Aunt Marge
A/N: This chapter tends to lean towards PG for violence and language.
Aunt Marge Meets Padfoot
It was a beautiful spring morning outside of Number Four, Privet Drive. Dudley and Harry were off for the Easter holidays, and Sirius had decided this would be a good time to start Harry on magical theory. Harry, unaware of this, was having a pleasant dream about flying apples and broomsticks. A heavy sleeper, it was not until the sounds of shouts and dishes prattling loudly reached his ears that his eyes popped open.
Harry was not a morning person, but Sirius was even more lazy. As Harry strained to listen to the argument, he could distinctly hear his godfather's voice among the commotion. His eyes wandered towards the clock next to his bed. It was only eight thirty. Whatever had gotten Sirius out of bed at this hour and yelling at the Dursleys would have to be likened to a natural disaster such as a tornado.
Smash. Another item crashed to the floor. Harry could hear Petunia's voice screaming, and he was sure it had been Sirius who had thrown the item. He groaned. Sirius always had somewhat of a temper whenever the Dursleys were concerned.
He deliberated for a few seconds before reaching for his glasses, and pulling the covers aside. Curiosity, a dangerous thing in the Dursley family, had taken a hold of him and Harry was determined to find out what could be causing this type of reaction on both parties.
Harry crept out of bed and walked to the banister, listening closely as he adjusted his glasses. All he could hear were shouts, occasional curses, various insults, and some screaming from eight-year-old Dudley.
A loud storming noise, and then Sirius barged up the stairs, nearly knocking Harry over.
"Sorry, puppy," he apologized, scooping up the small boy. "Those ruddy Dursleys, they really have done it this time…"
"Done what?" Harry asked, gazing into his godfather's angry eyes.
He knew, as he had known for years, that Sirius was often angry with his relatives, but rarely at Harry. If Harry ever saw Sirius in a bad mood, his first response was to blame Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. He hated seeing Sirius angry.
Sirius didn't respond right away. Instead, he carried Harry back to his bedroom, and sat the young boy on the bed. Facing him, Sirius sighed heavily, several times, before speaking.
"Harry, I have some bad news," he grumbled.
"What's wrong?" Harry replied, voice quaking somewhat.
"I just found this out today. Had I known earlier, I would have tried to prevent it. Somehow," Sirius grumbled. "Your ruddy relatives enjoy making idiots out of themselves and everyone around them. 'Course, in this case they'd be the normal ones…see, Harry." Sirius paused. "Your uncle's sister has decided to pay a visit."
Harry wrinkled his nose. He had never actually met Aunt Marge, but if Sirius was making such a big deal about it, she must be awful. Sirius' assessments about people were usually right on, and Harry trusted his opinions completely.
"No way," he grumbled. "I hate her."
Sirius smiled slightly. "Thanks, puppy."
There was a long pause as the two tried to figure out how best to deal with the sticky situation. "What if we're not here when she comes?"
"We could, if it were just for a day," Sirius replied guardedly. "She's spending a few here."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "How many?"
Sirius coughed loudly and let out a number that sounded a lot like, "Four."
"Four?" Harry gasped, nearly wailing.
"Yeah." Sirius shuddered at the idea. "I hate it as much as you do. I saw her once, when you were about three years old. You probably don't remember her."
Harry shook his head. He had vague memories of a woman fatter than Dudley with hideous dogs that bit everything in sight, but it could have been a dream.
"She's a nightmare, the worst kind of relative to have. Fortunately, she's not related to you by blood, but it's enough to make even the best of families look sour. . ." Sirius cut himself off. "Anyway, we'll both have to spend some time around her. There's not much I can do. This isn't exactly cause to turn the Dursleys into toads, much as I'd like to do so. As for Marge. . .being a toad would greatly improve her appearance."
Harry laughed despite himself.
"Yes," Sirius continued, enjoying himself thoroughly. "Dudley's role model in weight, no doubt. At any rate, Harry, those pictures are five years old. I'm sure she's gotten worse. Uglier, both in face and in terms of temperament. You can't raise bulldogs without their personality getting to you. Believe me, I know."
"Your parents raised bulldogs?" Harry replied innocently.
"No, but. . . well, never mind. I doubt it will come to that, anyway."
Now was not the time to inform Harry that he was an animagus, but the time may come for that later during the visit. Sirius tried to bite back a laugh at the idea of himself in his enormous dog form, chasing Marge mercilessly into a swarm of bees.
It was a very appealing picture.
"Try to behave and not get too angry when she insults your parents," Sirius warned. "We want to avoid wandless magic whenever possible, but around her, it's almost too much to expect." Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Hopefully, though, we'll both be able to manage the woman, if you can call her that, in very small doses."
Harry grumbled, "When does she arrive?"
"Marge comes in at 12:00 this afternoon."
"And they just told you she was coming?" he asked innocently.
Somehow, Harry suspected Sirius was leaving parts of the story out.
But Sirius just nodded grimly. "I'm sure you heard the noise downstairs an hour ago? That was them telling me. . . and my reaction."
"It woke me up," Harry admitted.
Sirius sighed. "Get dressed and then come downstairs for breakfast. I'm going to have more words with your relatives…"
Harry obediently jumped off the bed, grabbed some clothes, and headed to the bathroom.
"Breakfast should be ready in a half hour," Sirius called from the hallway. "How's scrambled eggs and oatmeal?"
"Fine," Harry replied, shrugging.
He had more important things to worry about, judging by the conversation.
"Don't you dare let that disgusting boy near me!" shrieked Marge, letting her two large suitcases drop to the floor. A glass on a nearby table shattered by the sudden vibrations, or maybe it was just Aunt Marge's voice. "And get that man away from me! Vernon, your house has gone to the dogs."
Quite literally, Sirius thought, choking back a laugh.
"A pleasure to see you again, Marge," he managed, extending a hand. "I don't believe we met last time, as Harry and I were at the park during your visit. I'm Sirius Black, Harry's godfather."
She eyed him suspiciously, even though his appearance was normal enough. Vernon had forced him to wear some of his old clothes rather than "that wizard nonsense", and while the sweater and pants were a few sizes too big for Sirius, that was hardly his fault. His dark hair, though past his shoulders, was relatively neat and piled into a ponytail. He imagined that some females Marge's age might find him handsome.
Marge decided not to show such politeness. "A complete, utter slob," she informed him, pointing a large and beefy finger in Sirius' face. "Hardly compares in manners or in style to my dear Ripper."
Ripper the bulldog was currently chewing the leg of one kitchen table, making loud, contented, snorting noises.
"And this must be Harry Potter," she hissed, turning to the pale faced, messy haired eight-year-old who looked like he was facing a boggart. "Your hair, boy, is a mess. Your clothing does not match. Your bangs are sloppy. You haven't even the decency to overt your malignant eyes from my face!" she snapped, raising a hand as though to strike him.
Sirius stepped forward. "Not in my presence, Marjorie." He spoke coldly and very calmly; the combination was enough to make Marge takes several large steps backwards.
"Put away my suitcases, Black," she demanded. "Take the boy with you, if you must. I have gifts for my Dudders, my little angel, my popkin!" she crooned, picking up a large, white plastic bag that had been crammed with gifts.
Harry tried with all of his might not to appear envious. Sirius, noticing this, put a hand on his shoulder gently.
"He never flew on a broomstick before," Sirius whispered, and then added, "and you'll get one for yourself soon."
Harry cheered up considerably upon hearing this and tried to help Sirius carry one of the suitcases as they made their way upstairs. Once out of site, Sirius let forth several hideous descriptions, though without using any swear words (which he considered a great accomplishment) to describe Aunt Marge.
"That insolent git," he finished, feeling immensely satisfied. Then Sirius added, "Come on, we have to take these to my room. You take the smaller one."
"Why. . .?" Harry questioned, tugging on one of the handles.
"Because she can't sleep in the living room for four days. I cleared out my supplies earlier and took the cot into your room. I'm afraid we'll have to share one for the next few days," Sirius replied apologetically.
"Horror of horrors," Harry laughed. "Better you than her."
"Bet she snores." Sirius offered a loud imitation of Marge alternatively talking and snoring in her sleep. "And my beloved Ripper. . .zzzzz. . .Dudders, my dearest. . .zzzzz."
Harry folded his arms, trying not to smile. "Really, Sirius, you're supposed to be the adult. Not me."
"Adult? What's that? I'm still, oh, 15 at heart," he retorted, letting the suitcase fall to the floor with a satisfying bang. "I might take care of you, but be an adult? Never!"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You're impossible," he declared, doing an impression of Petunia when she decided to glare at Harry for no reason. "Simply dreadful!"
Sirius applauded. "You're becoming quite good. Needs to be more nasally, though. More high pitched, too," he added. "Come on." Sirius gestured grandly towards the stairs. "The torture awaits us."
"Harry! Pass Ripper the tea," Marge demanded while piling her plate several feet high with Aunt Petunia's cakes and cookies. "Pour it directly from the teapot into his bowl."
"Marge, dear, do you really think that's a good idea?" Vernon asked, glancing at his wife nervously. "The china's very delicate and Harry has been known to spill in the past."
"Oh, let the boy learn the hard way," Marge replied carelessly, letting out a thundering belch. "When I was his age, I learned to feed starving wolves from the best silverware in the house, and I was bitten ten times a day, but not once did I let a drop of food spill," she boasted as Harry reached for the kettle.
Harry cautiously placed the tea into Ripper's worn saucer as the dog stared menacingly and hungrily at the young boy. Ripper growled angrily and Harry backed away as soon as the dog began to drink.
Unfortunately, Harry wasn't quick enough. Just as Ripper began to reach for the far side of the bowl, Harry accidentally stepped on his tail. It was hardly enough to hurt a large bulldog like Ripper, but the dog had long since learned that howling in pain and growling achieved great results.
Consequentially, Ripper began to growl and stared Harry down. Harry just had enough time to put down the tea saucer when he felt Ripper's teeth in his leg. Limping heavily, Harry ran as fast as possible from the dog, but Ripper was bred better for this task. Before Harry knew it, he was at the top of a large tree, shaking and trembling as the dog determined whether or not it was safe to attack.
Sirius watched this all from his window. He had delayed when the family went to set up the tea, and had been hiding all of this time. Once he saw Ripper attack his poor godson, however, he realized that it had been best to hide. Now was the time to transform and show the bulldog, and the nasty aunt while he was at it, the penalties of messing with his godson, Harry Potter.
Sirius transformed easily into his animagus form of a huge, black, straggly dog. He'd show Marjorie Dursley a thing or two about animal behavior…
He raced downstairs, making sure to knock over a few of the dining room chairs and to mark his territory in the living room as he made his way to the front door. It was locked, so Sirius used his paw to undo the doorknob, producing several large scratches where he worked, and finally managed to get outside.
Harry was bleeding from the leg and sitting terrified on the top of a large tree. Wandless magic. Ripper was barking at Harry severely and trying to get up the tree by his paws. The Dursleys, of course, were laughing hysterically.
I don't think so, you prats, he thought as he ran towards the tree.
His form was twice the size of Ripper's, and his teeth were sharper. Within moments, the pathetic bulldog was cowering at the edge of the lawn, only bleeding a little. Marge was furious, and came to scold Sirius for being "such a bad dog."
She, in turn, received several loud barks and a few non fatal scratches that reduced her clothes to shreds, but left no mark on her body. Screaming and howling, she raced inside, trying to cover herself.
Sirius grinned in what an observer would consider a truly sadistic manner. He barked at Harry cheerfully, who cocked his head at Sirius as though wondering how such an event could take place. Sirius then realized that he had never actually told Harry that he was a recently registered animagus, and trotted off to the house. He'd need his wand to fix Harry's cut; that was for sure.
On his way in, Sirius bumped into an Aunt Marge in her undies, who screamed, batted at Sirius wildly, and raced into a closet. Sirius winced at the picture; no one should be forced to see something that ugly.
He ran into Harry's room, transformed, retrieved his wand, and hid it in his pockets. That was one advantage to wearing clothes several sizes too big. Sirius then got out his broom, flew out of the window, and helped Harry get onto it from the tree. The whole thing took about ten minutes, since Harry was hardly scared of heights, but terrified because of his leg.
"What are you going to do about it?" he moaned once they got into his bedroom.
There would be time for explanations later. Sirius needed to see the cut now. Before it became any worse. He didn't fancy taking Harry to St. Mungos or, worse, a Muggle hospital.
"Take off your pants, first, Harry. I want to inspect your cut before I do anything," Sirius commanded, trying not to let his near panic show.
Harry obeyed meekly, wincing as the legs of his pants brushed against the cut.
The bites were wide but shallow; there was no need to head to St. Mungos. Sirius had learned to heal these kinds of cuts (and worse) from Auror training. Painful as it must be for Harry, he was in no danger of dying.
"Stand still. I'm going to perform a disinfecting charm and then I'll bandage it up. It's going to hurt," he warned. A distant part of his mind was telling Sirius that he was being awfully harsh with Harry, both in tone and in his commands. He promptly told that part to shut up; he'd explain everything to his godson later. "Within a few minutes, though, you won't feel anything and the bandages can come off. It will look as though you've never been bit."
Harry nodded, trying not to whimper as Sirius pressed the wand to his cut and muttered the spell. He flinched a few times, though, during the disinfecting process. He seemed all right when the bandages came, at least.
"Better?" Sirius questioned, putting an arm around Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "Sorry for yelling, but this was urgent. There simply wasn't any time to waste."
Harry's face became peaceful as he, almost instinctively, settled against Sirius.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, it doesn't hurt anymore," he replied. "When will I be able to walk?"
"Give it a few more minutes," Sirius promised, glancing as the bandages hardened. "Soon they'll fall off and you'll be good as new."
"Where did the dog come from? The big black one, I mean?" Harry questioned, tearing his eyes away from the bandages as he hid a yawn.
"Er, that was me," was the sheepish reply. "Some wizards and witches are able to, with a lot of studying and experience, become animagi. That is, they can turn into an animal at all. Your father, Peter, and I became them at Hogwarts when we were young. My form was a dog."
"Wow." Harry grinned, evidently in awe. "Would I be able to become one, too?"
"It's very tricky, and you should wait until you're an adult. It's safest then, and it's very complicated. Few end up trying," Sirius cautioned.
"Can you do it now?" Harry pleaded. "Please?"
Sirius laughed. "All right."
A few seconds later, a dog sat on Harry's bed. Harry reached out and cautiously pet it on the back. The dog stretched out and licked Harry's hand. Harry giggled and gave the dog a hug around the head. Sirius gave Harry a suffering, "The things I put up with for you" look.
"Let's see. What should I call you?" he pondered. "How about Snuffles?"
The dog transformed into Sirius again. "Snuffles?!" he squeaked.
"Yeah, you know, you snuff out trouble," was the explanation. "It's cute, too."
"Snuffles. Snuffles," Sirius mused, thinking out loud. "I used to be Padfoot to my friends, but I guess Snuffles would work. Just don't call my Scruffy."
"I promise, Scruffy," Harry replied automatically, dodging Sirius' tickle attack. "Sorry! I couldn't help it!"
"Oh, you better!" Sirius threatened, raising his hands as though to advance another tickle attack. "Or else I'll come up with a really embarrassing nickname and use it in front of all of your friends."
"What's wrong with Snitchy?" Harry replied, referring to the term that Sirius used to mean that Harry was his treasure. "Oh, is that why you call me puppy sometimes? Because you're a dog?" Realization dawned on Harry's face at this revelation. "That's cute."
"Yep. But they're not remotely humiliating enough," was the response. "Dudders gets called popkin and nettie poo, so maybe I'll call you pastry-face or froggie eyes."
"Ugh. That is bad," Harry admitted, turning green. "I'll be good and not call you Scruffy in public," he promised.
"And I'll be good and only call you Snitchy, or puppy, in public," was the wicked response. "Hey, your leg's better!"
Harry glanced at his leg as the bandages fell to the floor, grinning broadly. "Neat!" he exclaimed. Then he sighed. "Guess this means we'll have to see Aunt Marge again later."
"Not if I can help it." Sirius clenched his fists. "We'll find a way to avoid her, mark my words."
"Huh? Mark your words?" Harry questioned as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
"It's an expression," Sirius clarified. "Along the lines of, I promise you."
Harry nodded, still somewhat confused. "So, how will we avoid her?"
"I still have to figure out that part," Sirius admitted, face reddening.
Suddenly, he heard a huge shriek come from his room that Marge had invaded. Harry looked at Sirius quizzically.
"Wonder what that was?" he pondered, lifting himself onto the bed.
Sirius turned even redder. "Guess she discovered the warts I put on her," he replied, sheepish yet clearly proud of himself.
"Sirius!" Harry tried to look stern and failed miserably. "That wasn't very nice of you," he reprimanded, wagging his finger at his godfather.
Sirius scooped a protesting Harry up onto his lap. "Yeah, I know. That's the penalty for messing with my godson, puppy. Don't ever forget it."
Harry squirmed. "I'm too old for this," he complained.
"Who told you that?" Sirius prodded gently.
Pause. Then, "Dudley. And, well, aren't I too big?"
"Just because he's your cousin doesn't mean he is a bully," Sirius insisted, putting his arms around Harry's hands, marveling at how huge his were compared to his godson's. "In case you haven't noticed, he's about ten times your weight, and just a few inches taller than you are. As for being too big. . .if you mean physically, the answer is no, not really. If you mean too big as in too old. . ." Sirius paused, not wanting to baby Harry and suffocate him (like the Dursleys did with Dudley), yet also not wanting to push him away. He finally settled for, "That's your choice. Do what you want to do."
Harry leaned his head against Sirius' right arm. "Okay. How tall am I, anyway?" he wondered.
"You're three feet and four inches. I'm five feet and eleven inches," Sirius replied.
"Almost twice my size, then," Harry said after doing the math. "Two feet and seven inches taller. Were my mum and dad also small?"
"Your dad was about my size. Your mum was a little smaller." He could still remember them together. How Lily laughed at James' dumb jokes. How James would put an arm around her during their double dates (he always set Sirius up with someone horrible) when he thought no one was watching. How she would play with his hair, which always managed to get in James' eyes. Then, of course, they would kiss. . .
"Sirius!" Harry yelped. "You're hurting me!"
Sirius realized that his nails had just been digging into Harry's hands. How did that happen? He quickly removed them and made a mental note to cut them that night.
"Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to. I guess I was just thinking," Sirius apologized, wrapping Harry in somewhat of a backwards hug.
"'s' Okay," Harry replied, somewhat sleepily. It was already four o'clock, and getting chased by a giant bulldog certainly took up a lot of energy. "Sirius? Can I tell you something and not get in trouble?"
Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Is it something bad?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "It's about you."
Well, better to know something bad than to spend your whole life wondering, Sirius reasoned. Besides, what could an eight year old say that was so terrible? You smell? You're a Meanie-Head?
"Go ahead. I promise I won't punish you," Sirius prodded.
"I think you look more handsomer in your robes than in Uncle Vernon's clothes," Harry mumbled.
He laughed in reply. "Know what?"
"What?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"I think so, too," was the boastful response.
Harry broke into a fit of giggles over Sirius' response. "You're not mad?"
"Naw, why would I be? You told me that I was handsome, which I know but is always nice to be told. Adoring fans and all of that. In addition, you said that I'm more handsome in my regular clothes than Dursleys old rags. Also very true," Sirius replied in a serious tone, but with a twinkle in his eye.
"I think you're silly," Harry replied, adjusting his class while trying to hide a grin. "Even though most of what you said is true."
Sirius put his arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. Harry let out a sigh of contentment. "That's me. Your silly godfather."
"Yeah," he agreed, nestling against Sirius, eyes closing.
Within minutes, Harry was sound asleep. Sirius removed Harry's glasses from his eyes and propped them on the bedside table. Then, he tried to position himself against the pillows as he, too, began to start on his nap. His hand automatically brushed Harry's bangs out of his eyes.
Three hours later, Sirius woke up and discovered a rather large, warm, and very soft ball next to him. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the ball was Harry curled up. It was absolutely adorable. His hair was as messy as James' had been after a Quidditch match, and Harry's face was perfectly relaxed with a tint of pink coloring. Sirius smiled widely, found his disposable camera, and took a few pictures.
Perfect embarrassment for when Harry begins dating, he thought wickedly.
He had a feeling who his first date would be; a certain redhead who lived at the Burrow.
He then coaxed a sleeping Harry beneath the covers and set out to prepare dinner. Judging by the noise downstairs, Marge and the Dursleys were finishing theirs. After what happened earlier with Ripper, Sirius was not about to let Harry near that sadistic Marge.
Then again, I enjoyed causing the warts and the humiliation of the exposure of her undershirt way too much, he admitted sheepishly to himself.
Sirius made his way downstairs, yawning somewhat, and decided to make Harry his favorite dinner to eat in bed. Later, they might be able to do some studying…Sirius wanted to teach Harry about Boggarts and Swelling Potions that night, if at all possible.
The kitchen was empty of Marjorie Dursley, and the others weren't much of a problem. Petunia looked as though she was trying not to laugh, but Vernon kept casting menacing glances at Sirius. Dudley was stuffing himself with chocolate cake and hadn't seemed to notice Sirius' appearance.
All in all, they hardly presented a problem to Sirius' concentration in preparing the meal. Of course, Lupin would argue that since Sirius was the world's worst cook, nothing could make his meals worse. Harry, however, never had any complaints, except when Sirius accidentally overdid the potatoes a few years ago to the point of putting them on fire. Even then, Harry had said, ever so politely and sweetly, "Sirius? I think I taste charcoal in these."
It was probably a good thing that Harry only saw Lupin several times a year. Otherwise, Moony would cause him to lose all respect for Sirius. It had been bad enough when the werewolf had mentioned offhandedly that Sirius and James had received more detentions during their seven years at Hogwarts than any other student throughout the school's history. While he certainly wanted Harry to continue the Potter tradition of being a troublemaker, he hoped that Harry would keep any trouble making to school and respect Sirius as a parental figure.
Then again, he could certainly imagine himself having loads of fun engaging in a prank war with Harry. . .
Sirius suddenly realized he was dangerously close to letting the steak and kidney pudding burn.
Maybe Moony has a point after all, he thought, sheepish, as he tried to rescue the pudding from the flames.
"Harry? I brought you some dinner," Sirius called as he opened the door with his left hand. The right one was clinging onto a rather loaded tray.
Probably made too much. Of course, we can always share, he thought, remembering that he hadn't eaten yet.
The lump in the bed shifted slightly. A messy, brown-haired head poked its way out from under the covers. A few seconds later, a pair of green eyes showed themselves.
"Mmm?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses.
"I made some dinner for us, Harry," Sirius repeated, putting the tray down next to Harry's table. "Are you hungry?"
Harry's stomach rumbled in reply. "I guess so," he grinned, propping his body against the pillows.
Sirius moved the small, clear table next to Harry's bed. Harry kicked off some of the covers and began to eat. Sirius' dark eyes twinkled gleefully.
"I have some pictures that I plan on using as blackmail," he teased.
"Oh?" Harry questioned between bites of the pudding, sounding mildly interested.
Sirius displayed the three pictures of Harry sleeping. "Think they'll be cute to display when you start dating in a few years," he teased. "Or would you rather have your girlfriend see the one of your first bath?"
Harry scrutinized the pictures. "You wouldn't really?" he asked, trying to determine if his godfather was joking or not.
"I might," was all Sirius would say before scooping up the pictures. "Depends how much trouble you get into at Hogwarts."
Harry folded his hands, pouting slightly. "I am not going to get into trouble at Hogwarts!" he declared. "I am very well behaved."
"That's my point," Sirius explained. "You don't get into enough trouble. Your dad and I were known throughout the school as being pranksters. We got detentions for it, of course, but it was fun. You're becoming too serious."
Harry looked confused. "So you want me to throw tantrums and stuff like Dudley?"
Sirius paused before replying. "No, but I wouldn't mind it if you turned his hair blue or something. By accident, of course."
Harry grinned, then suddenly turned serious at the implications. "You don't mean wandless magic, do you? I'm supposed to avoid that."
Sirius waved his hand. "Never mind. You'll understand more when you're at Hogwarts. Or when we visit Moony –er, Remus—next."
"Can Ron come, too?" Harry asked eagerly.
"We'll see." Sirius smiled wickedly. "Once we're finished eating, let's go spy on Marge. I put an Expansion Charm on her warts, and I'm dying to see how big they are by now. Should discourage that…woman…from ever messing with you again," Sirius finished.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Remind me never to make you angry," he replied solemnly.
Sirius threw a pillow at his godson in reply. Before long, a massive pillow fight broke out.
A/N: I have more material saved than I thought, so while I doubt I'll be doing daily updates, Harry will definitely reach Hogwarts by the time the last book comes out.
Reviews: I love them and can't improve my writing, or know what my audience wants to see, without them. If you could just manage a sentence letting me know what you liked and what you want me to improve, it would make my day!