cvii. the burrow
Harriet ran for her life.
She couldn't remember when she began running; from one moment to the next she became aware of her pumping arms, her straining legs, her sore feet. The corridor spiraled on before her like unraveled yarn. It was cold, her breath cutting and sharp as it filled her lungs, but a fire flickered outside the windows. Fire, and something else, something black and shapeless like a moonless night sweeping over the countryside, coming closer and closer and—.
Harriet ran. She ran while the stone walls twisted, the bookshelves buckled, splintered, frayed. She recognized the Aerie only in the vaguest sense; everything had gone wrong with it, the ceiling a teeming mass of eagle bones screaming and calling, "Harriet Potter, Harriet Potter, Harriet Potter—."
"Let me in," the voice cackled. Glass cracked behind her but Harriet didn't look. "Let me in, LET ME IN—."
She crashed into something heavy and solid, gasping aloud when her back landed on the floor. Weight wrapped around her, pinning her arms—coils, snake coils thicker than tree trunks squeezed the air from her chest. Harriet kicked her feet and tried to wriggle free to no avail. The shadow rose over her, higher and higher until it bowed its unnatural neck and stared at her with eyes like red, gaping maws rimmed in fangs instead of lashes.
"You are nothing," the voice hissed. The snake squeezed tighter and tighter still. "A worthlessss, forgotten girl, left to die in the rubble."
Harriet slammed her eyes shut and clawed at the coil wrapped around her neck.
"An insssignificant worm!"
It's not real, she told herself, holding her breath, her heart racing. It's not real—.
"LET ME IN!"
"No!" she shouted—and suddenly Harriet sat up, gasping, in the quiet of the Flamels' guest bedroom. She gulped in air and trembled, the blankets kicked down by her feet. How Elara managed to stay asleep next to her she'd never know. On the nightstand, Kevin and Rick curled about a gray brick Charmed to stay warm and Harriet knew Livi would be coiled somewhere underneath the bed, fast asleep. Moonlight stole through the window and the shadows parted the milky glow; Set formed on the wall and seemed to turn to Harriet, considering her. They observed one another for a long moment before he vanished again, leaving only the spindly outlines of tree branches shivering in the breeze.
Harriet extended one small hand to cast her own shadow and stared at the shape of her blurred fingers.
"Set," she whispered as her heart slowed. There was no answer.
As she'd grown older these last few years, Set had shown himself to Harriet less and less, appearing and disappearing at his own unknowable will, sometimes going before Harriet had the chance to realize he'd been there at all. Harriet didn't know how she felt about that. It seemed like Set had been with her forever, from her earliest memories in the cupboard, doing chores about the garden or the house, hiding in the loo from the mean girls and Dudley in primary. But now he faded more and more or acted less and less, replaced by real, physical people in Harriet's life, and it…scared and relieved her in equal measures.
It was frightening to let go of what she knew, but relieving to think she might be normal—or as normal as a girl like her could be. True, she hadn't done much research on Set, but Harriet had never heard of anything like him before in the Wizarding world and had never considered telling Elara or Hermione about him. She worried they'd think her mad or—possessed or something.
Another part of Harriet agonized over the idea that maybe she was possessed or she was mad.
The nightmare faded as they always did, chipped away piece by piece until all Harriet could remember was the terror and churning unease, the amorphous mass of an unknown entity hunting her in her mindscape. She twisted and dropped her legs over the bed's side, standing, and glanced once at Elara to ensure she remained asleep before slipping her feet into an untied pair of trainers, snatching up her glasses, and leaving the room.
No matter the time of day or night, the Flamel house was never really quiet. Not fully, at least. Harriet could always hear a popping or a humming sound coming from one of the rooms and the surrounding countryside echoed with sound from the village and the crash of ocean waves. During the day, Mr. Flamel made a lot of noise in his study and Perenelle chattered even if no one stopped to listen. Harriet liked it—she liked them, their home, and the whisper of magic they imbued in even the most mundane of things.
She tip-toed down the hall to the front door, pausing when the hinges creaked and complained. Harriet stepped out into the garden and shut the door behind her, but she didn't wander far. No, she stepped off the path, shuffling through the wet grass, and dropped her backside onto an iron bench set by a lurking hedge. The cold night air cut through her sweaty t-shirt and flannel pants and Harriet shivered, crossing her arms against her middle. The click of bones coming together gave her pause and she tugged out her necklace, settling the crow's skull in the palm of her hand.
She'd named it Hugh.
Harriet held Hugh up and ran her fingers against the cuts and grooves of the runes carved into the bone. They shone red, the crow gone off early in the evening with another letter bound for Hermione, but soon they'd be black once more.
Hinges creaked and she turned her head to see Mr. Flamel stepping outside, the wizard glancing about until he spotted Harriet on the bench and the stiffness went out of his shoulders. He still had on the clothes from the day prior and looked frumpier than he had earlier, which meant he'd definitely not gone to bed yet. His hair stuck up in all directions like Harriet's did when it was cut too short, and the shadow of his beard had grown from a suggestion to a thick outline. Harriet guessed he'd fallen asleep at his desk. Again.
"'Arriet, what are you doing out here?" Flamel asked.
"Sorry. I had a bad dream." She shrugged her skinny shoulders. "I just wanted to clear my head."
Mr. Flamel didn't reply, but he did leave the cottage and shut the door, coming out into the garden to sit next to Harriet on the bench. "Is it anything you wish to talk about?"
Again, Harriet shrugged. "I can't remember what happened. It's just—a feeling, y'know? I wake up and, I dunno, it makes me want to be sick."
Mr. Flamel studied her for a moment, his eyes flicking once toward her neck then away. "Ah, I know what it is you mean. You are taking Divination this term, oui?"
Puzzled by the question, Harriet nonetheless said, "Yeah. That and Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes."
"All good choices. You should ask your Divination professor to teach you about lucid dreaming. It is something I 'ave no talent for, but it said to…help."
Harriet nodded and thanked him for the advice. She stared at her shoes, the laces limp as noodles in the dark, trodden grass, mud creeping up around the treads. Mr. Flamel looked toward the trees, lost in thought, leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees, his posture tired and relaxed. They enjoyed the quiet together for a time, until Mr. Flamel reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a small vial.
The vial itself wasn't much to look at; Harriet was certain she had half a dozen just like it in her potions kit, the lid sealed with a simple cork, the glass thick and unlabeled. What the vial held made it truly remarkable, and Harriet gawked as she watched the small measure of red liquid gleam like crimson sunlight gilded in gold, seeming both solid and fluid at once, glittering in Mr. Flamel's rough palm. The wizard uncapped the vial and pressed his thumb to the lid, tipping it once so a single drop formed on his fingertip, looking like a smooth red pearl. Without care, Mr. Flamel pressed the thumb to his lips and licked it clean.
Harriet gazed at the vial, realizing what she was looking at. Fear swirled in her middle and bubbled like a bad potion.
There's so little left.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and Mr. Flamel looked around as if he'd forgotten she was there. Harriet couldn't bring herself to look at him. In her head, she could still hear the crunch of the Mirror of Erised shattering, shards pinging off the stones as Quirrell fell amid the ruin. More than one life was lost that afternoon. "I'm sorry for what happened to the Stone. It was my fault—."
He raised his hand and cut off her apology with a wave. "Non. I have said before it was not your fault, Harriet. You cannot apologize for the evils of others."
Harriet had nothing to say to that. Mr. Flamel turned the vial in this hand so what little of the elixir lingered in the glass crawled up the sides and threatened to spill out. "It is okay. I have been alive a very long time, and what I 'ave learned best is that nothing is forever. I could remake the Stone—it is not as if I forgot how, oui? But I won't. Others would disagree, but I think it best such a thing is not brought back into this world and should instead remain lost. Mortality is a precious thing, petit oiseau. One day we all meet our end and it makes what time we 'ave all the more important. To deny death forever is to cheapen our lives and the people who make it special."
He replaced the cork and pushed it into place, sighing. "Perenelle and I 'ave lived for more than six hundred years. I do not believe most can conceive of it, the things we have seen, the way the world has changed. It is exaltant, and terrifying, but our families, our friends, they are all gone. We have lost everyone. I would not trade the memories I have made with zem for anything, but it…." Mr. Flamel shut his eyes. "It has been difficile. So difficult. It wears upon the heart to know those you come to love will go on without you one day. Immortality is not real, Harriet. If it was, I would pity the one cursed with it."
Harriet squeezed Hugh's skull and held it close. The vial disappeared back into Mr. Flamel's waistcoat, secreted away from the world once more. The wind came again, colder now, a subtle reminder that the summer would end soon. September was coming.
For once, Harriet didn't want to return to Hogwarts. At Privet Drive, school had been its own kind of torture, but it had provided sanctuary away from her aunt's sharp tongue and Uncle Vernon's threatening presence, and Hogwarts was—well, Hogwarts was home despite all the danger Harriet had and would continue to encounter there. Here though, in Trefhud, Harriet had experienced what it would be like to have a real family for the first time in her life.
She'd seen what it was like from the outside before, watching Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley. A mother, a father, and a son doted upon at every turn. Harriet had never been doted on before. Mr. Flamel wasn't her dad and Perenelle wasn't her mum and yet…in her heart of hearts, she wished it could be true. The only mother and father she'd ever known resided six feet under and Harriet wanted to keep this for herself because next summer would be different. Black would be back in prison and she and Elara would go back to Grimmauld Place. Like a bubble doomed to burst, this interlude could not last.
It had almost been a month and September loomed. The days slipped through her fingers like loose sand on the beach, the final taste of childhood savored and now bound for memory. Time was inexorable, as Hermione would say. Harriet was no longer a child and even if she visited Trefhud again, things would not be the same. She would not be the same.
"Y'know, when I first learned about ghosts, I was…angry," she told Mr. Flamel.
"How so?"
"Because…because my mum and dad didn't come back to take care of me. When I learned they must've had a choice, I—. It was selfish, but I was upset. I didn't tell anybody, didn't even want to admit it to myself. How could they go on without me? I was angry, and Voldemort—he knew that. He used it against me, tried to tempt me, and I was tempted. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll be tempted again, but I know better now. I know nothing is forever."
"Oui. It is a thing you have learned too young, but oui."
It was grower colder, the night deeper and darker than before. The starlight felt so very far away.
Mr. Flamel straightened and stood. "This conversation is too serious for it being so late. Back to bed with you now, petit oiseau. Time to lay such weary thoughts aside. You need to be well-rested! We have dueling practice again tomorrow…."
x X x
It was decided that Harriet and Elara would not spend the last two days of the holiday with Mr. and Mrs. Flamel. Harriet didn't know who exactly made the decision—though she expected it had been a pooled consensus more than anything and had the ridiculous image in her head of the adults in her life sitting around a table casting ballots on her life. She knew she and Elara needed to visit Diagon Alley for their school supplies and couldn't go with the Flamels; visiting the Night Market was one thing, but skipping about the heart of the British Wizarding quarter with two world-renowned alchemists in tow wouldn't be prudent for either of them.
Harriet knew that, but she didn't have to like it.
Their possessions were packed back in their trunks, clothes cleaned and folded, mud Vanished from the bottom of their shoes. Cygnus returned to his cage and Harriet made her snakes comfortable in their terrarium, though Livius remained displeased, the Horned Serpent not keen on leaving the prey-rich forest surrounding the seaside village. Item by item and inch by inch, they retracted their presence from the cottage until the guest room looked just as it did before, as if they'd never been there at all.
The Flamels Apparated the two witches to a small road not terribly far from Trefhud, to another part of Devon near a Muggle village called Ottery St. Catchpole. It was outside any magical community and Harriet could spy powerline poles popping up over the swaying fields and woods. The house itself was definitely magical, made of a hodgepodge of rooms stacked atop each other at impossible angles, leaning a bit too far to the left, chickens scratching about the garden, pecking at dry earth. Harriet could hear the wireless playing through an open window.
"Here we are," Mr. Flamel said, glancing over the house—'The Burrow,' as a crooked sign on the gate proclaimed it to be. Elara shared Harriet's dubious look and they both grimaced—not because of the house, but rather the idea of having to leave the Flamels and spend two days with near-strangers instead. Harriet didn't know any of the Weasleys outside of Ginny; she and Ron weren't friends, she'd shared maybe a handful of words with the twins, and Ginny had told her Percy Weasley had been made Head Boy, which meant he was going to be a right pain in the arse for Slytherin House next term. Harriet like meeting new people well-enough but Elara disliked strangers and had been more moody than usual since the Flamels told them of their early departure.
The Flamels pulled them into a hug a piece, Harriet wrinkling her nose when Perenelle kissed both her cheeks. Both alchemists held on tight and seemed reluctant to let go, though that could have been Harriet's imagination. "Keep up with your letters, oui?" Mr. Flamel told her, a warm hand on her shoulder. "Write if you need anything. Stay safe—that goes for the both of you."
Harriet and Elara muttered their acquiescence and, at the Flamels' insistence, they passed through the garden gate and started toward the house's door. Harriet stepped onto the porch and looked back; standing together, the Flamels waved and, after a moment of hesitation, Disapparated into thin air.
Elara stopped on the first step and glared at a chicken. Harry felt sorry for the poor bird.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Elara replied, her tone rather short, her face a bit green from traveling. "I'm just annoyed at being handed off like luggage and taken in out of pity."
"It's not pity." Harriet paused because she couldn't be sure it wasn't pity, really. "Err, well. It's not forever. Just until Black's captured, and then you'll be safe again and we can go back to Grimmauld."
Elara closed her eyes and, for half a second, Harriet thought she saw a flash of pain cross her face. "Let's just get inside."
"…Okay."
Harriet rapped her knuckles against the door. A moment later it opened, revealing an older, red-headed witch on the other side. She wore an apron over her patched robes and flour smudged her plump cheek.
"Oh, you must be Harriet and Elara! The Headmaster said you'd be here this morning, but I didn't think you'd be this early. Come in, come in!"
The witch waved them inside and Harriet stepped into a warm kitchen smelling of cooked bread and bacon, the skillet and spatula on the hob Charmed to move on their own, the announcer on the wireless chatting on about the expected weather. It actually reminded Harriet quite a bit of the Flamels' house, except where the items there exuded mystique and whismy, the Weasley house had a practical feel to it, everything in its place and with its own purpose. An empty owl perch waited by the open window, a bunch of lettered jumpers hung on the line outside. A book of household Charms lay open on the cluttered counter.
"You can put your owl here if you'd like, dear. We're not expecting Errol back until later." The witch took a tea towel from the table to wipe her hands.
As Elara let Cygnus out of his cage, Harriet said, "Thank you for having us, Mrs. Weasley."
"You're most welcome! Call me Molly, if you'd like. Now, tell me if I have this right—." She pointed first at Harriet, then Elara. "You're Harriet, yes? And you're Elara?"
They nodded.
"Excellent. You're just as Ginny described. She and the others should be down soon enough. Breakfast won't be ready for a bit, but if you're peckish, I can whip something up?"
"Err, I think we're fine—?"
"Or maybe just a snack? Have a seat, let me get tea started…."
All too soon, they found themselves seated at the table with tea, biscuits, and juice, begging off the helping of pancakes Mrs. Weasley tried to press on them before she resumed her station in the kitchen. A few minutes later, stairs creaked somewhere in the house and a wizard passed through the swinging door, thinner and taller than Mrs. Weasley, his red-hair thinning at the crown of his head. Mr. Weasley spotted them right off and started, surprised by their presence. Mrs. Weasley came to his rescue.
"This is Harriet and Elara, Arthur. Ginny's friends. This is my husband, Arthur."
"Right! I'd forgotten Albus said you'd be staying with us for a few days." Mr. Weasley shook their hands, his puzzled expression replaced with a welcoming one. "Nice to meet you both. Having a lovely summer? Just the tea, Molls, I've got to be off soon…."
Mr. Weasley joined them at the table with his own cuppa, asking after their holiday while Harriet skirted the details on where they'd been exactly and instead asked about Mr. Weasley's work, which was apparently at the Ministry and involved something with cursed Muggle artifacts. "Magic makes Muggle objects go wonky, you see?" he explained. "Something about the exposure to a new element, but they go over that more at Hogwarts. Do you know anything about Muggles…?"
They conversed for a while, avoiding the proverbial elephant in the room that was Sirius Black's daughter spreading butter on a hot crumpet. Harriet wondered if the Weasleys knew who Elara was, but she decided they must, if only because Professor Dumbledore would want them to be wary in case Elara's dad came looking for her. Not that he will, she reminded herself. He can't know she's here at the Burrow, after all.
Ginny was the first of the children to come rattling down the steps and she hugged both Harriet and Elara, exclaiming happily about them visiting. Next came the twins, Fred and George, who grinned in mirrored mischievousness.
"Oi, mum, there's a pair of snakes at the table!"
"Never a good sign to have snakes in the house, is it, George?"
"Never."
"Boys," Mr. Weasley said with a warning look in his eye. "Be polite."
"Yeah," Ginny piped up. "Stop being berks."
"Ginny! Watch your language!"
Next came Ronald and, to Harriet's displeasure, Neville Longbottom, who had the good sense not to say anything about their presence because Harriet thought Elara might chuck her hot tea in the prat's face if he did. Percy was the last to arrive, strutting about with a shiny Head Boy badge pinned to the front of his pajamas—though strutting was a strong word, considering how crowded the kitchen had become in a matter of minutes. Plates of food had to be passed around the table, extra chairs conjured, pitchers of milk, pumpkin juice, and coffee making their rounds.
Harriet already missed Trefhud but this was…surprisingly nice. Comfortable. The Weasleys were kinder than she'd expected them to be.
Mr. Wealsey went off to work, Disapparating from the road like the Flamels had. Mrs. Weasley rebuffed Harriet's offer to help with the dishes and Ginny instead showed them about the house, chatting about her summer abroad in Egypt. "We just got back a few days ago," she said, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder. "That's why Ron still looks like a tomato. It was fun, but Mum wouldn't let me go see the ancient Wizarding tombs even with Bill there. Oh, Bill's my oldest brother—he's a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. Have I told you that before? No? He gets to see all sorts of things. Anyway, I'm excited to visit Diagon tomorrow. Luna said she should be able to meet us there, if her dad ever lets her out of the bloody house again. Have you heard from Hermione? Will she be there as well…?"
Ginny finished the tour by showing off her own room on the upper floor, two extra camp beds already set up and waiting. Harriet and Elara took their shrunken trunks from their pockets and resized them, which immediately took up what remaining space could be found. They split ways from there, Elara deciding on a nap while Harriet went outside with Ginny to help her feed the chickens. They spotted Neville and Ron in the garden taking care of the gnomes, and when Fred and George came out, they all begged off their chores and headed into the neighboring orchard, behind which resided a small, makeshift Quidditch pitch.
Harriet didn't have her Nimbus—because it technically wasn't her Nimbus—so she took turns with the rest of the Weasleys on their rickety Cleansweeps. Neville had his Nimbus Two-Thousand but left it aside, given how it outstripped the others too much and the pitch didn't have much room to maneuver around. Hovering at the tops of the trees, Harriet could glimpse the roofs of the Muggle village waiting much too close for them to get careless.
The afternoon wore on as the Weasleys, Longbottom, and Harriet played pick-up matches of three-on-three teams, two Chasers and a Keeper each, no Beaters or Seekers. It was fun to forget about the first of the month coming upon them in just two days, and no one said a word about Sirius Black, which Harriet appreciated. They ate cheese sandwiches at lunch sitting in the tall, browning grass, and they only came in for supper when Mrs. Weasley herself came from the house and waved them down. Elara had spent the afternoon debating the efficacy of astrological predictions with Percy and both bore the twins' resulting teasing with ill-suited grace. Mr. Weasley returned just as Mrs. Weasley dished out the food—bowls of a tasty beef stew—and they all tucked in.
It was later, after she'd washed and readied for bed, that Harriet chanced a look into her trunk to feed and check on the snakes.
"Ginny's in the lavatory," Elara mumbled from where she'd stretched out on her bed, reading a letter from her solicitor. "You won't get another opportunity tonight."
"Yeah." Harriet undid the latch for the proper compartment and lifted the lid, poking her head inside to look down into the illuminated depths. She'd positioned the terrarium at the bottom of the ladder so she needn't go inside to see her familiar—but when Harriet glanced downward, all she spotted was an empty glass box of sand and stones and a lone teacup.
"Livi?' she said, holding the trunk's edge so she could stick her head inside. "Livius?"
Rick and Kevin stirred from their cup, raising their little heads to peer curiously at Harriet hanging above them.
"Where's Livi?"
"Gone," Rick reported.
Harriet choked. "What do you mean 'gone'?!"
"The big one isss not here, Misstresss," Kevin added, swaying. "He doesss not like the box."
"Doesss not like it at all, Misstresss."
"Hasss gone exploring."
Harriet snapped the lid shut and began to panic. "Livius!" she hissed. Elara lowered her letter.
"What is it?"
"That great bloody arse of a snake got out somehow!" she said, rushing over to Ginny's bed to check underneath of it, riffling through the knitted blankets. "Oh, shite! If one of the Weasleys find him—."
"He did manage to escape the Menagerie," Elara pointed out. She left Harriet to her searching. "It was only a matter of time before he got out of the trunk. That and he can become invisible."
"Yes, I know that!" Harriet rushed to the door and popped it open, peeking into the dim hallway. "Livius, get back here!"
Her familiar didn't answer, but when she managed to take a breath and calm her pounding heart, Harriet thought she heard the softest whisper of scales scraping wood—the sound coming from somewhere above her. "Livi? Livi, I swear I'm going to take you back to the bloody store one of these days—."
Harriet hurried up the stairs, walking as silently as she could past the shut doors leading into the Weasleys' rooms. Some of the steps creaked and she felt certain someone would come out at any second and find her sneaking about like a thief or a creep, but thankfully her luck held until she neared the top floor. She walked by a loo door, the water running inside, just in time see a familiar tail—a familiar, visible tail—slipping into an open room.
Merlin, whose room is that again? I hope it's not Mrs. Weasley's. Livi's going to give that poor woman a heart attack.
"Potter?"
"Ah!"
Harriet almost jumped out of her skin when Longbottom spoke from behind her, the Gryffindor standing on the landing by the shut loo door carrying what looked like a stack of freshly cleaned laundry. He took in Harriet's pale, startled complexion and narrowed his eyes. "…What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
Harriet scowled. "Mind your own business, Longbottom."
"It is my business when you're standing outside my room like a sweaty stalker."
"You'd know all about stalking, wouldn't you?" she quipped, fighting the color rising in her cheeks. "You sure got your fill of it last term—."
From inside the room came a sudden, panicked squeaking and low hiss. Harriet lurched away from Longbottom and rushed inside, almost tripping on the top step, and found her Horned Serpent by one of the two beds inspecting a glass fishbowl. The bowl didn't hold a fish, but rather a fat brown rat now scurrying for its life as the looming reptile watched, his blue eyes wide and gleaming in the lantern light. In a way, Harriet was lucky it was Longbottom who'd caught her searching, since he at least knew about Livius after seeing him in the Aerie.
"Bloody hell, Potter! What's your familiar doing in here?!"
"Livius!"
"Misstresss," the snake finally acknowledged.
"What have I said about eating other peoples' pets?!"
"I wasss not eating," he said, forked tongue flickering. The rat hadn't stopped circling and squeaked all the louder when Livi nosed the glass, but it stopped upon seeing Harriet. "I would not eatsss it. Sss…the prey sssmellsss…wrong."
"You're not supposed to leave the trunk while we're here! You're gonna get me in so much trouble…." Harriet picked up his tail and gathered the serpent up like a heavy coil of unwound rope. Neville watched from the doorway, torn between irritation and frank terror as the small witch hefted a large, venomous creature into her arms like an errant puppy. Livi, for his part, went without complaint, though he never stopped watching the rat. "Listen, Longbottom. I, uhm, sorry about this, he's really quite well-behaved normally…."
"Just get it out of here before Ron gets back. Merlin!"
Harriet did as he said, chastising her familiar as she went. Neither she nor Longbottom gave much thought to the rat—but the rat gave much thought to her. Beady little eyes watched the girl disappear to the landing and the darkened stairs beyond, watching until she faded from sight.
His nose twitched in curiosity.
A/N: A few people mentioned Dumbledore is awful for not telling Remus about Elara, but I have to ask: why would he? Dumbledore doesn't know everything about everyone's personal lives. The story looks at and explores the dynamic of the Sirius-Remus-Elara Depression Triangle and I don't want to give it all away, so I'll just say Dumbledore doesn't know that Elara would mean anything to Remus; if anything, he probably expects Remus would hate her if he knew she was Sirius' kid and is protecting Elara by not telling him.