A/N: Yeah, so the perspectives kind of ran away with me, but hopefully, you'll enjoy!

Remus has never been so nervous in his whole life. For the past two weeks, he's watched over his shoulder for every move, and cast more disguising spells than he has in his life. He's getting pretty good at this transfiguration thing. McGonagall would be proud, if she understood the situation.

He'd found the paper first, actually, running an errand for Harri and Sirius. He remembers standing there, watching Sirius's face as he screamed silently on the paper. He remembers snatching it up and throwing whatever coin he could reach first at the vendor. He'd rushed back to the house, arms laden with the supplies and dumped them in the kitchen for Kreacher to sort through.

"Sirius!" he'd hissed. "Give us a hand. Now!"

Disgruntled, Sirius had made his way over, Harri in tow.

"Not you, love, just Padfoot, alright?" Remus had told her, a strange manic edge to his voice. Sirius had instantly recognized it, smiling down at Harri with a touch more composure.

"Go on, go back to your reading," he'd told her, giving her a gentle nudge. Harri had looked at them with clear, somber eyes, like she understood, but left all the same, without asking questions.

Remus had pulled the paper out, shoving it in his face. At first, Sirius had just stood there, a pale imitation of a smile on his face. Remus had watched the color drain from it, the panic creep in. When he looked up, his eyes were almost as manic as the man on the paper's.

"What do we do?" he'd croaked softly. "We're fucked. We're fucked beyond belief." He began to breathe strangely, and it took Remus a minute to understand what had happened. A panic attack. He'd not had one in years, since their third year, he'd reckoned. Fuck, James had been the only one who knew what to do.

Remus had grasped his shoulders, giving him a little shake and forcing to look up.

"We cannot have you lose it now," he'd hissed. "We can't let Harri know, understand? She's too little to understand—"

"She's not stupid," Sirius had said in that same, faraway tone. "She'll piece it together. We should tell her. Everything I mean. About what really happened that night, about the traitor—"

"Like fuck you will," Remus had snarled. "She's too little and it's our job to protect her from things like that." Suddenly, he'd felt the inexplicable urge to hit him, or maybe something worse.

He'd loosened his grip, stepping back and taking a deep breath. Sirius seemed to do the opposite, his own breathing going weak and shallow. Remus let him crumple to the floor before he crouched before him.

"We're not fucked," he'd said as soothingly as possible, laying on the charm. The only weapon in his arsenal and it was weak. Fucking shame. "We'll be alright?"

"I'm not one of your pub girls, Remus, don't lie to me," he'd snarled, pulling up sharply. Remus colored at the implication.

"Just listen to me—"

"We have to move, maybe north? I've got people in Romania, maybe they'll let us—"

"We're not going to bloody Romania!"

"Not us," Sirius had said, giving Remus a strange look. "Harri and me." Remus could only blink, feeling as though he'd just been slapped.

"And what am I meant to do whilst you take our goddaughter galavanting across the bloody continent?" Remus had asked, voice tight.

"Make sure everything looks normal," he'd explained. "Listen, they'll come to talk to you first, and then, I don't know—"

"Don't you think they'd check with your only living relatives first?" Remus offered coldly. "And then they'd try and hunt down whatever's left of you-know-who, thinking you'd be mad enough to resurrect him."

"You-know-who is dead—"

"Don't be stupid enough to think that!"

"Alright," Sirius had snarled, all patience gone. "What shall we do, O Wise One?"

"Stay here and stay hidden," Remus had suggested. "No, think about it. The very last thing they'd expect you to do is hide out in muggle London, right? It's why your dad chose this place as the new location for the house."

"Maybe we can move the house? I mean, the magic's complicated but my dad did it, and he wasn't exactly student of the year—"

"Sirius, if only a Black can find and open the house, don't you think only a Black could perform the spell? It would take you using your wand to cast tremendous amounts of magic, traceable amounts of magic. We'll be caught if you try."

"So, what then? Carry on like this forever?" Sirius's voice had rose hysterically, and Remus was sure that if Harri wasn't already listening at the door, she'd know what they were talking about now.

"Just for now," Remus had said. "Until we can come up with a plan."

Finally, Sirius had agreed, and they'd made their way back out to the parlor, where Harri sat perched on her armchair, looking like the picture of innocence. Remus scoffed softly. So, she had been listen.

"No point in pretending you hadn't heard exactly what went on in there," Sirius had said. Harri had flushed a little, brown cheeks going rosy. Sirius had perched on the armchair and Remus had taken the sofa opposite, and they explained—without mentioning the tragic, gory details—just what was going on.

That had been two weeks ago.

Now, Remus continues his usual practice of ducking into shops, changing his appearance, and casually strolling to the next one, making the long, winding way to Grimmauld Place. By the time he makes his way to the house, he's short, squat, with a mop of dark hair, and bottle green eyes.

The door swings open the moment he steps onto the stoop, a new feature of making him part of the wards. Kreacher, the worst little house elf Remus had ever seen, had pitched a monumental fit over it, weeping about how his mistress's blood was sullied beyond repair.

Thankfully, the hall is empty, and Remus drops off the fresh supplies without having to skirt past Kreacher. Nasty little shit calls him 'mongrel.' He finds Harri sitting on the sofa, reading through the latest in the series of children's paperbacks he'd picked up for her.

"Where's Padfoot?" he asks, stooping to give her a kiss.

"Dunno," she says, distracted. "He's been running around as a dog for a while."

"As Padfoot?" Remus clarifies. Harri shrugs, setting aside her book.

"He looked upset," she says, worried. "He doesn't like being stuck in the house."

"Me neither, pet," Remus says. "Let me talk to him."

"How much longer?" Harri asks, then suddenly flushes. "It's just, Hogwarts is when I'm eleven, and that's a long time from now. What about regular school? If I don't show up, won't I get in trouble?"

"Er…" Remus really doesn't have an answer to that. Most pureblood children just have a tutor a few years before Hogwarts, to learn family history and perhaps basic magical control if their parents are so inclined. "I'll get back to you on that."

Harri nods, decidedly unsatisfied, but picks the book back up. Remus sighs. This is entirely unsustainable, but there's nothing else they can do right now.

Upstairs, Sirius is indeed Padfoot, laying waste to his father's closet while Kreacher weeps in the corner. The house elf is gasping, breathless and silent, but Padfoot doesn't cease.

"Oi!" he calls. Immediately, both of them stop.

"Mongrel has come to join the traitorous master?" Kreacher croaks, swiping snot and tears across his face.

"The contrary," he says, perhaps a little coldly. "Sirius, what do you think you're doing?" At that, he transforms back, fixing Remus with a particular sour look.

"I'm cleaning," he says haughtily.

"All I'm seeing is a mess," Remus counters, pointing out the shredded fabric everywhere.

"What the fuck else is there to do?" he says petulantly. "I'm going out of my mind."

"Just hang on a bit longer—"

"How long?" Sirius snarls. "The only thing we can do is find Wormtail and turn him in, and then—"

"What are the chances that he's even in the bloody UK?—"

"Then we should be out there! Looking for him!"

"And how do we do that with Harri? We've got a child now, we can't be running loose. She needs stability—"

"She needs space! She can't sit here in this house, cooped up, reading the same five fucking books over again!"

"She needs space, or you do?" Remus counters. Sirius's face twists up into a snarl and for a second, Remus worries he'll lunge at him, but he slumps. Remus makes his way over cautiously. He's only seen Sirius look to small and pitiful a few times in his life, and it twists something painful within him.

He loops an arm around his shoulders, surprised when Sirius leans into the touch. There had been a moment, when they were 18 and stupid, the first night they'd gotten drunk in muggle London, where Sirius had gathered him in his arms and held tight, peppering kisses on Remus's cheeks and neck, insisting he loved him.

It was foolish to think about. That Sirius had been drunk, caught up in his freedom, and lacking James, who'd snogging Lily for England at the time. This Sirius, the one almost teetering on his haunches, is a fractured, weathered version.

"Come on, my lad, just a little longer," he whispers. "Pull it together for Harri."

"Right," he mumbles. The barest flush of color dusts his cheeks. "Harri." Remus releases him, stepping away.

"Er, she's been asking about school," Remus explains hastily. "She's bored."

"Anyone would be," Sirius mutters. "We can't put her in muggle school. It's not like we can just show up for parents' night, can we?"

"Suppose not," Remus says, smiling a little at the idea. "What did you learn before Hogwarts?"

"We had a tutor," he explains. "My Great Aunt Griselda. Horrible women."

"Right, but what did she teach you?" Remus asks again, a bit pointedly.

"Er, normal things, history of the school, the family history and genealogy, Latin, that sort of thing."

"Well, we could probably teach her," Remus suggests. "Be something interesting to do at least."

"Could be." It's clear he's warming up to the idea. His eyes don't look so hollow anymore at least. "Er, but let me clean up a bit. I'm sort of… manky."

Remus chuckles, stepping out. He can grabs some books, he supposes, figure out where to start. The Potter genealogy is obscenely complicated, from what he remembers James telling him. Best to leave that out for now.

He finds Hogwarts, A History abandoned in the library and grabs it, rifling through the chapters. Houses, that probably the best to start with.

Ron Weasley gets the worst of everything. Clearly. They're sitting at the breakfast table, and Charlie, Bill, and Percy are reading their Hogwarts letters. Bill's got a shiny badge in hand, same as Charlie.

"Head Boy and the Youngest Quidditch Captain in the history of the house!" Mum cries. She beaming with pride. "Oh, I just can't believe it!"

Dad even sets his paper aside to shake their hands. He's been following the news religiously ever since that Black loon escaped from Azkaban and snatched up Harriet Potter. Ron feels bad about that, hoping she's alright. Still, she's got the whole of England out looking for her and Ron doesn't even have his breakfast yet.

"Mum," he whines, trying to get her attention. He goes ignored.

"What shall we get you?" she ask them eagerly. Presents? They get presents on top of this?

"Oh, Mum, it's alright," Bill tries to assure her. "Just letting me keep my hair like this is enough." Ron and the twins exchange looks, snickering. He's been growing his hair out for a while, and every summer since his third year, Mum's been on his case to 'look respectable'.

"William Weasley, you are going to be Head Boy!" Mum says sharply. Her face is starting to get red, a precursor to the yelling. Ron groans internally. They definitely won't be getting breakfast while it's hot. Another day of ice-cold eggs and stale toast.

Quirinus Quirrell sits at the dining room table, going through his seventh year reading list. It's expansive, he thinks, the most comprehensive list yet.

"Dad," he calls out. "When do you think we can go to Diagon Alley? I've got quite a lot to pick up."

"Look the library here!" Dad replies. Quirinus scowls, dragging himself up and out of his seat. His mum is dusting in the library, humming softly.

"Oh! Darling, you frightened me," she laughs, seeing him. Quirinus flushes a little, mumbling an apology.

"Dad sent me to see if have anything off the reading list at home," he explains, checking through the library.

"This is you're A-level year, isn't it?" she asks. He smiles.

"NEWTS, mum, but yeah," he corrects her. "In Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms."

"I'm sure you'll do wonderful!" she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You know, I was just talking to—Aah!"

A tired looking grey owl hovers outside the window, sinking lower by the second. Quirinus hurries to get the window and let it in.

"Oh, that never gets any easier," his mum mutters uneasily. "Take care of it, will you darling? Send that thing on its way as fast as possible."

"Sure, mum," he says. "I'll finish up here."

With that, she hurries from the room and Quirinus takes the letter from the owl.

"Hey, Errol," he mumbles, fetching a saucer of water for him. He hoots weakly, gulping up some of the water. Poor thing.

Dear Q,

You were right! Got Head Boy. Mum at it again, trying to get me to cut my hair. Says I need to look respectable.

Hope all's well. Did you get giant candy box from Tonks? She says she's sent them out, but I've yet to receive any.

Write back soon!

Best,

Bill

P.S. Let Errol have a good rest. If he dies while delivering this letter, I'll never hear the end of it.

Quirinus grins. Bill Weasley is without a doubt the coolest bloke at Hogwarts. He's a Gryffindor, but doesn't mind that his two best mates are in two different houses. Still, there's a strange sort of jealousy that twists in his stomach at the idea of effortless, golden boy Bill getting Head Boy.

He writes off a quick reply, assuring Bill that Tonks, the third in their Trio—a particularly feisty Hufflepuff—has not sent her presents out yet. With that, he send Errol off, feeding him some last minute bird seed to get his strength up.

He goes back to searching the shelves, stopping at a particularly intriguing title. Magicks Moste Complex. A subtitle boasts that only the strongest and purest of blood can learn this magic. With a start, he realizes it's dark magic. What's this doing here?

"Darling, did you find your books?" his mum calls from the safety of the living room. Dark magic isn't taught at school, not even to seventh years. Besides, it's not like he's all that great at magic either, save for defensive magic. A boy as frail as him needs to know it. He can't have Bill and Tonks protect him all the time.

Still.

He takes the book.

"Yeah, mum, I've got it."

A/N: Shout out to my home girl for the Bill/Tonks/Quirrell headcanons, and let me know what you thought!