[1983]

Moe's wasn't anything at all like I had expected. Not that I had much experience to draw on in the first place. The diner was little more than a hole in the wall, with a worn brick exterior that harkened back to a different era and a long-forgotten purpose. Ivy crawled up the side of the building, seemingly left to its own devices. From the side, it looked abandoned, but a little sign glowed cheerily at the front announcing they were, in fact, open.

A bell over the door chirped out a greeting as I entered, and a voice from the back answered, "Coming!"

A minute later, a man emerged through the doorway, drying his hands as he did so. He was at least a decade older than me, with gray already peppering his auburn hair. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair meticulously slicked back, but his slacks were wrinkled and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the bottom. In many ways, the man seemed a contradiction, but there was no mistaking the shrewd scrutiny of his steely eyes.

"Can I help you?" he asked, throwing the hand cloth over his shoulder as he leaned against the door frame.

"I'm, uh, I'm looking for Andrew."

"You found him. I go by Andy, though. Andrew sounds so stuffy." He closed the distance between us and offered his hand as he said, "You must be Reginald, I take it."

I hesitated—not enough to be noticed, but touching Muggles always gave me pause—before taking his hand. "Reg is fine. Reginald sounds like I'm a grandfather."

Andy grinned and scratched at his beard. "You know, I've gotta be honest. Viv recommended I hire you, and that's good enough for me. I trust her judgment almost more than my own. But here's the thing. She also said you were incredibly stubborn and would never accept the position if I just gave it to you on her say so."

"Did she?" Vivian had conveniently not mentioned that part to me, but she also wasn't exactly wrong. The thought that a Muggle could read me so clearly—especially when my family could not—irked me more than I cared to admit.

"She did. Said something about you needing to earn it. Not that Viv is ever wrong, but tell me, are you stubborn?"

I hesitated, probably a couple seconds too long before answering. "No?"

"Uh-huh." Andy crossed his arms, gaze traveling the length of my body, sizing me up, assessing my worth.

This, at least, I was used to. As the only worthy Black heir, I always had to be in good form. So it was nothing at all for me to check my posture, square my shoulders, and meet his gaze. It was easy not to wither under the scrutiny. If anything, the softness in his eyes was the most unnerving part; there was no cruelness to his judgment.

"So, tell me about Reginald Friedman, then."

Reginald Friedman. Right. "Well . . . I pick up on things quickly, and I'm a hard worker." I scratched at the back of my neck, scrounging in my brain for something to say. My list of accomplishments didn't mean much to a Muggle. Besides, they weren't Reginald's accomplishments, they were Regulus'. And Regulus had died years ago.

"Sure, sure, but who are you at your core? What do you enjoy? What are your hobbies? Your goals?"

"Uhhh . . ." Well, I couldn't exactly say, I enjoy studying Dark Arts in my spare time, reading up on horcruxes, and one day, I hope to kill a Dark Lord that may or may not already be dead, now could I? Unfortunately, the majority of my day was monopolized by Harry, and whatever snippets of time I could steal outside of that was spent on research. That was something, I supposed. "I enjoy doing research and studying."

The look on Andy's face made it clear that had been the wrong answer. Merlin, what did this bloody Muggle want for me? This was an interview for a job at a diner. What did my hobbies and interests matter when all I really needed was the ability to drop plates of slop in front of customers?

"Viv says you're raising a boy. Harry, was it? Tell me about him."

"Harry is . . ." I stopped myself just short of saying a menace, even though it was technically true. No Muggle wanted to hear that. I wracked my brain for something more positive to say, but all I could think about was the twenty minutes it took me this morning to find the keys he had somehow hidden in the refrigerator when no one was looking. There were positive traits about the kid, I was sure, but my tired, addled brain failed to produce them on the spot.

I started as Andy erupted into laughter, carrying on so much that he had a minor coughing fit. He waved away my concern, and when he'd managed to catch his breath enough, he said, "Blimey, the way your eyes glassed over just then is giving me flashbacks. My partner and I have a girl. Older now, but I remember all too well what she was like when she was little."

With a heavy sigh, I finally admitted, "He's an absolute menace. He's developed the habit of stealing things and hiding them around the flat. Found my keys in the refrigerator this morning. Found a toy car in the loo last week. But as bad as that all is, I'm just glad that at least he's finally stopped sticking his fingers in other people's orifices."

Andy chuckled. He glanced around the empty diner before leaning in conspiratorially. "We adopted Lizzie when she was six months old. I swear, she did nothing but scream, puke, and poop for the first six months we had her. Then she spent the next six months putting anything and everything in her mouth. We were afraid she'd somehow manage to die of dysentery. Could you imagine, in this day and age? And no one really believes you if you say she did it to herself."

The edges of my lips quirked despite myself. "Did she yell angry gibberish at you, too, when she didn't get her way?"

Andy scoffed. "She still yells angry gibberish at me when she doesn't get her way. And rest assured, she has the ability to speak. She just chooses to behave like an animal instead."

"So . . . does it get better? I mean . . . eventually?"

Andrew laughed and clapped me on the shoulder as he shook his head. "No. But you learn to live with it." He patted me twice more on the back before shaking his head and walking away, whipping the dish cloth off his shoulder as he did so. "Be here tomorrow, eight o'clock. Oh, and tie your hair up. Can't have it down around the food."

"Sorry?" The shift in conversation was so sudden that I stumbled over it, not quite sure about the implication.

"You've passed your interview—all on your own, might I add." Andy examined what I imagined must have been my confused expression and he shrugged. "Not everyone wants to talk about themselves, and I get that. But you can learn a lot about someone from the way they talk about their kid." Andy backed up as he spoke, stopping just before the doorway to add, "It really was nice to meet you, Reg," before disappearing into the back of the store.

On the walk home, I wondered if my parents had ever spoken of Sirius or I that way. I couldn't imagine they did. The implication that they couldn't handle their children would have been unacceptable. If ever Walburga and Orion Black spoke of their offspring, it was in a manner that benefitted them, that elevated their status and proved how superior the Noble House of Black was. Regulus was sorted into Slytherin. Regulus made the Quidditch team. Regulus scored an E on his N.E.W.T.S.

I highly doubted they would ever spare a word about the young Regulus who had streaked through a dinner party naked on a dare from his older brother. Or the Regulus that had taken it upon himself to save the wild animals around the manor by packing them all in a single room, where they would be safe. Or the way my flawless plan was foiled when Sirius had opened the door and loosed the entirety of my collection upon Black Manor.

Perhaps Andy had a point after all.

...(X)...

[1984]

"Your tie is wrong. Here, let me."

Viv reached for my necktie, but I stepped back, pulling the knot loose as I did so. "I know how to do it."

Viv pursed her lips but said nothing. She wrapped her wrinkled hands tighter around her purse as if to distract herself from the urge to simply reach out and fix the thing. I didn't need help dressing myself, though. Hadn't in years.

My time at Hogwarts felt like an eternity ago. A whole other lifetime. Still, the muscle memory was there of twisting a green and silver tie in just the right way to get the desired result. There were things I was forgetting, like the taste of a butter beer or the electric excitement of the Great Feast each year. But there were some things I'd never forget. Even if I wanted to.

My hands completed the familiar motion of their own accord, finishing by smoothing the creases and wrinkles out of my tie, as I'd always done.

"Better?" I asked.

Viv twitched her nose but said nothing for a full minute as she scrutinized my handiwork. Finally, she asked, "Who taught you how to knot a tie?"

Unbidden, memories surfaced of Sirius kneeling before me, undoing the mess I had made of my tie before quickly doing it the right way. Even though he was only two years my senior, he had grown up so much faster than I—physically as well as mentally. I never wanted to learn how to knot a tie, because Sirius was always there to do it for me. Until he wasn't.

I cleared my throat as I shoved the memories back down. "My brother."

Viv hummed in the back of her throat—a low, quick note that I had come to recognize. The gesture was passable as a friendly old woman responding to something she found interesting . . . if one didn't know any better. Really, she was clearing her throat of all the words she wanted to say but had decided against. Because not everything needed to be voiced. Viv always seemed to know what battles were worth fighting and when to let things go.

I sighed. "It's still wrong, isn't it?"

"Well, I wasn't going to mention it, dear, but it certainly isn't right. You've done it backwards."

"I did not." I glanced at the mirror in front of me. The knot certainly looked right . . . ish. It'd been a while, after all. It was definitely backwards, though. In retrospect, I did learn how to do it from Sirius. I should've known.

"May I?" Viv asked this time, lifting her eyebrows.

I gave it a moment's thought. I was never a fan of being touched—by anyone, let alone Muggles—but it was either I deal with it or have my shortcomings immortalized forever. Finally, I nodded and stepped closer so she could reach.

Viv's hands moved quickly and assuredly, like she had done it a million times before. For all I knew, she had. Viv talked about her past only slightly more than I did. We'd come to an unstated agreement not to bring it up. So I didn't. Instead, I stared past her, at the mirror hanging on the wall over her head.

The man reflected there was almost unrecognizable from the boy I had been. The soft roundness of my face had gradually sharpened, and my shoulders had filled out about as much as they ever would, though I retained my awkward lankiness. In a previous life, I had always kept my hair neatly trimmed, and my face shaven and clean. Now, unruly curls spilled down past my shoulders, and a layer of stubble lined my jaw. It struck me how much I looked like Sirius. I supposed I shouldn't be surprised, given that our parents were second cousins, but the realization was still a knife to the gut.

"There." Viv smoothed out my tie and stepped back, clearly pleased with herself. "Perfect."

And it was. But I still felt foolish, dressed up in Muggle clothes that were a size too big. "Are you sure about this?" I asked, adjusting my sleeves for the thousandth time. The clothes were left over from Viv's late husband, who had been at least four inches shorter than me and a bit rounder.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to force you to do anything. But I just thought it might be nice for Harry to have something to look back on. It is for his birthday, after all."

That was how she'd gotten me here in the first place. A picture for Harry to remember his youth by. Why he'd want to remember something like that, I couldn't fathom, but that was apparently a thing Muggles did. Not portraits, pictures. Ones that stood frustratingly still, a moment frozen in time. They looked foolish and horribly rigid. But I supposed, if it was for Harry . . .

As if the thought alone was enough to summon him, Harry ran out from the back hall of the studio and wrapped himself around my leg. "Ready, Da," he announced.

The triplets trailed behind him with much more restraint, smoothing out the creases in their dresses.

"I thought you were supposed to be fixing his hair." If anything, it looked worse than when they had started, with tufts sticking every which way and a very persistent cowlick in the back.

Mindy shrugged as she played with one of her pigtails. "It's hopeless." Her sisters nodded their agreement.

"Well, at least the picture will be accurate." I scooped Harry up and set him on my hip. Despite being nearly four, he was tiny for his age. According to Viv, anyway.

We made our way into the studio, where the photographer was waiting. She gestured to a stool that had been set up in front of a light blue background. With a shrug, I slid onto the seat and rested Harry on one knee.

The photographer paused, looking between me and Viv, who had clasped her hands in front of her and stood off to the side with a little smile, entirely oblivious.

"Well?" I asked.

Viv started. "Well what, dear?"

I tilted my head toward the photographer. "I'm pretty sure she's waiting for you."

"Oh." Viv waved a hand dismissively as she laughed. "The girls and I will get ours done after. I figured you might want one of just you and Harry."

I paused. "Why would I want that?" To be honest, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. We'd come together as a group. It only made sense to have a picture done together. Besides, doing it any other way was just inefficient.

Viv looked rattled in a way I had never seen her, in all the time since we'd first met. She nodded her head a few times too many, as if she had to shake the words loose before saying them. "Yes, of course. Old brain, you know. Doesn't always work like it used to. Come now. You heard him, girls." She motioned them forward, but I didn't miss the way she swiped at the corner of her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

The triplets giggled and swarmed around Harry and I. They didn't need to be asked twice. Nat took a spot on my right, standing beside the stool. Laura and Mindy flanked Harry, with one head over either shoulder, taking turns blowing in his ears and making him laugh. Viv took a spot behind me, shoulders thrown back, looking every bit the proud matron she was.

"Everybody smile!" the photographer cried.

And we did.

The resulting picture was strictly larger than it needed to be, and trying to lug it back across town was a Herculean feat in and of itself. Especially with a hyper child running between my legs. Without the benefit of magic. Rarely did I miss it as much as trying to get that thing up to my flat. Once inside, though, Kreacher made quick work of hanging it on a wall with his House-Elf magic.

He stared at it quietly for far longer than necessary, seemingly mulling over his thoughts. After several minutes, the dam finally broke and the grumbling began. "Stupid Muggle portraits don't even know enough to move," he griped, before devolving to a droning of complaints that I couldn't quite make out.

"Well, Kreacher doesn't seem to like it very much. But what do you think, Harry?"

I glanced down to find him scrutinizing it intensely, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"S'ok, but . . ." He let the thought trail off as he wandered into another room. A few minutes later, he returned with paper and art supplies, dumping them unceremoniously in the middle of the floor and dropping to his stomach.

With a shrug, I left him to it, loosening my tie and collapsing on the couch. I had just dozed off–just resting my eyes, really—when I was woken by Harry's loud proclamation of, "Done!" Reluctantly, I sat up and shook off my sleepiness.

"What've you got there, Harry?"

Beaming, he held up a drawing of a monster with a big head with two pointed triangles on top and eyes that took up most of its face.

"Yes, very nice. Erm . . . what is it?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed my hand and practically yanked my arm out of its socket as he tried to pull me off the couch. I followed—slower than he'd like, but nonetheless—all the way to where the new picture hung on the wall.

Harry unceremoniously slapped his artwork to the wall beside the picture—crookedly, might I add—and beamed up at me. "It was missing a Kreacher!"

Having heard his name, the House-Elf came in from the kitchen and froze in front of the picture, with its new addition. His eyes darted back and forth between the picture and the drawing.

"Well, what do you think, Kreacher?" I asked.

"That looks nothing like Kreacher. Kreacher's head isn't nearly that big," the House-Elf grumbled. But I caught the ghost of a smile as he turned away.

...(X)...

"You're a wizard, Harry. Act like it."

"I don't wanna be a wizard!" Harry wailed as he threw himself on the ground. The objects that had previously been levitating began vibrating. As far as shows of accidental magic went, it was rather impressive. The fact that I would be stuck cleaning up the aftermath made it less so.

I crouched down beside him, careful to avoid a lamp that bobbed past a little too close to my head for comfort. "Come on, Harry. You know I have to go to work. I understand that you don't like it, but I don't have a choice. Unless you want to live in a cardboard box on the corner."

Harry crossed his arms and sniffed. The wailing and thrashing had stopped, at the very least, so that was something. "I like boxes."

"Of course you do. Everyone likes boxes. But no one really wants to live in one."

"I do!" The wail started again, small at first and crescendoing into a siren. "Wanna live in a box!" Harry insisted as he beat his fists and feet against the floor. Whoever lived beneath us would've been having quite a time of it if I hadn't had the forethought to soundproof the entire apartment already.

Just as Harry's whine had peaked, Kreacher walked in from the kitchen. For the briefest of moments, I thought he might spare me. But he took one look at the room filled with levitating objects and promptly turned around and re-entered the kitchen before I could stop him. So much for House-Elf loyalty.

I sighed and sat down on the floor, pressing my back against the couch and stretching my legs out in front of me. There was no telling how long this tantrum would last. I couldn't even blame him. For most of Harry's life—certainly the bit he could remember—I had been around every hour of every day. Even though I had worked at Moe's for six months now, there were days Harry had a hard time with my leaving. I wondered if maybe, in some hidden recess of his brain, he was aware of how many people had left him and simply never returned.

Kreacher pulled me from my thoughts as he re-emerged from the kitchen with a sucker in his hand. I had no idea where he'd even found out, but I learned long ago not to question Kreacher's methods. I figured I probably didn't really want to know, anyway.

Harry's shrieks subsided into sobs, then finally abated as he accepted the sucker Kreacher offered him. A few more tears escaped from the corners of his eyes, and he shuddered as he drew a deep breath, but Harry was quiet finally.

"I'm not sure candy before dinner is the best idea," I said, though I couldn't deny the results. I wasn't very good at this parenting thing—Kreacher and I had so far just sort of muddled through it—but I was pretty sure the candy-dinner dichotomy was universally clear.

Kreacher scowled at me. "Do you want the Potter-brat to shut up or not?"

Well, he had a point. "Of course, you're right. I'm sure it'll be fine."

I stood, before Harry had a chance to change his mind, and vanished into the room we shared to begin getting ready for work. Muggle clothes still felt strange and restrictive, but it was a lot easier to be Reginald Friedman, rather than Regulus Black, when wearing them. I pulled on some black jeans and a polo shirt, pausing to look in the mirror as I tied my hair up. The routine became easier every time I did it, and I no longer dreaded the thought of going out and interacting with Muggles. At the very least, I took solace in the fact that if anyone at the diner gave me a hard time, I could hex them into oblivion without anyone being the wiser.

Everything was quiet by the time I made my way back into the living room. Harry was sat in a corner with his sucker, playing with some toys, and Kreacher was puttering around the apartment, doing his best to put things back in order after Harry's outburst. Since I still had a few minutes before I had to leave, I stretched out on the couch and reveled in the silence, however short lived it would be.

And short lived it was. Only a few minutes had passed before I heard Harry exclaim, "I want a story!"

Kreacher grunted, restoring a lamp to the stand beside me. "Does Kreacher look like a book? Go read to yourself."

I slung my arm over my face, doing my best to block out the flat around me. "Kreacher, tell him a story."

The flat was quiet for a beat too long. Then, begrudgingly, Kreacher answered, "Well, Kreacher supposes . . . if Master insists . . ."

"He does." Mostly because if Kreacher didn't, I would be asked next and then I'd be late to work for sure. Cruel, perhaps, but not the worst thing Kreacher had been subjected to. Not even the worst thing in the past month.

I looked at my watch and reluctantly sat up, glancing behind the couch. Despite being nearly the same size as the House-Elf, Harry had crawled into Kreacher's lap with his sucker in his mouth, waiting patiently for the promised story. A strange emotion rose inside of me that was light and warm and bubbled deep in my chest. I had no clue what I would have done without Kreacher here with me. The only reason I was able to go to work in the first place was because I was so sure Harry would be in good hands while I was gone.

"Once upon a time," Kreacher began slowly, searching for the right words, "there were two brothers: one good, and one bad."

I smiled despite myself. "I'm not sure that's entirely true, Kreacher. I think the one brother was perhaps . . . misunderstood." Maybe, even, they both were.

"With all due respect, Kreacher is telling this story," the House-Elf snapped.

"Yes, of course. Forgive my interruption." It was all I could do not to laugh, which likely would have resulted in him giving up on the story entirely. So I did my best to smother the urge.

"Once upon a time, there were two brothers: one good, and one . . . less good." Kreacher shot me a pointed look before continuing. "But they were very close. And lots of trouble."

Harry appeared to be engrossed in the story, so I decided to take my leave. The door to the flat closed behind me with a gentle click. Even though I was curious as to where Kreacher's story was going, I didn't think I could bear to hear how it ended between the brothers. Deep down, I didn't want to know.