Only a couple more chapters to go before we get to Hogwarts! Idk about you but I'm chompin' at the bitbr /
Keep the comments coming I love them!
From the playlist:
Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon
Slipping Through My Fingers - ABBA
Paint it, Black - The Rolling Stones
A Window to the Past - Pianistec
(I swear there are only 3 moments in here that I deliberately use musical motifs from the HP films, and they're when each of our main marauders era characters encounter Harry for the first time since 1981.)
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Ch. 9 - The Sixth
August 6th
10:41am
Bloody hell.
Bloody buggering hell.
One might've thought Remus was ogling at a chunk of cheese on a mousetrap rather than the little stack of gold. It occurred to him then that he never got a chance to discuss his salary with Dumbledore. That was supposed to be negotiated over the tea they never ended up having.
The goblin that had escorted him to his vault peered up perplexedly as Remus stood slack-jawed in the doorway. "…Do you still wish to make a withdrawal-?"
"Y- er- Yes. Thank you," Remus stammered, creeping into the vault. With a shaky hand, he slipped a handful of galleons into his pocket, then swiftly turned and exited as if at any moment, someone would realize the amount had been a mistake and come to confiscate it.
He made his way back up to the lobby where he exchanged half of the sum for pounds, then felt a bit like a bandit as he approached the exit. Meaning, he hadn't done anything to deserve that money yet - which, to be fair, was the definition of an advance. How much of an advance, he wasn't sure. At this point in the process, it felt a bit awkward to write Dumbledore back and inquire.
Once he was back out in the Alley, he found himself patting his pocket to make sure his funds were, in fact, still there. He didn't really take Dumbledore for the sort to pay him in leprechaun gold for a laugh, and yet periodically, his fingers just…had to be sure. Each time he could feel the coins in his pocket, it sank in more and more that he was in Diagon Alley with proper money to his name. He'd made a shopping list just in case the novelty and nostalgia of it got the better of him, but almost as soon as he reached for it, something in the shop directly to his left caught his eye.
… A bit of window shopping couldn't hurt. At least, not as much as it usually did. He went in for a closer look.
On display in Twilfitt and Tattings was a handsome cloak that seemed to have been put there for the sole purpose of testing his will power. The garment was cut from a fine cobalt-blue wool, embellished with black embroidery, and fitted with silver filigree clasps. Remus wouldn't consider himself particularly concerned with, or even moderately knowledgeable about fashion; but you didn't have to be to know that a cloak like that would make anybody feel like a new man. That was perhaps the most alluring thing about it.
It would've cost him twice what he had back in his vault, so it was out of the question. He wasn't even sure why he was staring at it to begin with. Twilfitt had long been outfitting the wealthiest pureblood families in Britain, and while the idea of that cloak adorning the back of a penniless werewolf did tickle him, he wasn't quite delusional enough to go in and persuade the clerk to let him try it on. It did help him muster the discipline to finally pull that list out of his pocket, though. He dared one more glance at the cloak before wisely walking away. Back to business.
First stop, Scribbulus - where he purchased several notebooks, a lot more ink, and a few backup quills. Since he was getting his shopping done a few weeks ahead of the back-to-school rush, he was in and out in a matter of minutes. He stuck to his list. Easy enough.
On his way to his next stop, he popped into Flourish and Blotts to confirm that Hogwarts hadn't introduced any new editions of the Defense textbooks in the last decade and a half (which, given recent historical events, perhaps they should have done). Most of the authors were long dead, but there was no harm in wanting to stay up-to-date. One of the clerks did try to pawn off some of their useless Lockhart texts on him, but he declined. He didn't stay to browse - being in there made him feel a bit weird.
The couture available to him at the Second-Hand Robes shop was nowhere near as stylish as Twilfitt, but got the job done. He managed to dig up a few sets of robes in his size that the moths had gotten into, and planned to patch them up with his sewing kit at home. Remus was nothing if not a master in the art of making do.
But after paying for the robes, he found himself dwelling on the idea of the patches. You would never catch Minerva McGonagall with a patch on her robes, and she effortlessly commanded the respect of the masses. It probably had more to do with her stalwart spirit than anything else, but her fine robes certainly added to the overall essence of authority. What would the patches command?
There wasn't much to be done about it. Even if he returned all of his purchases and went back for the cloak at Twilfitt, they'd laugh in his face if he asked to buy it on credit or pay in installments. He reminded himself that Albus's advance had been a generous gift, and that he should be grateful - not lusting after that ridiculous blue cloak.
Crossing the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron was like crossing some imaginary finish line. Now for the more daunting task.
It had been a while since he'd braved the streets of muggle London. Wandering around by himself made him feel horribly out of place; or maybe it was the multitudes of people around Charing Cross road that did that. Being accustomed to doing things alone didn't make having to do them sting any less. There was something about it that made him wish he still had James a little more than usual, because The James Potter was always much better with crowds. The way he used to move through the world without paying any mind to the people around him was infectious, and once upon a time, it gave Remus some vicarious confidence to do the same. He would've given anything to trade the second hand robes for James and some of that second hand courage.
Courage he really could've used when he encountered something on the way to his final stop that gave him pause.
It wasn't that he didn't like children; he did, actually. His reluctance to raise any himself didn't stem from a disdain for them. (People who thought like that probably shouldn't be teachers.) Normally when he saw them out and about, he didn't bat an eye - so he wasn't sure why he couldn't look away as a man passed by with a little girl sat on his shoulders.
Well, he was, actually. Quite sure.
He'd witnessed similar sights on several occasions throughout his lifetime and never thought anything of it up until now. The man looked to be about his age, and the girl about five or six. She was babbling on about some exciting activity they were just returning from, and her father was patiently listening with a charmed smile, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at her. When he noticed Remus gawking at them, the man did nothing more than pay him a sort of warning look and step out of his way.
In spite of his proclivity for logic and level-headedness, Remus could not for the life of him comprehend why that man was not trembling in fear as the world and all its savagery spun ruthlessly around them.
…
5:44pm
The clock always seemed to tick the slowest on Friday evenings.
With the maps and the notes safely stashed away in her bedroom, Emmeline got to work on dinner. She planned to make Lucy's favorite meals for the rest of the summer, and like any almost-eleven-year-old, spaghetti was towards the top of the list. Emmeline could do spaghetti. How many times had she made spaghetti? Spaghetti should've been easy; or at least it might have been, if Emmeline hadn't left her brain upstairs with the case file.
It was likely that Sirius Black was somewhere near Kent, but she'd forgotten to salt the pasta water, so she couldn't obsess over that now. The onions were starting to sizzle in the pan and she hadn't finished crushing the tomatoes yet, because she got distracted thinking about how easy it would be for him to nick a wand off someone, if he hadn't already. Kingsley deemed it unlikely, but how were they to know?
And worst of all, festering in the back of her mind was the knowledge that Remus would've been able to evaluate the file and know exactly how to go about this. He would've figured out where to look for Sirius, and maybe even guessed what he was planning next. But if Remus was so determined to be a cockwomble, she could do it without him. She'd been doing just fine without him, and wasn't about to stop now.
…Though dwelling on it made her lose track of the lettuce on the cutting board, and she ended up slicing right into her finger-
"MOTHERF-"
-just as the door opened.
"I'm home!" Lucy's crystalline voice rang into the foyer, and despite the fact that she was bleeding, Emmeline felt her body settle into the earth a little more. After a verifiable week from hell, it was the best sound she'd ever heard. It managed to pull her out of her own head before she could lose any more fingers.
"-ff-mmm. Kitchen!" Emmeline called. "Dinner's ready, go change and wash up." Once she heard Lucy's footsteps dancing up the stairs, she shoved her bleeding finger into her palm and poked her head around the corner. "Thank you, Hyeon."
"No problem!" Mrs. Seong chirped. "Drop her off whenever you want tomorrow morning. Yunah's excited to have her over for cartoons."
"You're a lifesaver, you are."
Hyeon waved it off. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing."
When Hyeon had closed the door behind her, Emmeline pointed her wand at the bloody mess in her hand. "… Episkey." The cut vanished, and she managed to rinse off and get dinner on the table (sans the salad) with perfect timing. Having ditched the leotard, Lucy came bounding into the kitchen soon thereafter, headed straight for Emmeline's outstretched arms.
She squeezed her tightly. I can hold you enough for two.
"Missed you," Emmeline murmured. You have no idea how much.
"Missed you, too."
"How was ballet?"
"It was fun! We're still on relevés, though. I really wanted to try pointe before the end of the summer," she lamented. "I wish Hogwarts had dance classes."
"Only Quidditch, I'm afraid."
"It smells good."
"I made spaghetti." Somewhat successfully. "Did you have a good time at Dad's?"
"Yep!"
"What'd you do?"
Lucy slid into her seat and immediately got to work twirling a large bite of spaghetti onto her fork. "On Saturday we went to see Jurassic Park. It was really good, but I had to cover my eyes for some parts. Sunday after church we went to the bookshop, and Dad let me pick out a book on dinosaurs that's bigger and more advanced than the one I already have. It's upstairs, I brought it to show you!" she reported excitedly before shoveling the spaghetti twister into her mouth.
Weeks with Max never got anything less than a glowing review from Lucy, and for that, Emmeline would always be equal parts eternally grateful and eternally guilt-ridden. "Brilliant. Let's read it before bed."
"I'm on the chapter about pterodactyls-"
"Finish chewing, love."
Swallowing, she glanced up from her plate with a quizzical look on her face. "...Are dragons related to pterodactyls, do you think?"
It had never occurred to Emmeline to wonder, but Lucy was far more inquisitive than she had been at her age. "That's a really good question I don't know the answer to. I'm sure there's someone at the Ministry that knows, though. I'll ask around for you." Which reminded her: "…Lucy, I'm afraid I've got some bad news."
She already wore an anticipatory frown as she wiped some sauce from her bottom lip.
Emmeline set down her fork and looked at her contritely. "I've got to go in to work tomorrow and Sunday-"
"Whyyyyyyy?" Lucy whined as her entire frame wilted.
"They've shuffled my responsibilities a bit."
"Again?"
"Yes. Can't make up their minds, can they? I'm really sorry, sweetheart…"
"Hogwarts starts in a month," she reminded her, which set a terrible pang in Emmeline's chest.
Heaving a morose sigh, she reached out to tuck some of Lucy's hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering there on her cheek. "I know, and I've told them that two weekends from now, I am absolutely off limits so we can go school shopping. Even if pterodactyls start attacking the Ministry," she concluded, trying to cheer her up a little.
She suppressed a small smile. "Promise?"
"I promise. But the good news is, you get two extra days with Yunah, and I think Mrs. Seong was talking about taking you both to the Korean market. I'll give you some money to get a few of those special pears you like."
Lucy had fallen silent, and seemed concentrated on pushing a meatball around her plate.
"…Are you getting excited for your birthday-?"
"Will you come back for dinner at night, or are they going to keep you late, too?"
Emmeline mustered her best fake smile; something she'd gotten quite good at. "…I'm going to try my best."
"…Mum?"
"Yes, my love?"
Still concentrating on the meatball, Lucy posed a cautious question. "…How do you know that teacher?"
Goddamnit. Emmeline had hoped she wouldn't ask about him. Why couldn't he just have arrived to tea on time like a normal person?
She tried her best to look nonchalant. "...We were students together once." Which was a gross understatement, but not a lie.
"Is he your friend?"
"He's…" an unequivocal bastard. "...He's an old friend that I hadn't seen in a long time."
"Is he going to come over again?"
Ha.
"You know darling, I don't think he will. I expect he's quite busy."
Lucy nodded contemplatively. There was always so much going on up in her head that Emmeline never got to hear about, but could see playing behind her eyes. She got it from him.
Desperate to change the subject, Emmeline offered this proposal: "…Since I'm home tonight, how about we take a trip to Blockbuster, make some popcorn, and watch a movie. You can pick out anything you like."
And they did just that. They had their very own 7pm showing of The Land Before Time, then read a bit about pterodactyls, then before Emmeline knew it, just about all the time she'd get with Lucy that week was over.
She trudged back into her room and laid out the case file and maps on her bed again; but her mind, once occupied only by the routes on the map, was now consumed with all the precious time she was forfeiting.
Emmeline squeezed her eyes shut. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.
But it was no use. She sank down next to her bed and covered her lips to muffle the sobs.
You're not losing her.
This is not the same.
You went off to school once, too.
You're not losing her.
You're not losing her.
…
9:38 pm
A great ruckus had taken place across the street, that much was clear. The cause of the noisy ball floating through the air - less so.
Sirius had been laying low behind garden walls for most of the day, trying his best to stay out of sight - which proved rather difficult in this neighborhood. Throughout the week, he'd caught glimpses of newspapers with his face plastered on the front page, and though he knew the big black dog would not prompt a muggle to suspect his disguise, he thought it best to remain discreet anyway. This was definitely not a place he could blend in, even as the dog. Not unless he were far smaller, and yappier, and groomed.
And the photo they'd circulated was ghastly - given the chance, he might've let someone groom him. He barely wanted to be a human right now. He wasn't mental enough to think he could hold on to his good looks through the long stint in prison, but that photographer had definitely wounded his vanity. Looking like he did was one thing, but realizing the whole of the United Kingdom knew he looked like that was humiliating; even here, where under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have given any thought to the undoubtedly tasteless opinions of the residents.
After a day of observation, Sirius concluded that Privet Drive was a paragon of the worst things about muggledom. The manicured, cookie-cutter neighborhood where residents were clearly led to believe that adherence to uniformity would help them maintain some false modicum of control made him squirm. Everyone that had passed him that day seemed to come straight from a mold, too: same kinds of clothes, same complexions, same vapid gossip. He knew what it was like to grow up somewhere stiffling, but fuck. In some ways, this might've been worse. He could not imagine anything more vanilla.
So when he heard raised voices and spotted that strange noisy ball floating through the air, he knew something not-vanilla was about to happen.
He'd been lucky to be trotting by number four at the exact moment the shouting started. Then of course, came the screeching - it was all too nonconformist for him to write off as a domestic. And then the screeching just… floated away with the great big orb. Shortly thereafter, a boy with distinctively disobedient jet-black hair rushed out onto the sidewalk with a trunk in tow.
Gotcha.
Sirius trailed behind from a distance.
The boy's manic exodus led him down several equally unremarkable streets before he dropped his trunk, set down the owl cage, and sat up against a wall. Eventually, Sirius ending up in an alleyway directly behind the boy - who he was almost certain had to have been Harry. Situating himself behind a pair of bins, Sirius watched him for a while.
He couldn't pretend to know what had gone on in the house, but he knew a runaway when he saw one. From what he remembered about Petunia, Sirius couldn't blame him. Atta boy. But the rise and fall of Harry's shoulders gave away that he was huffing and puffing, more so than he should have been from the walk, and Sirius began to wonder if he was alright. Had those people hurt him? If he could just see his face from here…
…What was the worst that could happen if he tried to talk to him?
Harry had likely read about him by now - but the muggle papers weren't reporting the extent of it. While he might recognize he was chatting with an escaped felon, there was a decent chance Harry wasn't misinformed enough yet to know anything about the crimes he'd been accused of. Maybe he could get out ahead of it. Maybe he should talk to him before anyone else had the chance to.
But then he remembered that frightful photo. He'd undoubtedly scare the shit out of him, and maybe to the point that anything he had to say would not be well-received, even if it was the truth. Or maybe he wouldn't. If it was Harry, as Prongs's son, surely he'd be fearless.
And selfishly, Sirius really wanted to hear what his voice sounded like.
After several minutes of wrestling with himself, Sirius's curiosity got the better of him. He crept out from behind the bins, moving so slowly he was hardly covering any ground - but Harry stood suddenly to rummage through his trunk.
Sirius held his breath as Harry stopped, started to rummage again, then turned around, squinting in his general direction. It was likely too dark for Harry to spot him, but Sirius could see his godson just fine. His heart seized up in his chest, paralyzing him.
Fucking hell.
He's James all over again…
Years in that cell had slowly chipped away his memory of James's face. It was one of the worst parts about being in there for so long. He'd always been able to picture Lily; nothing could tarnish her image in his mind. But over the years, the sinister poison that seemed to seep from the walls of the prison to render its residents no better than the rock had crept in and tried to take James from him all over again. Up until now, his most vivid memory of those features was of how vacant they had looked when Sirius held the corpse in his arms. That wasn't James. That wasn't how Sirius wanted to remember him. Now, standing before him was his image once more, with eyes empty of nothing except fear. One look at Harry, and it all came rushing back. All of it.
So Sirius stood frozen in the alleyway, even as Harry lit his wand. He could've stared at him all night.
…Until a loud BANG knocked him back to his senses. Sirius dove behind the bins, peeking out to make sure Harry was alright, and saw:
Is-...that the bleeding Knight Bus ?
An attendant emerged from the wretchedly purple vehicle and spoke to Harry momentarily before inviting him to board. Sirius could not follow; not on four legs, and especially not on two. Even if he wasn't on the run, he'd been banned from the Knight bus ages ago.
And then his godson was gone, and the alleyway was dark and silent.
If he had any hope of making it to the highlands by the time the term started, he needed to get moving, and quickly. The terrain wouldn't ease the journey, and he'd already wasted days trying to track down Harry. But for now, he transfigured back to a human and let the tears have their way as he thudded the back of his head against the wall. He should've gotten a grip and said something, but he couldn't. Not after seeing that face.
Harry shouldn't've been there.
He shouldn't have had to grow up in this insipid neighborhood with those insipid relatives. He should've been in Godric's Hollow with a mum and a dad, and Sirius should not have had to lurk in the shadows to remember what James looked like.
Word of his escape must've reached Pettigrew by now too, he realized.
Sirius hoped it had.
He hoped Peter was looking over his shoulder like the grim fucking reaper was at his back.