bollocks. There isn't a statistic for that."
"Language, Harry," she admonished him with a sudden stern look, her displeasure at the use of the expletive comparable to a dragon having a single coin stolen from its hoarded treasure.
"Sorry," he muttered before thinking of a less vulgar word that would express the same sense of vehement disagreement. "Rubbish?"
"Better."
At the approving nod coming from the woman, Harry cleared his throat and began his attempt to disagree anew. "Rubbish, there isn't a statistic for first loves of boys raised by nannies," he repeated the earlier statement.
"Not a public one, but you know, we 'nannies'," Celine said using her index fingers for emphasis, "keep score. Each boy we ensnare is marked on our scoresheet."
Her counter to his argument delivered, she let her eyebrows waggle up and down at him, making him roll his eyes at her
"You're a devious witch, you know that? Feeding me until I'm ripe for the taking. Where's the oven you'll be roasting me in then? Hansel and Gretel's witch has nothing on you, Celine." Harry couldn't help but snicker at his own joke. He'd spent far too much time with Sirius.
Shock ran across Celine's face but disappeared instantly. Instead of responding to his comment, she shrugged at him, raising a hand in defeat and turning back to her task. She didn't speak up again and remained otherwise occupied with her duties, leaving Harry to sit in silence.
Shaking his head at her sudden departure from their banter, he, too, turned his attention away from her and back to his meal and the newspapers. The news didn't really offer anything he'd find even remotely interesting, allowing him to accelerate the speed with which he ate the food and drank his tea.
Finishing his meal, he got ready to leave, saying his goodbyes to both Celine and Sirius on his way out, the door slamming closed behind him signalling his departure.
After a few moments of silence where the grandfather clock was the only sound in the house, Celine's footsteps could be heard making their way over to where Sirius sat in the living room. Sitting down across from him, taking off her apron and loosening her tightly bound bun, she let a tense sigh leave her body. Her freed brunette hair cascaded down her neck, and with a bit of ruffling, fell around her shoulders more aesthetically.
Feeling more comfortable, she let herself fall back on the expensive furniture and eyed the carefully chosen objects garnishing the room. While the unmoving portraits of previous heads of House Black that hung on the walls were brought in by Sirius, she could lay claim to having organized almost everything else in the new house. Celine had made sure that, despite Sirius's family tendency to choose more high quality and fragile furniture, she focused on making it a home for a child to grow up in, not grow miserable.
Eyeing the backside of Sirius' newspaper, she cleared her throat to announce her presence and draw his attention to herself.
"It's been eight years since he's come to us and I still jump whenever he makes mentions of anything related to magic. Like he'd finally noticed or he'd caught me doing something," She recounted while she massaged her eyes and began folding her apron on her lap.
Sirius, who until this point had not spoken to her, lowered his newspaper and looked at her with an intimate smile. He still wore his house robe over his grey sweatpants and his favourite Metallica t-shirt, his hair also in the same unkempt state it had been when he'd gone to check in on his godson earlier.
Celine clenched her jaws at the man's careless appearance, his choice of clothing not summoning as much swagger as he thought it did. If she didn't love him as much as she did and didn't care for Harry as if he was her own, she would have never persevered thus far as a 'housemaid'.
"Good Morning to you too, my dear," he greeted her. "And yes, he surely has given us the occasional scare. I find myself thinking, sometimes secretly hoping, that it would be the moment we'd finally be able to tell him everything. Unless he makes the connection himself and asks us point-blank if there is magic. Until such time, we can't tell him of our own accord."
Sirius explained it again to her, his choice of words well-practised and coming off as something that he'd often end up telling himself in a mirror.
"But why wait? What if he will never connect the dots? I'm sure Lily didn't mean for him to never experience it." Celine's words were tinged with light frustration.
Playing with his Black family ring that adorned his hand, he eyed the expensive carpet on the floor that warmed their feet and protected them from the cold beneath it. "I promised Lily and James that we'd never tell him if he didn't show any specks of performing magic. Until he does or sees us do magic, he is not to be told," he repeated again, having had this conversation many times before.
"Yes, I know, I was there when you swore that oath. It was the same oath I had to take along with being his godparents should anything ever happen." She groaned, massaging the bridge of her nose.
Sirius eyed her with regret at her mention of being his godparent as well, the sense of guilt stabbing at his heart for the woman he loved sitting opposite from him. Her luscious brown hair framed her heart shaped-face that held the wise and vivid looking grey eyes looking back at him, waiting expectantly for his next response.
"I'm sorry for how things turned out for both of us. I really am. I wish we could have made it official, but your family wouldn't agree to a marriage where you'd have to hide what you were. They'd also never agree to hide their nature for the sake of one boy."
A small smile that barely reached her eyes formed on her smooth-looking face. It was an act of intimacy, one she had to hide whenever they weren't alone and otherwise in plain view of onlookers. Placing the nicely folded apron on the coffee table next to her, she placed her hands on the arm of the chair and pushed herself up slowly. With a seductive sway to her body, she walked up to him and, with her bare index finger, forced the newspaper to flatten against Sirius' chest. He in turn folded the paper and put it next to him on the couch, freeing the space for her to turn and lower herself on his lap. Leaning against his chest, she let her head rest in the nook of his neck, her forehead touching his bearded jawline.
"I never regretted agreeing to this," she began with a whisper, sure that only he would hear her speak. "The time we've spent together thus far has been a dream to me. Even if I can't refer to ourselves as husband and wife, Harry is still our boy for all intents and purposes, and magic or not, married or not, that doesn't change one bit of what this is. We're a family."
At the proclamation of the love she held for him, Sirius dared a chaste kiss which she returned. He moved his hand along her arm while she held his other hand in hers.
"It won't be forever," he promised. "If he never connects the dots, he'll naturally plan his life accordingly and move out sooner or later. He'll leave and find his way in the world without us and magic."
Listening to his words, she could see how that might be a very real possibility. They'd been as careful as they could about magic not finding its way into Harry's life and perhaps it was for the best. It didn't stop her from feeling a sting of pain at the high likelihood that he may never really know them as much as she truly wished.
"Perhaps," Sirius continued carefully, "When the time comes, I'll obliviate his memories of us and he'll be free and won't ever have to find out."
At his last utterance, Celine jerked forward and straightened her back. Turning her body and twisting her neck to be able to look at him with both eyes, she made sure to eye him with the most disapproving look she could muster.
"I don't think I would ever agree to that, Sirius. Not knowing about us is one thing. Forgetting us is completely different." Her voice was laden with heat that radiated against his face.
Aware that he'd spoken out of turn and said something unbecoming of a godparent, he looked away in regret and moved his hand to hold hers in reassurance.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I just spend too much time in my own head sometimes. Lily would often complain about my habits of doing things before thinking about them first. And while James shared a portion of that bad behaviour, he'd agree with her assessment wherever his son was concerned."
Hearing him mention their friends' names so intimately again, she couldn't help but smile at her memories she'd shared with Lily. She'd met the younger witch at Hogwarts in their youth, herself in Slytherin and the redhead in Gryffindor. Thinking back, she could scarcely believe how well she'd gotten along with her despite the house rivalry being in full swing at the time.
Lily couldn't have cared less about loyalty lines and the espoused virtues of each house. When Celine had first rebuffed her and sent her on her merry way back to the Gryffindor table, after the redhead had asked for a tip on an arithmancy formula, she saw that it wouldn't remain unanswered. The refusal had seemingly sparked a challenge in the girl's head and since their first verbal encounter, the Gryffindor had pestered her at any given opportunity. She'd continued to pester the Slytherin witch until one day they'd found themselves laughing at a mistake the arithmancy professor had made during a lecture. They had been inseparable since the detention session that followed, studying together and dreaming of applying for apprenticeships after they'd completed their NEWTs.
Things turned out to be different when Harry was born. Lily was wholly devoted to her son and despite having still thought of working her way toward a Mastery in Arithmancy, the unusual condition of her infant boy had put a hold on her plans. Since her friend had found out that her son may not possess magic, she'd changed and begun to interact with the muggle part of her life more seriously, building a foundation for a career in muggle motorsports instead of their youthful dreams of getting their masteries together.
Celine knew of her friend's hobby and had often accompanied her to her race weekends during their holidays between semesters at Hogwarts in the mid-70s. She had, however, felt quite out of place with each time she'd gone along. Being left sitting on a bench somewhere in the stands while she observed her friend make her turns around the circular track, hadn't piqued her curiosity. The ogling muggles, who'd for unknown reasons decided to converge on her waiting position, had struck her as lacking decorum, further deepening her dislike for their kind.
In the years that passed after Harry's birth in 1980, both Lily and James made a name for themselves in the muggle motorsports community, receiving trophies and accolades for their successes. It was, therefore, all the more surprising and gut-wrenching to receive the sad news on the fateful morning of April 29th in 1986. Their sudden departure sent rippling waves throughout both worlds, the muggle as well as the magical.
Feeling a nudge to her shoulder, she shook herself out of her musings, turning to see Sirius' worried gaze studying her. Shaking her head at him to relieve his worried gaze, she straightened her back and put a content smile on her face.
"You've had to change to meet the challenge that was fatherhood. Anyone would feel the way you do. I'm sure Lily and James would be proud of us and how well we've managed to raise Harry. I'm," she emphasized, "proud of how well you've done with him. He's grown to be a good boy and, eventually, he'll be a good man."
Sirius smiled at her show of sentimentality, leaning himself forward to rest his head against her shoulder. Clearing his throat, the moist lump moved to make way for his quiet voice.
"I still find myself wondering how it is, that I, who everyone deemed reckless and careless, got to live the life that should have rightfully been theirs," Sirius mentioned, disbelief weighing on his words.
Celine eyed him carefully, considering her next words wisely. "They chose to pursue muggle sports and, as such, they chose to adhere to the extremist regulations of the statute of secrecy. They had to act per the rules; no magic in muggle activities. Nobody forced them to mingle among muggles."
She paused for effect, the sigh that escaped her lips evoking a sense of guilt at the words that followed. "Their death was a terrible accident in a time where many muggles, in that sport, lost their lives regularly. They both knew the risks and decided to steam ahead regardless. Orphaning Harry was always a realistic possibility, and they chose to pursue their passion all the same."
Sirius nodded in response and agreed with her retelling of facts. He understood very well what drove the pair to muggle motorsports. It was, after all, partially his fault that James had developed an interest in it. "If only I had been with them, I could have done something. I could have saved them."
Sirius didn't add anything after that and Celine recognized that he would remain adamant about some of the fault lying at his feet, regardless of whether it was warranted or not.
She decided then to cheer him up and help lift the heaviness in the air of the room, her eyes glancing for a moment at one sunny patch on the carpet. Getting up off his lap, she strode toward the chair she had previously sat on and took the neatly folded apron to the kitchen and returned with an umbrella instead, an encouraging smile plastered on her face.
"You fancy a walk?" she asked, tilting her head and pointing toward the door with her thumb. "I reckon a good long walk through the park might just lighten the mood. The sun is out and who knows, maybe we'll find an empty bench to eat a sandwich or two."
Sirius drew his eyes away from his feet, looking at her with relief. The weight of the previous conversation slowly flowed off of him.
"Sure, I'd accompany you anywhere, my dearest Celine."
Getting up from the chair, he quickly ran up the stairs and disappeared for what seemed only mere moments. Suddenly appearing again with a change of clothes that looked like he should have at least spent a few more minutes putting on, he walked over to where she stood at the door and put on his coat and shoes. Looking themselves over in the mirror, they smiled at their reflections.
"Shall we?" he asked her expectantly, offering his arm to her.
"We shall," she returned, putting her arm through his as they stepped outside into the sunny morning.
###
About a ten minute walk away...
Bartholomew's Literary Corner, London, England
Harry's huffing as he crashed through the door to his place of work raised the attention of the people inside. His superior at the cash register raised an eyebrow at him, to which Harry could only smile shyly.
"I know, I'm sorry. I had a red wave the entire way here," he placated, raising his hand in apology.
The man opposite of him returned a bored stare of disbelief, pursing his lips to moisten them for his response. "Last I checked, Mr Potter, you walk here. You don't drive and you don't ride a bike. You don't even use a bus or the Underground. How is it then that you apply traffic congestion to your excuse?"
Harry shrugged innocently at him. "I am a respectable member of society, Mr Carlson. I don't run through traffic nor do I oppose the will of the red man."
The man shook his grey-haired head at that, returning his bespectacled gaze toward the magazine he had spread out in front of him on the desk.
"Well, get changed and check on the new deliveries. We've also got customers coming to pick up some orders by eleven. I don't want to explain to them how my youngest hire is the cause of their displeasure," the older man complained, raising his head to pierce Harry with an intense stare."Again."
Nodding wryly, he couldn't disagree with the man's statement. "Yes, sir. I won't disappoint," Harry replied obediently as he rushed past Mr Carlson and toward the storage room where the lockers were.
After getting changed and checking himself in the mirror for anything other than his messy hair and making sure his unattractive scar from an accident in his childhood was well hidden, he left to check in the new arrivals.
The piles of smaller boxes that were stacked by the dozens, wiggling when touched, threatened to collapse and bury him under masses upon masses of newly printed books. Studying the boxes, he began playing a larger game of Jenga, carefully removing the topmost boxes and opening them once they were safely placed on the cart next to him.
He noticed a line of books in one of the boxes to be delivered to a person whose name he was quite familiar with. The bushy head of hair, to which the name belonged to, was almost daily a visitor at the small, humble business.
"Hermione," he mused, "if it weren't for you, this place would have gone bust ages ago."
He began stacking the new books on the cart after having carefully stripped them of their see-through packaging. Splitting the stacks between those meant for the shelf behind the counter for pick-ups and one for the restocking of empty spots on the shelves for displays, Harry made his way across the bookstore's space. He was forced to carefully navigate the cart around the quietly studying customers who were deeply focused on their musings over the books in front of them.
The work might have been repetitive but it was simple and paid well enough, and Harry met new people every day. Also, the smell of books reminded him of his parents' house with its large library. He'd often found his mother spending hours upon hours going through ancient-looking books, uttering strange phrases only to stop when she'd discover him spying on her.
It had been strange but if there was one thing that always seemed to bring a smile to his godfather's face, it would be the oddness Harry associated with his parents. He wondered if they had been truly an odd couple or if his younger self had simply misperceived them as such.
"Who really knew their parents at that age", he wondered. "Weren't they all wonder and magic to any child?"
Lost in his musings, he'd failed to notice his dazed appearance in the middle of the store, the customers having to walk around him, their eyes glancing across his unmoving features.
"Harry!" A voice interrupted his daydreams.
He turned toward where the voice came from, only to discover that it was his boss, the man eyeing him with a disapproving look. "You might want to stop daydreaming and get back to work. Those books aren't moving themselves," he reprimanded lightly.
"Yeah, sorry, Sir," Harry apologized, returning his focus on the books lying before him on the cart.
He spent the next few hours organizing the books on display and cleaning up after customers who'd drunk some tea in the store's cafe area. Aside from himself and MrCarlson, there was an older girl, Janine, who worked at the bookstore as well. Other than the fellow employees, Harry had yet to see the owner of the business. He'd been told that it was an elderly lady who'd taken over ownership after her late husband had passed a few years ago. Mr Carlson was the only employee to have met with her since he was the one reporting on the shop's monthly earnings.
Harry never bothered to take note of the income the shop produced but it was easy enough to tell that it wasn't really an especially successful business. They barely sold that many books and the customers that did purchase their books here seemed rather odd. They had all a sort of glow to them.
He figured it had to do with the way the sun shone into the shop or some sort of grease forming on his glasses. People weren't supposed to shine, after all.
"Can I take my break, Mr Carlson?" he asked his superior.
The man only nodded briefly before returning his focus on the book open in front of him, the title written in a beautiful cursive font. He couldn't read what it said. The words appeared foreign to him.
Instead of wasting his time decoding the strange language on the book's cover, Harry moved toward the cafe area where Janine cleaned glasses and refilled the coffee machine with a new pile of brown-coloured beans. She noticed him taking a seat in the back, away from the rest of the customers enjoying their drinks and small meals.
Setting the glass she'd been polishing down, she went to fetch a piece of paper and a pen before making her way around her station and toward the boy sitting in the back by his lonesome.
"What will we be having, your excellency?" she inquired with an exaggerated tone of deference.
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at her, shaking his head to emphasize how ridiculous he found her behaviour. "Just tea and some biscuits, if you've still got good stuff."
"The tea is easy enough but the biscuits, I'm afraid, will require some goodwill on your part," she sighed exaggeratedly, still maintaining her fake persona of servitude.
"What is it this time? Do I need to clean the toilet again?" The groan that left his lips further emphasized his disgusted look. The image of the task was already making its way through his head, leaving little to the imagination. He could even smell what would await him if he agreed.
"Would you?" the taller girl asked hopefully, her tone rising a note. "I'd really appreciate it if you would do it again today. I'm going on a date tonight and I don't want to risk one ounce of that stuff sticking to the underside of my nails. I'd owe you."
Janine folded her hands pleadingly before her, but he knew that she just wanted to get out of doing the chore, whether it was for a date or something else or even nothing at all. As the one responsible for the cafe, the duty did fall to her, but then again, he wasn't one to hang friends and colleagues out to dry.
He could make her suffer for it first before he'd agree to anything, he figured, letting an evil grin form on his face. "If I checked the tally that you've accumulated, I'd say I'm the best friend you'll ever have. You have yet to try and even the score," he lamented, careful not to let his 'annoyed' facade crumble too early.
She waved him off smugly, smiling at his attempt to guilt her into changing her mind. "Harry, it's the thought that counts, remember? If you do this for me, I'll forever remain in your debt."
Aware that his attempt at false bravado failed spectacularly, he felt that he should at least try to lecture her properly, despite being the younger of the two of them. "If you keep this up, all you'll ever have is a ton of debt. Not a great position to be in, Jan."
Ignoring his attempt to tell her what's what, she simply continued with her point of view, talking over him as if it was the easiest thing. "Well, that may very well be true, but you seem to forget that you're the only one I'm in debt to. I don't exactly ask anyone else for favours, do I?" The clever correction, even though it was outright ridiculous because he knew she always wormed her way out of any chore when she could, rang true and crushed his earlier statement.
Recognizing the futility of their back and forth, he didn't respond, determining that any further argument on that front would only lead to more nonsense coming from her end. Simply looking at her silently, he couldn't help but smile smugly and wait.
"You're a real brat sometimes, Harry. You'll never find a decent girl with that 'no-can-do' attitude. Forget any advice coming from me, for when you come begging for help in that department." Raising her hand to her chest, her face portrayed the perfect example of what 'utter disappointment' looked like.
He smiled at that even more, forming a Cheshire cat grin, and leaned himself against the back of his chair, a hand raised to finally call it quits. "Fine then, you are right. I should choose my battles more wisely. And who knows, maybe I'll be needing that advice of yours for when I find 'The One'." Despite offering his agreement to help her, he couldn't deny himself the opportunity at a last dig. "I'll do it if only to spare your date the indignity of a date dealing with a smelly pair of hands."
Janine huffed at that but giggled at the preceding exaggerated surrender.
"Well, then we are in agreement. Tea and biscuit coming right up, Mr Potter," she said, turning with a bounce to her step to fetch his order
After the older teenager rushed off, Harry turned his gaze back toward the front part of the cafeteria, eyeing the passing customers as they studied the books on the shelves.
He was always fascinated by how seemingly different people secretly shared common interests. Punk rockers and bankers reading comics while gardeners and teachers read up on philosophy. People who'd never dare strike up a conversation in public, finding common ground within the quiet and protective, sombre air of a bookstore. It was similar to how bars used heavy doors to inspire a sense of doom for the fainthearted, but a warm hearth to those who closed it behind them, once inside.
His thought was interrupted by the sudden ring of the doorbell. Harry glanced toward the entrance to the shop, noticing a rather bushy head of hair. He smiled to himself as he raised an arm to alert the individual to his location, their change in expression compared to a Viking first discovering Vinland - it was that kind of joy.
Quickly but quietly, she made her way toward him and dropped herself on the seat opposite him. Placing her heavy bag on the chair next to her, the contents of which were the old books she'd read to the point of leaving pages scarred by small rips, she made sure it wouldn't slide and let the contents tumble to the floor.
Then, and only then, did Hermione turn her focus on him. The smile that emerged on her face almost blinded him, certainly a byproduct of her proximity to new, still unread books - her children as she once put it.
"Hey Harry, funny finding you here."
"Why yes, what a coincidence, isn't it?"
Before Hermione could respond to his thoroughly practised banter, Janine returned with Harry's order on a small plate in her hands, placing the few things carefully on the table and looking at Hermione expectantly, a pen and paper ready in her hands.
"Hi there, what will you be having? I can recommend the Latte with fruitcake. It's just been freshly delivered," she offered honestly, a vast difference to her earlier attitude toward Harry, who could only watch in mild amusement. He wished she'd treat him like an adult at least once in his life.
"Hi," Hermione greeted before she thought about the offer for a few moments. The menu on the table, still standing up in the placeholder, didn't offer any other attractive alternatives to her. Eyeing Harry's steaming cup of tea and lightly-coloured biscuits, she came to a decision. "It sounds great but I think I'll be having what he's having. Tea and biscuits would do the trick for me too, thank you."
Janine nodded at her and wrote down the order before making her way back to the station to prepare the order, the older girl's body moving quickly but efficiently in the periphery of her eyes.
Hermione returned her focus to Harry who raised his cup to take a careful first sip from the hot drink. "Any good?" she inquired earnestly.
"Hm?", he expressed in surprise, careful not to burn lips as he replaced the cup on the table. "Yeah, decent as ever. When it's not the books that are making money, it'll be Janine's tea assortment that'll save this place."
At the praise for the older girl that had just taken her order, Hermione felt a small sting pinching her chest. Focusing on not letting him notice her mild envy at the nice words for the other girl, Hermione shrugged.
"Last I checked I've purchased bulks of books from this place. It isn't exactly wise to suggest that I purchase my books elsewhere by ridiculing this place's business model. It's quite unwise of you to do so in my presence, Harry," she reminded him pointedly, her eyebrow raised to express her disappointment.
"I'll take that under advisement for whenever I open up a bookstore. You'll be my first customer and I won't be making any jokes then," he promised her, taking another small sip from his steaming cup.
"Ah yes, sarcasm, the lowest form of wit." The bushy-haired girl sighed dejectedly, her lack of surprise evidence of having endured his 'witty' banter in the past.
Feigning a pained expression, he placed a hand on his chest and twisted his face in a long falsely pained grimace. "You insult me, Hermione. It's one of my many redeeming qualities." He knew that he was stretching the gag but didn't care. She was his friend and, somehow, he didn't see her minding it.
"Harry," she whined, a hand covering her face, "you have many redeeming qualities, but that is not one of them."
"I beg to differ," he replied curtly.
"Beg all you want then."
"I will." He nodded at her, crossing his arms before him. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome," she replied, mirroring his movement.
They eyed each other seriously before giggling themselves silly. At the sharp gaze coming from Mr Carlson, Harry raised a hand in apology and lifted a finger to his lips at Hermione, who could only agree.
He was glad to have met her in this bookstore last summer, during one of her hunts for new books. At the time of their meeting, she had been looking for books on snake biology and pre-historic records of reptiles, as well as mention of snakes in the mythology of antiquity. The assortment of books available on the subjects was endless but he had been willing to spend hours with her digging through all possible books of interest to her. After the lengthy search, she'd gone home with about a dozen books on the slithering reptiles.
The memory of it brought another smile to his lips, one she'd taken to form one of her own.
"What would the world come to if not for you, Hermione?," he began, praising her. "It would be a dozen shades of grey darker."
"Was that poetry I heard?" she asked, her cheeks reddening at the kind words being thrown at her suddenly.
"No, it's the truth," he insisted clearly before dropping his serious mien for one of joy. "The harsh kind, that is."
"Well, thank you for your honest but harsh poetry then."
He bowed with his head graciously, placing a hand on his chest in a manner that screamed pompousness. "I aim to please."
She giggled at that some more before she forced a hand to cover her mouth to combat the loud noise. Once the excitement over his terrible acting subsided, Hermione brought a more serious topic to the forefront of her mind, the letters of the subject's title clearly visible in her head.
"So," she began seriously, her hands folded nicely on the surface of the table, half-hidden by the menu booklet in between them.
"So," he echoed cheekily.
She narrowed her eyes at him with a grin but straightened her face shortly after. The question that would follow had occupied her for a while now and she worried that if she didn't ask him soon, she'd miss the opportunity to prepare herself for the answer.
"When are you finally participating in that race of yours?"
Harry, surprised at the sudden change in topic, looked past her at something behind her, the wheels turning behind his green eyes. It wasn't the first time they'd discussed his passion for motorsports but it was the first time she'd taken the initiative to open the subject first.
"Not sure about when exactly I'd be able to answer that particular question, but I'm making progress. The car isn't quite there yet but with the money I'll be getting soon, I should be able to complete it in a week. I just need a few more parts and then I'll be good to go." His choice of words was consciously vague to avoid making premature commitments or handing out the wrong information. Hermione liked to be clear on things and speculation wasn't exactly her thing.
"And who'll be driving?" Another good question coming from her side of the table, reminding him of the one catch to his recent luck of finding a sponsor. The answer was something he'd dreaded to answer, based on what she'd told him about the person they'd met.
"I was thinking about Ron," he began carefully, not meeting her gaze as he spoke. "You know, Ronald Weasley? The redhead kid whose father came with that ancient light-blue Ford Anglia during the last event?"
They'd met the Weasley father with his son at the last race event he'd gone to with Hermione. Harry and Mr Weasley had gotten to talking and once he'd introduced himself to the man, the latter had instantly offered to pay for the remaining parts that Harry required for his project car. Not believing his good fortune, Harry had quickly agreed to the one condition: that Ron be permitted to drive the car. He had no qualms over that one, singular condition as he'd only ever been interested in building and tuning cars, never driving them. It had been like that as far back as he could remember. Perhaps even longer than that.
The sporting event he had in mind was an open class race, where drivers didn't need to have licenses and only had to fulfil the physical traits and fitness to remain unharmed in a crash. If participants were underage, a legal guardian had to be present and pay the participation fee. Sirius had already agreed to join him and take care of the legal conditions. In terms of money, Harry had always been more independent, not taking a dime from his godfather unless it had to do with his living situation or other similar matters. When it came to racing, he wanted it to be on his terms and no one else's.
"Yes, I remember that. But why would you agree to his driving your car? Have you ever seen him drive a car before?" she asked, confusion evident on her face and disappointment marring her tone. It was clear she didn't quite like the idea, but he couldn't tell why it mattered so much to her.
"His father offered to sponsor my car if I'd let him put his son in it. I watched him drive his father's car and he seemed like he knew what he was doing. At least he didn't crash, that is," Harry replied with a shrug.
Hermione's general demeanour grew tense at his relaxed view on the matter and it began to irk him a bit. It wasn't exactly her business whom he chose as a driver but somehow he also appreciated her emotional investment in his success.
He saw her shaking her head lightly as she looked down at the table, her arms moving back until they dropped in her lap and away from his sight. He couldn't see what was happening under the table but if he were to guess, she'd succumb to her one tell - a nervous tick even. Whenever there was something she disagreed with but couldn't articulate the words to express herself, she'd play with her fingernails.
"That isn't exactly a winning argument, Harry," she stressed.
"I know," Harry admitted and nodded his agreement to her assessment. "But I need the money and if I have to rent out my car to some kid for a race without him destroying it, that's fair. I'd be able to finish my car and go hunt for a better driver the next time around when I have the luxury to choose."
He'd hoped that she may see now where he was going with his decision to let the kid, Ron, drive his car.
"I do get what you mean, but what do you know about those people? From what you know, they could make you give him a seat every time they ask. You're not exactly in a position to disagree," she argued further, her unusual premature judgement a new side to her he hadn't yet seen. He didn't like it.
Deciding it was better not to address her unusual behaviour and unfair choice of words over people she barely knew, he remained calm and relied on his relaxed shoulders and face to transmit that sense to her.
"I like to be optimistic about those things and they didn't strike me as the callous type," he began with a shrug. "I think Mr Weasley simply wanted to afford his son the opportunity to drive a real race car at a real event where classes are open and a license isn't required. Who would I be if I didn't feel a speck of camaraderie to Ron?"
Hermione's face suddenly fell at the last comment coming from Harry. Letting the tenseness in her body go and dropping her aggressive posture, she looked like she'd finally seen it from his point of view.
"I see," she began, much more composed but still sure of herself and what was to follow. "I still think you ought to be clear about where the boundaries are when it comes to your car, but it's your decision. If you feel that you have to rent out your car to people you hardly know, then fine."
The tone in her voice had gone a bit flatter than before and it worried him that he'd pushed her into a corner from where she was not permitted to express an honest opinion. To remedy the situation, he decided to move the conversation along and point out to her how racing for those who had yet to enter worked.
"Renting out race cars is the bread and butter of most of the teams in the racing world. If you're not a works team, you're renting out one of the cars if not all. That's perfectly normal. I'm flattered even to have attracted the eye of a sponsor to rent my car. Makes me feel like I'm getting one step closer to where my parents got," he said as a smile he couldn't stop forming on his face; the mention of his parents often did that.
Hermione eyed him quietly. She'd hardly ever heard him speak of his parents in the last year she'd known him.
It was then that Janine returned with Hermione's order, placing it on the table in front of her.
"Thank you, it looks great," she praised, before noticing something off about her order. Confused, she raised a finger to point at Harry's plate.
"Why did he get different biscuits?"
Janine looked at Harry and then at Hermione.
"He gets the bland ones that we don't serve to customers. Don't worry about it, he likes them that way. Please enjoy it," Janine explained before leaving again.
Hermione returned her focus on Harry, a question on her lips. She was however slower than he was to speak.
"It's fine. As she said, I like them slightly bland. I hate wasting food, so I volunteer to eat them whenever I'm on break," he explained with a shrug.
"You could donate them, you don't have to eat all of them," she countered instead, opening an entirely new can of worms.
He couldn't help but grin at Hermione's relentless will to debate everything. He didn't have that many people in his life who'd wish to discuss anything and everything with him. He also learned a lot from her keen interest to research anything new, leaving him with more knowledge than he'd begun a conversation with.
"I don't know…," he began, scratching his head to buy time, "I feel like it would be unfair to give old food to people."
"Do you prefer to give them nothing?" She pushed again, not giving him the chance to leave things hanging vaguely between them.
"The store donates what is still good and my godfather donates to the soup kitchens and the Salvation Army regularly."
"Oh, I see." Her pale cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to suggest that-"
"It's fine," he interrupted her, his hand raised to calm her sudden, rambling apology. "I know you meant well. And you didn't know that about me. No harm no foul, Hermione."
She gave him a small smile, lowering her gaze toward the cup of tea trapped between her palms.
"So, can I come to the event? As a team member, I mean," she asked suddenly, the speed with which she switched back to the original topic of their conversation giving him figurative whiplash.
"What do you mean as a team supporter … like a grid girl? I mean, I'm not sure they'd allow that but I could ask if you're insisting," he stated flatly, perfectly aware that this was not what she'd meant. But he couldn't have possibly passed up on teasing her like that.
Hermione, her mouth forming a big "O", lurching forward to bend over the table to smack him on the arm.
"Harry Potter, you...Me a grid girl? As a supporter of the team, of course. What do you even mean by your outrageous idea? What makes you think I'd make a good grid girl? I mean...to be clear...they're the girls in skimpy outfits standing next to the cars on the starting line, correct?" she asked while she covered her face with both her hands from embarrassment.
"Yup, that would be what grid girls do. But I was only kidding." Harry laughed deeply, touching her arm to relieve her sense of embarrassment. "And yes, of course, you can come and support my team. I'd love to have you there. And yes, given the opportunity you'd make a brilliant grid girl. You'd distract the entire competition and get me a win."
He grinned at the last bit before laughing out loud, enjoying the fruits of his practical joke to the fullest.
Shaking her head at him, she joined him, her snickers barely audible.
At the shushing sound coming from Mr Carlson again, the two teens lowered their heads in apology again but grinned at each other.
"You are incorrigible, you know that. One of these days you'll find yourself in a situation where you won't find a way to talk yourself out again," she stated.
He smiled at that, raising his gaze to the clock above her head behind her. Checking his watch in shock, he quickly downed his tea and finished his biscuit and went to return the plate and cup to Janine's station who thanked him for saving her a trip to his table.
Returning to Hermione's side, he checked himself over for crumbs and stains before addressing her again.
"I got to get back to work but I'll call you about the details of the race, so that you know your way around when you show up," he explained in a rush but grew quiet as he remembered something he'd wanted to tell her. "Erm, also, I have a few books for you that came today. I'll prepare them for you when you come by the register to pay, after you've done your rounds in the shop."
"Thanks, yeah. Will do. See you in a bit," she confirmed with a happy smile, nodding at him as he left to continue his work.
###
Later that day...
Black Manor, London, England
The garage smelled of oil and grease with a touch of petrol to help underline what had been the home to Harry's hobby and passion since his earliest days. The walls were lined with tools, posters of famous race cars and drivers and the occasional pin-up of a race queen that Sirius would cheekily hang up when he wasn't watching.
While the floor around the car looked like a whirlwind had come past it not too long ago, Harry preferred it that way. He knew where every single tool and part was, and the people who worked and lived at Black Manor respected it as his private sanctuary. A holy place, the one location where he was never to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary.
The car, an old rust bucket of a Mercedes 190 from the 80s that he'd purchased with his saved money, stood proudly in the centre of the garage, the wheels removed and parts strewn around the workbenches surrounding it. If one didn't know how cars worked, the most logical conclusion would be that it would never run, but Harry knew exactly where every single part belonged. He knew if something worked and fit even before he'd try to mount it. It had always been a mystery how he knew what he needed and when he needed it.
As he continued wrenching under the car, a knock could be heard coming from the door leading to the washroom of the Manor. The path through the washroom would lead further into the wine cellar of Sirius' estate.
"Mate, you coming in to eat or what?" The voice of his godfather called to seemingly empty air, the question left to hang in the silence of the room.
Grunting in frustration at being interrupted, Harry dropped the wrench on the floor beside him.
"Didn't we just eat?"
"If 'just' means a few hours ago, then yes. You'd be correct, but since it's been too long for my tastes, I'd much prefer if you'd come in and have dinner with us, even if just for a sandwich," Sirius argued with his godson, his voice underlined by hope.
"I'm good," Harry provided curtly as an answer, food being the furthest from his mind. "I still want to finish putting the oil pan back in and if I do this wrong, this thing will leak like a sieve."
Confident that he'd argued his way out of dinner, Harry grabbed the large wrench again and went back to putting in the bolts holding the pan in position. He had to be careful as the engine block was made of aluminium and if he messed up, he'd ruin the treading. Fixing that would be more than just a minor headache - it'd be a disaster.
Sirius, not appreciating being leisurely waved off, moved around the car and bent down to spy Harry from the side, still lying under it. He noticed the oil smudges on the boy's face, a deja vu of James' face flashing before him.
"I'm sure the oil pan can wait until after dinner. I don't want Celine's food to go to waste if I can help it," the older man explained again. "For that to happen, I need you to eat your share that she has so carefully and lovingly prepared."
Harry didn't respond to his godfather's request and continued to stubbornly put screws back in the part of the car. He loved the two adults who'd raised him but this was his own time. He worked hard to earn himself a measure of peace of quiet, sandwich be damned.
Sirius, recognizing that he wouldn't be able to convince his charge on this route, decided to distract the youth with another line of conversation. Instead of bending to meet the young man's eye, Sirius turned and laid down on his back, probably staining his clothes with the oil that leaked from the car on previous occasions. He didn't let it bother him as his face remained unchanged.
"You know," he began somberly, his eyes turned toward a sky that wasn't there, "you just reminded me of your dear late father. When we were still in school, he too liked to spend his time working on machines. When I had first purchased my motorcycle, it was he who was truly excited. He'd make all sorts of modifications and God bless him, his work was genius. There isn't a man alive who'd be able to do the things he did."
He paused as he felt the overwhelming sensation of his past coming back to him. His eyes felt wet but maybe he was imagining it.
"Soon people took notice and asked him to join them on their race weekends. He'd help provide last-minute optimizations on their cars that'd improve their timings. After some time they'd offer him bigger roles such as helping them develop parts or figuring out the overall designs for specific race tracks."
Harry stopped working on the car and listened intently to his godfather's trip down memory lane. It was moments like these that the young man craved more than anything. Scraps he'd yet to learn of his parents that he'd missed as a child. His eyes urged Sirius to continue.
"And one day he met your mother. A young, talented driver who'd fought her way up the ranks and became a primary driver at age of 16. A true prodigy of the sport. Rivals would praise and ridicule her evenly but she beat them all regardless. Your father didn't make the best first impression, however. He'd caught her on a particularly bad day where her performance had slumped and he'd tried to ask her out and she flat out refused him. Roasted him even for daring to ask her out."
Sirius had to change the way they'd met as he couldn't possibly explain their actual first meeting. However, he remained committed to the overarching truth of their relationship. The two hadn't gotten along in the beginning. Not at Hogwarts nor in their time making their way through the sport. Not until much later, at least.
"Let's just say he didn't take it well. After that, he'd take every opportunity to improve his team's car, hoping to help his team's driver to outperform her. He'd hoped to 'put her in her place', he'd said at the time. It didn't work, of course. Lily continued to win and win and soon, she'd become so successful, bigger teams in bigger circles of motorsports offered her spots in their race cars."
"And then?" Harry uttered excitedly, his attention fixed solely on his godfather's story of his parents' younger life.
"And then, nothing."
"Nothing?" Harry frowned in disbelief, shaking his head slightly.
Sirius nodded without looking over to his godson who still listened to the story with tense attention to each detail. His godfather spilling valuable beans from his past were as rare as flying cars - It didn't happen.
"For a while, they didn't see each other again. She moved up into bigger sports events and your father remained in the smaller cups. I think for a while he'd even forgotten about her. Enabled him to focus on his own goals. And I believe that it was truly for the best because he'd soon attracted the attention of bigger sponsors. They had observed his genius with machinery and the obvious limitations of smaller teams being unable to enable his vision. These new sponsors offered to finance him as a professional. He didn't need a team to finance his skills at that point, he could go to any team and bring sponsors with him."
So, what then?" Harry inquired again.
"Then, he worked his way from team to team, building a reputation for himself as somebody who could decide a team's winning chances simply by offering advice. Soon his reputation reached a team whose driver he'd come across before."
"My mother," Harry offered.
Sirius smiled at that, happy to oblige his godson with a warm memory.
"Yes, but it wasn't all flowers and dandies when they met again. Your dear Mum seemed to have remembered him well enough to oppose his hiring. She'd cited that he'd be a bother to her focus and that she'd not be able to deal with his pursuits of her. Considering they'd not met in years since her rejection of him, the team felt that she'd overreacted and proposed a trial period in which she could see past his previous unprofessional behaviour and instead focus on the merits of his technical expertise."
"So they hated one another?"
Sirius shook his head quickly at Harry's falsely drawn conclusion of what he'd just said. He waved an invisible hand at Harry and moved to reiterate what'd said.
"No, not quite. As far as Lily explained it to me, it was a touch more complicated than a simple dislike for another person."
"Ok, well, then how did they resolve their discomfort?" his godson pushed.
"Lily," Sirius sighed with a smile at the memory - it sounded like a weak laugh, "had always prided herself as being a driver who could make any car go fast and win, no matter what quality of support her teammates brought with them. It made her the focus of the team, with all their hopes resting on her skill as a driver. With James joining the team, she feared that maybe the team owners had foreseen a decline in her performance, leaning toward making bigger changes in the team as a whole, with her replacement indicated by the sudden hiring of James. So, you see, it wasn't that she disliked him as a person or because he fumbled their first meeting, it was more her head playing tricks on her, making her feel suspicious of him."
Harry's eyes widened at the nature of his parent's past animosity. Just like any other child, he believed that parents loved each other at first sight, having a child a testament to that love and infatuation. The fact that his parents had a rocky past was equally surprising as it was comical.
"I see you recognize the hilarious nature of it all," his godfather commented as the man eyed him with his head tilted to subtly watch the boy. "Both of them fighting like cats and dogs only to have found common ground at some point to get married and have you."
"Yeah," Harry muttered more to himself than to his godfather, "quite."
He turned his gaze toward the car again, still lying under it.
Sirius assumed that he saw far beyond what lay in front of him. To prevent the scene from turning melancholic, the older man cleared his throat to draw attention back to him.
"So!" Sirius announced loudly.
"Yeah?" Harry turned his head, eyeing his godfather again.
"This car," Sirius knocked his knuckle at the car, the sound echoing through the chassis. "Will it be ready anytime soon? Need anything to speed up the process?"
Harry shook his head at the innocent-sounding inquiry.
"Soon, yes, need your help, no," he answered seriously.
"How long have you already been working on this thing, hm, ages? When are you ever going to finish it?"
"It'll be ready when it's ready, not any sooner or later. But I'm hoping sooner," Harry said, fiddling with the wrench in his hands.
Sirius smiled at first but laughed at the memory of Harry asking him for help to pull an empty chassis of a car into the garage last year. It had been the oddest thing. Sirius had begun giving Harry pocket money for him to spend in his free time when he wasn't at home being homeschooled. Who'd have thought that the boy would save every penny and purchase the first lemon he'd come across.
"What?" Harry asked defensively at his godfather's strange wry smile.
Looking back, Sirius couldn't believe how fast the boy had grown since his arrival at his doorstep almost an age ago. Before he went down a new rabbit hole of far gone memories, he remembered that there was still food and a woman sitting by herself at the dinner table.
"It's nothing. Just remembered something funny."
Nodding at his godfather's evasive answer, Harry realized that he should perhaps meet him halfway and come eat with them.
"I'll be out in a bit," he finally agreed. "Once I finish up and tighten the last bolt, I'll be at the dinner table."
Clapping his hands together, Sirius bounced up and straightened himself onto his legs, the oil that had been on the floor before visibly soaking the back of his robe. However, he had no way of knowing that.
"We can still wait a bit for you to wash. I don't want you smelling like an oil rag at the table. There is no need to ruin Celene's hard work with a tang of oil in the air," Sirius instructed to which Harry responded with an affirmative 'humm'.
"Will do, Sir."
Sirius clucked his tongue in response and moved for the door before stopping again to speak.
"Better see you at the table, washed and brushed before the day is out."
"Yup." Harry popped the 'p'.
At the sound of the door closing, Harry turned his attention back to his car, continuing to tighten the last few bolts before pushing himself from under the car.
Getting up, he moved to organize the tools again and wipe his forehead and arms with a rag in hopes of reducing the risk of staining the insides of the house with oil smudges.
Celine was a forgiving woman but Harry's oily fingerprints over the years had worn out the poor woman's patience and, therefore, his chances of surviving another single smudge manifesting anywhere in the house would reduce to mildly possible.
"Sirius," a loud female voice shrieked through the manor, the agitation very clear in the pronunciation of the man's name, "it's bad enough that Harry walks around like a monkey soaked in oil, but you too? God help me, It's like having two kids."
Looking himself over again, he grimaced at the state of his clothes but found that his limbs and face seemed clean enough to risk tiptoeing toward the bathroom. As he opened the door, through which he could continue to hear Sirius getting yelled at, he sent a silent prayer to whatever almighty being would listen, hoping that he'd live to see the next morning.
End of Chapter
###
Thanks for reading, and if you've enjoyed it or would like to make note of anything that stood out to you, please do review. It's the only way I can learn and improve.
For those who were hoping to see Fleur, she will be making an appearance soon, I promise. On that note, if you're an avid fan of the pairing as well and would like to share your passion with fellow authors and/ or readers, please find your way to our awesome Flowerpot discord server at discord . gg / k8ZxUjE (Remove Spaces).