A week earlier…
Once he thought that someone might come to save him. Sometimes in the early days, footsteps would draw him to his own feet to watch whoever came down the row of cells, a seed of hope planted in his brain that it was Dumbledore or Remus come to fetch him from his misfortune. But they never came. No one did. No one seemed to question his role in James's murder. No one doubted he slaughtered those people. No one even came to ask him why he'd done it.
Those first handful of years taught him that he was alone. There would be no rescue. The world would go on without him, and people would remember his name with a shiver and thank Merlin he'd been locked away forever.
He looked up. A dull morning glow showed that the walls were gouged with crosshatches meant to denote the days. A sardonic laugh rumbled his hollow chest. Years ago, when he'd first arrived, he thought he would mark each sunrise so he would know how much time had passed. It lasted a few years, at least three, but as time stretched, he realized it didn't matter. Why should he care how many days had gone by since he'd been imprisoned? Did it change his circumstances? He would die here, and counting the days wouldn't make a difference.
It must have been at least a decade since he'd come to Azkaban. There were no mirrors, but he saw his hands wasting away. Once every few years, he was assessed for health, his hair was snipped, and his photograph was taken. He hated to be treated like an animal, but he lived for the precious hour when he left his cell and made unrequited conversation with the human guards. They hated it. Unlike his fellow inmates, he spoke with clarity and expression which troubled the guards. They must have thought he was using dark magic to keep himself sane, but it wasn't dark magic at all—it was only the truth.
Sirius wished he'd gone insane. He wished his mind were devoid of coherent thoughts. He wished he could be like the others and simply waste away.
Sometimes he paced his cell. Some days he would lay on the damp stone floor and stare at the blackened ceiling. The same circle of thoughts played out in his mind. He plotted revenge (not precisely a happy thoughts, just a satisfying ones). He imagined what Remus must have been doing. He wondered what Dumbledore thought of him. What happened to Harry? Was he still with Lily's miserable sister? All of these ideas kept him wobbling on the cliff of despair—they were just dismal enough that the dementors would let him keep them, and they were neutral enough that they kept his brain ticking.
Yet the day had come when it all seemed so futile, he stopped feeling hungry.
The door opened like it always did and a rotting hand deposited a bowl of food on the floor, but Sirius did not move from where he lay on the moldy mattress. Thousands of mornings had come like this one—exactly like this one—and each day, he rose and ate whatever they gave him. The desire to live compelled him to get up, eat, and spend another day breathing.
It would probably only take a week, he thought. A week without food in his emaciated state. Then it could be over. Over a decade of suffering would come to an end and he could be at peace.
Fear of dying had left him long ago. Death was inevitable, after all, and it would have been blissful to slip away into black oblivion if only a sense of duty hadn't kept him rooted to life. But what chance did he have of escaping and committing the murder for which he was imprisoned? Wormtail was long gone, and even if Sirius did escape, how would he find him anyway? He might've laughed. In the years he'd been imprisoned, he hadn't devised a single way to escape, and now he knew—he was really going to die here.
So what was holding him back?
The image of a crying child flashed in his mind, though he brushed the thought away. If it weren't for you, Harry would still have parents, he told himself. He's better off without you. You're more useful to him dead.
Banishing Harry from his mind left nothing, not even revenge, and he realized then that dementors had not devoured every shred of hope he held in his heart. There had been a light in his chest, a tiny flickering warmth that kept him tethered to the world, but now, it had gone out.
"I want to die," he whispered. He closed his eyes. He might as well sleep.
Something struck him in his core. It was like someone had struck him in the abdomen, leaving him slightly breathless. For a moment, he lay there, baffled. Then Sirius shot up, clutching the concave spot below his ribs as a cold sweat broke out across his body. He frowned, staring down at his robes, searching for whatever hit him. There was nothing. There was always nothing, yet it felt like someone had tugged on the invisible cord of his essence. He scrambled from the mattress and tore off his clothes to observe his stomach. Nothing.
But he felt it. There was nothing to do in Azkaban but feel and right there, right in his core, he knew something was different. Something had changed.
He glanced at the food near the door, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat. Whatever had happened, it was new, and perhaps he ought to stick around for it.
Remus was already up and dressed by the time Padfoot opened bleary eyes. The cellar door was open, allowing the overcast morning to shed light into the space. Sirius transformed and—yawning and stretching—followed Remus out.
"The wolf still likes me," Sirius commented. His pressed his hands on the wet grass to haul himself out of the hole. "Did you have fun, at least?"
Remus held open the door to the cottage for him, face stiff as he hid a smile. Sirius grinned at him.
"You did, didn't you? You're so old, Moony. Just say you had fun."
"It was incredibly dangerous," said Remus. "There was no way to know how the wolf would react. You could have been killed."
Sirius dropped onto the sofa. "Bet you would've liked it if I had been."
The door slammed shut, and he was met with an unamused look.
"Don't say that."
Remus lowered himself onto the sofa and his body, ravaged by the wolf, sagged into the cushions. He closed his eyes.
He looked so thin and ragged. There were lines around his mouth, his jaw had hardened, stubble grew in patches on his chin and cheeks, and the circles beneath his eyes made him look older than his thirty-two years. Remus the adult, lived alone, transformed alone, and appeared to be living off Knuts if the rundown cottage was anything to go by. The place was tidy, but the sofa, chair, and rug had long lost their newness likely to previous owners. There were a few things Sirius recognized, however, including a crocheted blanket that Mrs. Lupin had made for him one Christmas, which was carefully folded on the chair. Sirius had been strangely envious of the blanket, even more so than the carousel of gifts James received from his parents. Although the Lupins couldn't afford to give their son much, Mrs. Lupin had labored into a gift for her son. Sirius could never have dreamed his mother or father would do the same.
Sirius retrieved it now and carefully laid it over Remus, who threw it off a moment later.
"Too hot," he told him. He cracked open an eye. "But thank you, Sirius."
"Can I get you anything?"
"Tea would be nice."
"Thought you said it was too hot."
"Never too hot for tea. You'll find tea leaves in one of the cupboards."
Remus's eyelids slid shut as Sirius went to the kitchen to hunt for tea leaves and a kettle.
The dented kettle was easy enough to find on the stovetop. Sirius rummaged through a number of drawers and doors, catching eyes with a mouse and swatting a few spiders before he found the right tin. He pursed his lips. There wasn't much left. It would be a rather weak brew.
He couldn't understand how to work the stove. Mrs. Lupin had trifled over a stovetop as such, applying a lit match and turning a knob to make the fire go. He knew he had to light it somewhere but he hadn't watched properly the one time he visited the Lupins over the Easter holiday.
Sheepishly, Sirius brought the load of tea and kettle to Remus.
"I—er—the muggle thing in there. I don't know—it's complicated. Don't know how to work it," he said.
Remus raised himself up and brought his wand tip to the kettle, and soon, steam billowed from the spout. "You're underage, I'd forgotten. Please do not use the stove as I fear you will most certainly burn this house down."
"Yeah, probably," said Sirius, grinning. "I'd have to buy you a new one."
Remus did not smile. He lay back with his eyes closed, though his breathing was too shallow for slumber. Sirius sighed and sank into the chair. Somewhere a clock ticked.
"Does anyone know you're here?" said Remus.
Sirius imagined Dumbledore and the House-Elves frantically searching the castle for him, and oddly did not feel the least bit bad about it. In fact, he thought it was rather funny.
"No, didn't think I needed to tell anyone," Sirius replied. "I'm almost seventeen—I can go where I want."
Remus looked at him. "You don't suppose your host might be concerned that something has happened to you? That it would have been polite to mention you might take your leave?"
"You think Dumbledore cares whether or not I've left? He hasn't spoken more than a few words to me since he took me from the Ministry."
"He'll worry, Sirius. No one gave you permission to leave the castle."
"So?" said Sirius harshly. "What's he going to do? I'm not supposed to be here. Nothing I do has a consequence. Dumbledore doesn't even want me to use my own name when the new term comes around, so what does it matter what I do?"
"He's invited you back to Hogwarts?"
"I still have two years left, don't I?" he said. Then he scoffed. "He thinks it's best if I finished my schooling and pretend to be someone else for the rest of my life. Try to move on. Forget about James and Peter."
A sense of rigid calm came over Remus, as if he were contending with the same thoughts. He drew a deep breath. "The name Sirius Black does draw negative connotations. It would be difficult to pass yourself off as a cousin with the same name."
"Why should I hide who I am at all?" said Sirius. He held up a hand before Remus could answer, understanding exactly why already. "All right, a lot of reasons, yeah. I realize that. But I don't want to live my life hiding who I am."
"Imagine that," said Remus. He conjured mugs from the kitchen and levitated the kettle to serve into them. "Take it from me," he said, sending one drifting through the air for Sirius to catch. "Sometimes it's best to hide what others loathe most about us if it enables to live our lives as normally as possible. Your classmates will never see past your name until you let them. Hide what you can, reveal only to those you trust what you must—or what they force out of you, I suppose. It's the only advice I can give you from my own experience."
Sirius craned his neck to stare at a long crack in the white plaster ceiling. "I don't want to go back to Hogwarts."
"You don't want to finish your schooling?"
"What's the point? If the Black vaults are mine, I'll never need to work. Who cares if I finish school?"
Remus frowned, lowering the mug from his lips. "That doesn't sound like you."
"It's me now," Sirius said. "I can't live the next two years at Hogwarts as if—as if James and Peter were never there. What am I supposed to do? Go to class and pretend it's normal? It won't be the same, not without you and Prongs and Wormtail."
"It would be difficult," admitted Remus. "I won't deny it, it won't be an easy journey, but consider what will happen if you don't finish. There is plenty left for you to learn at Hogwarts. At the very least, you will learn the particulars that you would find most useful. Non-verbal spells, for example."
"You could teach me," muttered Sirius. At Remus's uncertain look, Sirius shrugged.
"Does Dumbledore intend to keep you at Hogwarts until you've finished?"
Sirius's shoulders flopped up and down again. "I dunno. Said he'd look for a guardian of sorts. I only really need one for this summer, don't I? I'm seventeen in November. Maybe he expects I'll find my own place next summer. Unless…"
Remus's eyes narrowed at the lingering tone. His fingers were white on his mug.
"Unless?"
It seemed premature to ask. He needed to strategize and get Remus to see that it was in his best interest to host him. That's how they always approached things with Remus. If they were to sneak into Hogsmeade for butterbeers, it was best to convince their cautious friend that if he didn't join them, they'd go and likely get caught without him.
He dreaded returning to Hogwarts only to mope about the castle until the term started. It wasn't the same searching for secret passageways or rooms if his friends weren't there to marvel with him or excitedly mark it on the Map. Soon Remus would insist he leave and return to the melancholy of chatting solely with ghosts and portraits, and desperately, Sirius wished to stay with Remus in his crumbling cottage. In his experience, the single-most effective way to get Remus to do anything was to make him feel guilty.
"I haven't got anyone to talk to at Hogwarts," Sirius started. "All I can think about is the fact that James isn't there. Peter isn't there. You're not there. There's nothing I can do without being reminded of what happened to me, and how I killed my best friends. Dumbledore is afraid of me, the teachers who stay at school avoid me, and even Hagrid won't come up to the castle now. I can't live like this all summer."
Remus sipped his tea, his face impassive.
"If I spend one more day there, I'll go insane," said Sirius, thrusting a bit of urgency in his voice. Damn, Moony, for not reacting. "Everyone hates me, I can't sleep, and I know at some point, Dumbledore's going to shove me into a wizarding family I don't know and they'll hate me too. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Moony."
The mug was empty when Remus reached and shoved it onto the table. He lay back on the cushions, allowing himself to shut his eyes as a ray of sunlight poked through a cloud and drew over his brow. The light made him look youthful, almost like the Remus he knew.
"It won't work," said Remus, his eyes still closed.
"What?"
"You can't guilt me anymore. I am not sixteen. If you want something, ask me."
Sirius swallowed. It was a lot to ask of someone who had known a version of him that ended up being a traitor and murderer, the cause of all of Remus's remorse. Could Remus ever see him as someone different? As someone who wouldn't send their friends to their deaths?
There came a gentle knock on the door. Sirius jumped, and Remus only blinked.
"Perhaps the headmaster has found you."
If Sirius had been only a few years younger, he might have trembled at the thought of so disappointing Albus Dumbledore. However, as he went for the door, he felt calm. What was the worst the headmaster could do? Expel him from school?
When he opened the door, Dumbledore's face betrayed only soft relief. He smiled at Sirius as if grateful to see him.
"Sorry, Professor," mumbled Sirius, opening the door wide.
"It was one of only two places I suspected you might be," said Dumbledore. His purple robes swished as he strolled into the cottage, as if it were a grand hall rather than a deteriorating house. Remus was scrambling to his feet when Dumbledore gestured for him to be at ease.
"You needn't spring to attention on my account," said Dumbledore. "Please, sit. I've only come to confirm our Mr. Black's whereabouts. I assure you, this is not a formal visit."
"Yes, sir," said Remus, unable to stop himself from collapsing back down. "I should have told you he was here, but it was just before sunset and it was paramount that I go below ground before the moon rose. I hope you'll understand."
"Completely," said Dumbledore.
Sirius stood awkwardly to the side, clenching his fists. He rather felt like he was seven again as his mother fetched him from the park across the street, all false smiles before she smacked him in the corridor of Number 12.
"Sirius, I do hope you understand the worry we've all had since we realized your disappearance. However, it should not diminish the relief of finding you perfectly well! I trust you were safe during Remus's transformation?"
Sirius nodded dumbly. "Er—yeah, he's got a cellar that he locks up. I just stayed here. In the cottage. All night."
"There are wards all around the house," Remus said. "My father stays here sometimes while I transform, and we've proofed the house so if—so if I escaped the cellar, he would remain safe. I wouldn't have allowed Sirius to stay without them."
Idly, Remus avoided looking at Dumbledore directly. Had Sirius not known him so well, he might have assumed Remus was merely embarrassed over his actions, allowing Sirius to remain at his home during the full moon. However, it was the secret of Sirius spending the night as a dog with a werewolf that was heavy in their minds, and it was understood that Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens. A peek into either of their thoughts would reveal all.
"Remus and I were talking about the summer," Sirius said quickly.
"Were you? A riveting conversation, I should hope. Did it have anything to do with becoming a permanent guest here?"
When Sirius chanced a glance, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. Sirius wrung his hands behind his back, glancing from the headmaster to Remus whose expression had turned a bit sour.
"I was about to ask him," said Sirius. "Of course, I wanted to ask your permission first, Professor. I understand it isn't my decision, and I must respect your authority on this matter, of course."
"It is not up to me," said Dumbledore, "but to Remus, should he accept the responsibility of hosting you. I did assure the Ministry of Magic that you would be under my supervision for the remainder of the holiday. However, it would not be unreasonable to suggest you be allowed to visit a friend for a few weeks until the term began. That is, if Remus were to agree."
Uncertainty washed over Remus. Thoroughly put on the spot, it looked as though Remus were being asked if he saw his friends breaking the rules. His lips pursed as his gaze twitched between Sirius and Dumbledore and back to his hands.
Something surged within Sirius—it was the refusal to hear his old friend for whom he'd become an Animagus, for whom he'd do anything, reject him.
"We should let him be, Professor," he said quickly. "He wants us to leave."
"Don't speak for me, Sirius," Remus snapped. He turned his attention back to Dumbledore. "Sirius may stay. I-I confess I may not have the necessary funds to support the two of us, so perhaps a short visit might only be possible."
Sirius beamed.
"Ah," said Dumbledore, "I will grant a stipend for his welfare, enough to cover basic needs. It is what I have already set aside for him should his care at Hogwarts be extended. I understand that you will ensure his safety at the next full moon?"
"Of course, sir," Remus blurted. "I would never endanger anyone."
"I never thought differently," said Dumbledore. "I must thank you, Remus, for allowing Sirius to stay. The company of an old friend should help tremendously with his transition to this new world. Sirius, would you indulge me in a brief chat outside?"
Sirius expected a formal admonishment from Dumbledore. The headmaster led him beyond the door, closing it gently behind him, and Sirius stood, once again, with his hands clasped behind him as he awaited a monologue of disappointment.
"I'm glad you are safe," said Dumbledore. His eyes flickered to the chipped paint of the door as if looking through it. "Be gentle with Remus. Life has not been exceptionally kind or thoughtful to such a remarkably kind and thoughtful man. Even the best of us are susceptible to prejudice. Show him the goodness he once knew in you, and I haven't any doubt he will be your friend once more."
That was all Dumbledore had to say, other than his assurance that he'd send whatever Sirius had left behind at Hogwarts if he did not want to retrieve them himself. The wariness the headmaster had worn the evening he brought Sirius from the Ministry back to Hogwarts had vanished under a mask of warmth and compassion that Sirius couldn't deny set him at ease. This was how Dumbledore built armies, he thought. Forgiveness. Second chances. The willingness to convince everyone he saw the good in them, that they were worth redeeming. A manipulation he desperately wanted to see through but couldn't help sinking into like an embrace.
"Thank you, Professor," Sirius heard himself say.
Dumbledore nodded and bid him farewell. He entered the cottage, leaving Sirius behind in order to say one last thing to Remus just before he Disapparated.
Sirius helped Remus up to the miniscule bedroom upstairs.
A twin bed engulfed the space, forcing Sirius to shuffle awkwardly with Remus's arm slung over his shoulders.
"How d'you get up here on your own?" Sirius said, heaving a breath as Remus slumped down onto the bed.
"I usually don't," admitted Remus. "At least for the first few hours. By the afternoon, I'm usually well enough to get up and feed myself, and by the evening, I can usually climb the stairs."
"How'd you come by this place?"
Remus settled back against the lumpy pillow. "James gave it to me."
That surprised Sirius who'd never known Remus to accept a gift that cost more than a handful of galleons. Remus smirked at his wide-eyed look.
"I tried to refuse, of course, but James insisted or else it would go to the Ministry."
"What do you mean?"
"When James's parents died," he said slowly, watching Sirius carefully, "a number of properties became his responsibility. This one in particular belonged to a Potter called Wassa who was an ancient witch known for enchanting trees to talk. James discovered its existence from a scroll he found in his father's bureau and realized it was a perfect place for a werewolf and three Animagi to transform. The cottage was hers, though back then it was really just one room. James wanted to build an entirely new house, but I liked it, so we cleared out all of the animal bones and added a few rooms, and I've lived here ever since."
The painful reminder that James and Mr. and Mrs. Potter were dead kept him from asking more, and he got the sense that Remus didn't want to talk about them either. Instead, Sirius told Remus he would let him sleep and retreated to the even smaller room across the way.
There was another twin bed pushed into the corner. It was starkly bare—a naked mattress on a rusted iron frame that seemed more like something Remus found on a street corner than picked out in a shop. He ran a hand over the thin mattress, picking up a bit of dust as he did. So Remus didn't receive a lot of guests, obviously.
Beside the bed on a small wooden chair was a strange stack of robes and toiletries which after a moment, Sirius realized were the things he'd found in the wardrobe at Hogwarts. There was nowhere to put them in the room except to leave them on the chair.
Beneath the bedframe, he found a set of sheets, a quilt, and a pillow which all smelled faintly musty, likely due to a worn preservation charm. He didn't care. He'd sleep on a bed of hay if it meant he could stay with Remus. He'd sleep in the cellar as Padfoot if he had to. Anything was better than wandering Hogwarts alone for another few weeks.
As Sirius came to understand, however, hosting the sixteen-year-old version of his former best friend was not easy for Remus.
There was too much Sirius did not know, and simply too much that might strike Remus as emotionally jarring without Sirius realizing. Simply asking about James and Lily and how they got together had turned Remus sullen, though it seemed innocent enough when he'd asked. A tentative question about their son made Remus withdraw completely for an hour. It wasn't as lonely as Hogwarts, of course. Tiptoeing around an old friend and keeping his questions to a minimum was preferable to wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, wishing he had someone—anyone—to talk to.
Remus was between jobs, the last having been a groundskeeper position for a Muggle library. According to Remus, they were unimpressed by the several days a month for which he was forced to claim absences. In the end, they needed someone more dependable.
There was a vault at Gringotts that belonged to the Black family, Sirius knew. With no one to share it, the fortune would make Sirius one of the wealthiest young men in Britain. He had no key to it, though he understood that exceptions could be made, particularly since he still had his wand. Would the goblins care that he was from the past? The vault was his, regardless of time. He knew they had little patience for wizarding politics, so perhaps they would simply allow him to take what was his.
The trick would be getting Remus to recognize his worth and accept a bit of financial stability. After all, Sirius could hope to spend all of his fortune, and it rather disgusted him to have it all to himself. If Remus wouldn't accept it, blackmail was always an option.
He decided to broach the idea a few days into their new situation while he helped Remus fix dinner for them. Neither of them were exceptional cooks, for Sirius had never had the need to do it for himself and Remus had always been dreadful at following careful, written instructions. At their disposal, however, was a handwritten book of simple recipes that Mrs. Lupin had penned long before she passed away as if she'd known Remus would need help to feed himself after she died. All you need is a little home garden, she had written.
With the stipend Dumbledore had sent, Remus bought chicken and an assortment of vegetables that hadn't fit in his little garden. He showed Sirius how to light the stove without sending the house up in flames, and soon, Sirius was following Mrs. Lupin's instructions and serving them both.
On that evening, Remus had measured incorrectly a number of herbs, which flabbergasted Sirius who sent Remus to sit and let him do it. Sheepishly, the older man sank into a kitchen chair, out of the way.
"You always got the hang of new things so quickly," muttered Remus, watching as Sirius shoved a tray of chicken and vegetables into the oven to roast.
"Because it's not that hard, Moony. You were rubbish at Potions, though, I guess. I suppose you didn't end up in the N.E.W.T. level class?"
"Oddly enough, I did. I did manage an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L."
"But you were just complaining—well, before I came here—you'd written that you were worried that you'd failed your Potions exam."
Remus smiled. "Well, admittedly I was a rather humble student. Never quite believed I was as intelligent as I was."
"Ah, that must have been it. Your extraordinary humility."
The chair squealed on the tile floor as Sirius pulled it out to sit across from Remus. On the table between them lay his letter from Hogwarts, inviting him back for another year with a list of books and supplies he would need for the new term. The seal had yet to be broken.
"Why haven't you read it yet?" said Remus. He slid the letter forward until it sat before Sirius, undeniable.
Something kept him from breaking it open. It felt like if he unsealed it, it meant that he had accepted this new world, that he agreed to return for his final years at Hogwarts without the rest of the Marauders. Every time he went to peel back the seal, he realized he needed to use the toilet or have a drink of water.
"I don't want to think about school," said Sirius. He rested his hand on the envelope, covering the address. "Bit odd, don't you think? As if it's all normal. Like it's only another year at Hogwarts. At least it's addressed to me, not whatever character we've come up with. I don't even know a Prewett."
Remus and Dumbledore had settled on a name without his input. Lysander Prewett. A stupid name, Sirius had thought at first. What the name indicated, as Remus explained, was that he was from a pureblood family yet one with relative anonymity. There weren't many Prewetts left, and any who were hadn't any children at Hogwarts. The closest relatives were Weasleys, but Dumbledore did not see the family as a threat to Sirius's disguise—Arthur Weasley and his wife Molly had been informed of the ruse, and though they weren't entirely keen on their son sharing a dormitory with Sirius, they agreed to keep his identity secret.
"Why can't I be a Potter? There's hardly any of those left," Sirius had grumbled.
"Do you suppose you'll have much anonymity sharing the surname of the most famous boy in the country? The Prewetts are a far safer choice."
Sirius stewed over it for a few hours until the name became palatable on his tongue. Lysander wasn't so bad. There were Greek names in each branch of the Black tree—a constellation of pretention, and Lysander wasn't too far removed from what Sirius was accustomed. It was a relief to discover his own name on his Hogwarts letter, however.
But there it sat.
"Open it," said Remus. "Sooner or later, you'll need to before we go to Diagon Alley."
Sirius's finger slid beneath the seal and cracked it. Just as it had been years ago, the letter welcomed him back to school and advised him to acquire the following list of supplies. At first, it seemed fairly standard: Advanced Potion-Making, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six.But to his confusion, a list of books beneath the rest seemed outside of the norm.
"A lot of books written by some bloke called Lockhart," Sirius muttered as his eyes wandered down the lines of required texts. "Wanderings with Werewolves? What sort of rubbish is this? Look at this. Voyages with Vampires, Year with the Yeti? What do you make of that?"
Remus took it, eyes raking the long list. "The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart. Er—perhaps Dumbledore had a bit more trouble than usual hiring a new teacher this year."
"So the job really is cursed, is it?"
In Sirius's time at Hogwarts, each year had seen a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor come and go. Usually some accident caused the teacher to leave suddenly, or a family emergency made it impossible for the teacher to return, or in one case, the teacher was simply enough of a bully that Sirius and his friends had bullied him right back and forced him out of school.
With one last, uneasy look, Remus set the letter down and offered it back.
"I'm not usually inclined to believe in curses, but yes, it seems like it must be. I won't deny, I've declined the position myself because of it. Imagine the sort of catastrophe that might befall the school if a werewolf's transformation were to go poorly." He shuddered. "I couldn't risk it, even with the Wolfsbane Potion."
Sirius stared. "Dumbledore wanted you to be a teacher?
Remus waved his hand. "As I said, he's becoming desperate. He revealed there was a mishap with the latest teacher who nearly murdered a student."
"Really? I never got in that much trouble. What'd the unlucky bugger do?"
"Well, the student uncovered a plot to create an Elixir of Life in order to bring back the physical form of Lord Voldemort. The professor in question acted as host to Voldemort. It seems they shared a body for much of the year without the rest of the staff noticing. In the end, the student foiled the plot and was forced to destroy the professor for the sake of his own life. You can imagine why I did not take the position this year."
Sirius blinked. "Yeah, I guess."
The list of ridiculous books taunted him, and he shoved it aside to attend to the oven.
After Sirius had served both of them, Remus remarked that the following day might be a good time to visit Diagon Alley if they liked. Sirius brightened at that and enthusiastically agreed. Anything to escape the isolation of the cottage.
"We should see if I can get into the Black family vault," he said, offhand.
Remus paused his fork. "You don't think that might be unwise?"
"Why? It's mine, isn't it? The other me certainly hasn't got access. Might as well claim it, otherwise it'll just sit there until he dies, won't it?"
"But it doesn't really belong to you, Sirius. It belongs to him."
"I'm him," he said, waving his fork as a carrot flew off. "The goblins don't care, do they? I'll explain where I'm from and who I am, and I'd wager the whole vault they won't give a damn if I take it all."
The following day, Remus Apparated them both to the very front of Gringotts, the street blanketed by the building's massive shadow. Behind them, shoppers of Diagon Alley chatted loudly and the hoots and cries of owls created a familiar cacophony. The colorful assortment of witches and wizards, hustling from shop to shop might have been folks from his own time. The only difference seemed to be a bit of fashion and shops he'd never seen. Entranced by the bustle of Diagon Alley, he nearly lost Remus beyond the doors of Gringotts and had to skip several steps to keep up.
Beyond the bronze doors and entrance hall, Sirius and Remus approached a goblin whose face seemed to be twisted in a permanent sneer.
"I need to make a withdrawal from 711," Sirius declared.
The goblin blinked. "Do you have a key, sir?"
"No, but I would like a key to be made. It is my vault, and I am willing to offer proof of my identity and the right to access it. My name is Sirius Black."
For a long moment, the goblin stared at Sirius. When Sirius was ten, he had accompanied his mother to Diagon Alley and watched as she had said almost precisely the same thing. She had forgotten her key, and demanded access to the Black vault anyway. The goblins had simply requested an inspection on her wand and allowed her to it.
The goblin called for another called Ragnok, and together they whispered, glancing at Sirius suspiciously until they came to an agreement. Ragnok took the other goblin's place, extending his long fingers outward over the counter.
"Your wand, Mr. Black," said Ragnok.
Sirius placed his wand in Ragnok's palm. Ragnok and the other goblin retreated into the office behind the counter, shutting the door behind them. Sirius turned to Remus with a shrug.
"You might try a polite word with them," said Remus.
"Why? They hate us. It's not like a 'please' or rousing discussion about the weather is going to change that. Best to just let them know our business and get on with it."
"You sound like they are only here to serve you."
Sirius's eyes narrowed. "I never said that."
The goblins did not take long. When they returned, Ragnok held the wand in his spindly fingers, rolling it between his thumb and index finger as he approached the counter to peer down at Sirius.
"This is indeed Sirius Black's wand," said Ragnok. "However, it is widely known that such wand was confiscated a decade ago, and its owner imprisoned in Azkaban. How dare you suggest that you have any right to his vault?"
"I've traveled here from 1976," said Sirius simply.
"Er—Sirius, perhaps we should try a different tactic at another time—"
"No," snapped Sirius. "It's my vault and we're dealing with this now." He looked Ragnok squarely in the eye. "Are there rules that suggest a person cannot access their vault if they have traveled through time? I have given you proof of my identity and as the heir to the Black family, I should be allowed access."
Again, the goblins whispered to each other before disappearing again into the door behind them. Their silhouettes were visible behind the smoky glass, discussing intently. Once again, they returned.
Ragnok gave back Sirius's wand.
"You may have access to Vault 711 as its owner. A key will be presented to you as you depart." Then the goblin's eyes grew dark as he leaned forward. "Do not lose it."
Remus thanked him and they followed another goblin through a set of doors to carts that would take them far beneath the surface of London. They clambered into the cart with Sirius feeling a bit smug. Remus had been a bit nervous, but Sirius had known the goblins wouldn't stop him.
It had been some time since Sirius set eyes on the mountain of gold within his family's vault. Even after a few years of wasting within the clammy vaults, it gleamed in the lamplight when the goblin unlocked the door and swung it open. Uncomfortably aware of Remus at his back, he shoveled as many galleons into his bag that the seams would allow with speed enough that a few clanked to the floor outside the vault. He scrambled to pick them up.
Within the vault were pieces of silver that caught the goblin's eye. The goblin's lip curled at a number of goblets that Sirius knew to be wrought by goblins many centuries ago.
"I don't care about those," Sirius said to the goblin. "Take them back if you like. I've got enough gold to keep my great-grandchildren rich."
The goblin shut the vault door and stomped back to the cart without a word. Awkwardly, Sirius hefted the bag over the side of the cart and held it tightly in his lap. Remus sat beside him, hardly looking at Sirius who felt rather foolish and greedy.
"Most of this is yours, you know," said Sirius.
"I don't want it."
"Whether you want it or not, Moony, it's yours. It's not like you have to spend it all in one place. That would be ridiculous."
Following Gringotts, Sirius and Remus visited at a number of shops along Diagon Alley. While Hogwarts had mysteriously provided Sirius with just enough clothing to wear and pajamas to sleep in, he had yet to replenish his wardrobe since he arrived. They stopped in Madam Malkin's for school robes, which Sirius would have done in his own time anyway, for he'd grown a few inches over the last year. Madam Malkin froze when she saw him, as if trying to place where she'd seen him before, but shook her head and measured him anyway.
He slipped Madam Malkin a galleon and whispered to her to fit his companion for new robes too. Whatever hesitation she'd had about him fell away as she led Remus from his seat in the window, shooing his protests as she dragged him to the platform where she began measuring. Over his shoulder, Remus glared at Sirius.
Before long, she was shoving robes into Remus's arms and demanding he put them on. Unable to resist her commands, he disappeared into the dressing room.
"Nothing too dazzling," she assured Remus through the curtain. "But fresh, new robes never hurt anyone, dear! I've chosen a rather practical set for you."
It wasn't quite fair, Sirius mused, that Remus should feel compelled to refuse any sort of help. An amalgam of pride and shame had shaped him into a person that bore guilt as a response to gifts rather than gratefulness, as if acceptance would make him some sort of freeloader. In Sirius's time, the only person who was allowed to support Remus with any sort of money was James, and even that was a rarity.
So it wasn't until Remus excused himself from the shop that Sirius paid for his own robes and then paid for a stack of robes that Madam Malkin had selected for Remus, directing her to have them sent to the cottage in Yorkshire.
They were on to Flourish and Blotts next. Silent tension between them made Sirius afraid to talk as they scoured the shelves for the books on his list. Remus's jaw was tight while he pulled out several of Gilderoy Lockhart books and piled them into Sirius's arms. He wasn't gentle or thoughtful of the load, and Sirius stooped with the weight.
"What?" Sirius finally said with an eyeroll.
"You don't suppose that might have been humiliating for me, do you?" His voice was clipped, though he avoided eye contact.
"Why? You needed new robes."
"You might have warned me first." Remus drew his wand and lightened the books enough for Sirius to stand up straight. "And must I remind you? I am an adult and perfectly capable of looking after myself. I do not need a sixteen-year-old's pity."
Sirius bristled. "You think I did that out of pity? Come on, Moony, I've never pitied you once. I saw a problem, and I found a solution. Your robes are old so I got you new ones. I don't see what the trouble is."
Remus opened his mouth to retort but halted when a young girl, no more than eleven, wedged herself between them to gather each one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. Sirius moved on to a table where he spotted Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6. Soon after, he dropped all of his purchases at the counter, paid, and directed the books to be sent to Remus's house.
"Next time," said Remus, when they moved from the counter, "ask first."
They were leaving Flourish and Blotts as an employee dragged a sign outside advertising a signing with the star of Sirius's booklist.
"Dodged a nasty hex, didn't we?" said Sirius, eyeing Lockhart's name. "Wouldn't want to meet him. What an idiot. Wanderings with Werewolves," he sneered.
"He's one of the most famous wizards in the country," said Remus. "You're sure you don't want to wait until it starts? We could get you an autograph."
"He can sign my arse. Let's go to Quality Quidditch next."
The rest of the mid-morning passed in a blur of shops and crowds of people. Sirius marveled over the newest Nimbus 2001, jingling the coins in his bag. He dearly wanted one and he had enough money for it, but he couldn't drop more money in front of the ever-practical Remus on something totally impractical. So, wistfully, he moved on to purchase a new cauldron, brass scales, set of quills, and a few wet-start fireworks from Gambol and Japes. By the time he had finished, his money pouch was considerably lighter.
They were passing a dark alleyway when Sirius slowed, knowing exactly where that passage led. Remus followed his gaze.
"I know our relationship isn't the typical ward and guardian, Sirius, but I'm still not going to let you go to Knockturn Alley."
"I wouldn't usually feel the need, but I know there are a few interesting things at Borgin and Burkes… Maybe they'd sell me something to bring me back to 1976."
"Oh, they would certainly sell you something," said Remus dryly. "But a device to send you back? I doubt it."
"Come on, Moony, if our places were switched, I'd take you to Knockturn Alley."
"I believe you. However, as the person here who is most capable of making sound decisions, I must refuse. I guarantee, there is nothing there for you at Borgin and Burkes."
The itch to see if a time traveling device had somehow ended up in the greedy hands of those proprietors was crawling up Sirius's spine, and even though Remus had walked away, he couldn't move. What if the answer was just down that dark passage? What if the galleons in his bag were enough to send him back to his own time, to James? There would be no reason for him to call himself Lysander Prewett. There would be no betrayal of James, no Azkaban for him, and no misery for Remus. Maybe this world was doomed, but it wasn't too late for his own.
"Sirius!" Remus hissed at his back.
"I'll be back in a bit! Don't worry about me!"
He was off, shoes clomping on the cobblestone. Filthy puddles squelched under his shoes and the stench of old potions made his nose wrinkle. Remus was hot on his heels as he picked up his pace, practically running to the mouth of the alley. When it came to an end, he was standing amongst a cluster of rather forlorn buildings, all of them buckling at their foundations.
"Are you mad?" said Remus. "What if someone sees you?"
"So?"
"Sirius Black in Knockturn Alley? Can you at least recognize what that name means here?"
Sirius started up the street, clenching his fists. "I'm not a Death Eater."
They didn't make it far. Ahead he saw Borgin and Burkes, but before he could reach it, he noticed Remus was no longer behind him. He whirled searching, until he noticed a hag haranguing a young boy. In an instant, Remus had yanked the boy from her.
"Get away from him," said Remus. The gravity in his voice made Sirius shiver.
The hag jeered, but she cast her gaze between Remus and the boy as if debating her chance of taking them both. With a hiss and a growled curse, she slinked off.
Sirius glanced wistfully back at Borgin and Burkes knowing there was no way he'd be able to sneak in now. He would make it back eventually.
"What are you doing here, Harry?" said Remus, gripping the boy's arm in alarm.
Sirius jolted to a stop.
At first glance, he thought he'd seen James. The boy had the same wild black hair, the same shape of his face, the same sort of scrawniness James had when he first started Hogwarts. Sirius stared in disbelief.
"I—er—the Floo. It brought me here," said Harry, looking from Remus to Sirius. "I'm supposed to be in Diagon Alley. How do you know who I am?"
"Lucky guess," said Sirius. His eyes flickered to the lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's head.
"Come on, Harry, this is no place for you," said Remus. "Let's get you back to where you should be. Diagon Alley's just through here—"
"Harry!" a booming voice ricocheted off the buildings.
Sirius turned in time to scramble out of the way for Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. Hagrid took in the sight of Sirius and Remus, whose hand was firmly on Harry's arm. Suspiciously, he narrowed his eyes.
"What are the three of yeh doin'?" He plucked Remus's hand off of Harry. "None of yeh should be here! Remus, bit shocked ter see you, 'specially. An' Harry, don' yeh know what'd people think if they saw yeh here?"
"I didn't mean to, Hagrid," Harry started. "I got lost."
"Righ', righ'," said Hagrid. Pointedly, he tried not to look at Sirius. He gestured toward the alley where Sirius and Remus had just arrived. "Come on, all o' yeh. Knockturn's closed. Back to Diagon Alley with yeh."
Sirius found himself herded with Remus and the boy back into the alleyway. Harry was trying to explain himself, how he'd said his destination improperly in the Floo and ended up in the fireplace at Borgin and Burkes.
"Odd," said Remus. "At least it didn't take you far."
"Did you see anything good?" said Sirius.
"There's nothin' good in there, Harry," Hagrid growled. "Don' know what sort of business you two had in Knockturn Alley, but yeh'd best not be exposin' Harry ter it."
"Certainly not," Remus said. "Lysander merely thought he might find a solution to his problem, which you know of, but it was misguided."
Hagrid shook his head. "Nothing's goin' ter help yeh there, Siri—er—Lysander."
"Right, so Remus said."
They reached Diagon Alley once more where the streets were littered with people and the shops were cheerful and bright. None of the passersby seemed to notice the strange group of four that emerged from the alleyway, which seemed particularly strange since Hagrid was the largest man Sirius had ever met.
That was until a breathless, redhaired man rushed from the throng of people to meet Harry, close behind him a clan of redheaded children, enthusiastic that they'd been terribly worried. Harry insisted that he was all right, that he'd ended up in the wrong fireplace in Knockturn Alley, which did not seem to calm the man.
"Molly's beside herself. Thank goodness you found him, Hagrid. Don't know what we would have done if…"
"Not ter worry, Arthur. Harry's perfectly fine. Remus is the one who found 'im, really."
The redhaired wizard pumped Remus's hand, thanking him. Sirius could only guess that this was a Weasley, for they were famous for their bright red hair. Mr. Weasley didn't recognize Sirius, thankfully. Before the Weasleys could draw Harry away, the boy who looked so much like James couldn't help himself from staring at Sirius, as if trying to place him like Madam Malkin had done.
"See you at Hogwarts, Harry," said Sirius.
Once Harry had been carried off by the Weasley clan into the crowds of Diagon Alley, Hagrid rounded on Remus and Sirius.
"The likes of yeh! In Knockturn Alley!" he said, struggling to keep his exceptionally loud voice low. "If yeh don' want people ter see you as a dark wizard, Sirius, yeh shouldn' be hangin' about where dark wizards go!"
"I just thought there might be an object or artifact that could take me back," explained Sirius. "Borgin and Burkes is full of weird stuff."
"And you, lettin' him!" Hagrid said to Remus.
"I forbid him to go, but you know how he gets when he wants to do something. How many times did you drag him and James from places they shouldn't have been?"
"Righ', well, that's a bit true," agreed Hagrid. Gravely, he looked down at Sirius. "I know yer supposed to start at Hogwarts again this year, but yeh can' go draggin' Harry into trouble with yeh. He's different from James. He's already had enough excitement to last 'im the rest of his days, I'd reckon."
"But Hagrid, Harry was already—"
"I know, but it's worth sayin'."
Sirius gritted his teeth but drew a breath. "I'll leave him alone."
Then Hagrid's face softened as he looked between them. "Well, that's all I can ask." He bid them farewell, and Sirius knew it wouldn't be the last of people expecting the worst of him. Sirius made a face at Remus.
"Let's go home," he said.
"That was the first time you've seen him," Sirius said.
They were sorting through the mountain of purchases from Diagon Alley, separating school things from the things he had bought to feel a bit more like a person again. It was strange how being estranged from all of one's personal belongings could make someone feel so lost.
Remus was stacking books over the coffee table, lining them in neat rows by class. For Defense Against the Dark Arts, there were seven books in total. Remus had already expressed his concern about the effectiveness of a N.E.W.T. level course that relied on Gilderoy Lockhart's dodgy accounts of dealing with magical creatures.
The comment made Remus pause.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Remus, absently lifting the cover of Advanced Potion Making. "It wasn't my choice. Dumbledore insisted that Harry should grow up independent of the wizarding world. I can't say it hasn't been difficult knowing where he's been and keeping my promise to Dumbledore, but in the end, it's all for Harry's safety."
"So James's kid has been out in the world this whole time, and you've never met him," Sirius said. He peered into the eye of his new telescope and played with the focus. The living room was a blur through the lens. "Do you think he knows about us?"
"I suspect not. From how I understand, his guardians are not the most enthusiastic supporters of magic."
"Who're his guardians?"
"Lily's sister and her husband. I've never met them. The other you met them, however," said Remus. "Once," he added. "I do not believe it ended well."
Sirius removed his face from the telescope. "Then why is Harry there? Seems like there'd be a number of wizarding families that would've loved to take him in."
"I'm not entirely certain," Remus admitted. "When I was… When I learned of where he'd been sent, I asked Dumbledore the very same questions, but it was explained to me it had to with a blood protection, that Lily had sacrificed herself for Harry. The bond extends to her Muggle sister, who shares that same blood."
Lily Evans had never quite liked Sirius in the time he had known her. Loathed him, more like, he thought. Imagining Lily shielding James's child from Voldemort, fighting for his life with her final breath, seemed so strange.
Sirius frowned. "But that makes it sound like Harry's still in danger. Voldemort's gone, isn't he?"
"Dumbledore seems to think that may only be temporary," said Remus, a bit pale. His finger slid down the booklist of Sirius's Hogwarts letter, double-checking that they'd gotten everything. "And Voldemort isn't the only threat to Harry out there. To this day, a number of Death Eaters walk free, many of them claiming to have been acting under the Imperius Curse. Any one of them might still have a taste for revenge."
But Harry seemed so ordinary, so unthreatening that Sirius nearly laughed at the idea of anyone exacting revenge upon him. Other than closely he resembled Prongs, nothing struck Sirius as peculiar about the boy except for the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
"Did you know he looked so much like James?"
Remus shook his head. "No," he said softly.
At first Sirius had been a bit sullen with Remus for not reaching out to Harry. After all, he had eleven years to do it, to tell the boy all about his father and what he was like. How could Harry not know who James was at all? But clearly, it had not been easy on Remus. How often had Remus considered breaking his promise to Dumbledore and seeing Harry? How often had he wrestled with himself, trying to remind himself that Harry's safety was more important than nostalgia?
Soon, Sirius would be living in the same tower as Harry and would be forced to see the son of his best friend every day, a reminder of James and what had been lost. As much as he wanted to get to know Harry, it wasn't the same. James was gone.
James is gone, he's dead, it's your fault.
He squeezed his eyes shut, shoving the voice from his head. It spiraled through the darkness of his mind, ricocheting off his skull to reverberate between his ears. Traitor. Murderer. You killed him. It's your fault. You're the reason Remus has never met Harry. You destroyed everything, killed an entire family. You betrayed the ones who loved you the most.
Pressure on his arm coaxed him back from the recesses of his mind, and the quaint sitting room swam back to him. Remus had taken hold and was prompting him quietly to come back. Bleary-eyed, Sirius tried to focus on his friend's face, tracing the lines of age all the way up to Remus's eyes.
"I miss James," Sirius whispered.
"I do too," Remus said softly. "Perhaps we could miss him together."
Outside the cottage, clouds rolled in and pattered rain over the landscape, plinking at the window as Remus regaled Sirius with what he remembered of their time at school—full moons, finishing the Marauders Map, Lily finally agreeing to go out with James, accepting the invitation to join the Order of the Phoenix, the dark times as they found themselves separated for months at a time and scrambling to keep their friendship strong.
When Remus was through, it was dark. Sirius excused himself and went to the tiny room upstairs to sleep, but the wind kept rattling the window and splattering it with rain, keeping him awake until the storm broke at dawn.