It has been mentioned that the opening chapters of this particular story are rather dark and depressing. I just wanted to mention that yes, they were. This was intentional. While I understand that that might not be appealing—trust me, I'm no fan of depression, even in fiction—I felt it was the right tone considering the circumstances. No hard feelings if that's not your thing. That's perfectly valid. I suppose you could say the…grimness of Grimmauld place (is that a pun? It feels like a pun) was an aesthetic choice on my part. Maybe that reveals something about my personality. Maybe I'm a masochist? I'm not sure.
In any case, this chapter begins to tread on lighter territory, I think. But still, we are dealing with the aftermath of the Potters' deaths, so we're not quite out of the woods yet. Still, not everything will be all dark and gritty.
At least, I hope not.
Enjoy.
One.
Sentimentality had never been an important skill in the Black family.
So it was that Sirius had very limited experience with the emotions running through his mind and his heart as he watched his tiny godson sleep. They were holed up for the night in a cleared-out storage barn owned by an elderly Muggle couple; it wasn't strong, and it wasn't particularly warm, but it was dry and out of the way.
People thought the most important thing to look out for when trying to find a place to hide was security; they sought out strongholds and fortresses. They were wrong. The important thing was obscurity. The key was to find a place so fundamentally obvious that even the most astute observer would hesitate to check it. It was also important to be able to move. Sirius had set a pile of relatively dry straw over to a far corner, opposite the cracked-open entrance and adjacent to a side door leading out into the Muggles' backyard. He'd set Harry down and wrapped the boy in his leather coat. Surprisingly, blessedly, he'd gone to sleep almost immediately. This was a good sign, Sirius reflected; it meant that he felt safe.
At least, safe enough.
It struck the last Black with a pang of regret that that was the best they could hope for now; safe enough. Little Harry Potter would never be truly removed from danger, now that he'd been (indirectly) responsible for the death—or downfall, at least—of one of the most powerful, evil, but most importantly charismatic villains in all of wizarding history. Those still loyal to Lord Voldemort, and there were plenty, would constantly be on the look-out for the little brat responsible for their leader's disappearance, if for no better reason than they wanted to vent frustration.
And if the serpent-tongued bastard was still alive? Even worse.
And he could damn well be, Sirius reflected. Had they found Voldemort's body? No. They had no more proof he was dead than they had leads on his followers. Nobody knew anything.
The man called Padfoot sighed as he sat on the straw next to his charge, staring up at the rafters of the barn as though they might hold ancient wisdom. "What the hell am I doing?" he asked, speaking out loud to keep himself from going mad. "I've got no bloody clue how to take care of a baby. I've got no food, no water, no fixed shelter…no damned sense, either." Sirius shook his head, lowering his gaze to his lap. "Big man, Black, threatening Albus Dumbledore. Made your point, made it smooth and proper, with conviction, and now look at you. Still in hiding, still half-starved, but now you've got a damned kid."
Letting out a disgusted, derisive snort, Sirius lay himself down. Turning his head, he looked at the face of his sleeping godson, realizing that he'd just made a commitment that he couldn't back out of. It did no good to complain about it now. He'd made his case, and he'd taken up his duty. To James, to Lily, and to Harry.
He didn't know how to look after a baby? He'd have to learn. No more random excursions into Muggle cities to study them like animals at a zoo. No more trips to Muggle restaurants to flirt with the servers.
He was this boy's godfather.
It was time to start acting like it.
Sirius fell into unconsciousness still studying the boy's face, the sheer innocence of it, and reflected that that really didn't seem so bad.
After all…if Prongs could do it…
Two.
Remus Lupin wasn't used to traveling in broad daylight, truth be told, and thought that was probably the reason he felt so jumpy as he accompanied Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid along a beaten country road at the crack of dawn. They had spent the entirety of the night searching high and nigh for some sign of Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort, Voldemort's supporters, indeed anyone even passably connected to the deaths of the Potters, with no luck on any score. They were tired, discouraged, and the air was thick with a swell of emotions that stormed about their heads like vindictive spirits.
The companions, each of them thoroughly out of place, entered most peculiarly into a battered Muggle barn. Sirius lay sprawled out like a drunkard on a bed of straw in one corner, snoring loudly. Little Harry lay curled up in his godfather's coat. Identical, tired smiles spread on four mismatched faces as they took in the scene. They exchanged looks, all thinking roughly the same thing—Sirius Black was so ill-fit for parenting that it was equal parts comical and tragic imagining him with a child, yet somehow seeing him next to Harry like that was the most natural thing any of them had ever seen.
"Seems right comf'terble, he does," Hagrid mused.
Hagrid had a naturally loud voice, and his whispers were often enough to cause distraction, but even so, the speed with which Sirius sprang to his feet with his wand at the ready—prepared to kill if he had to; the savage glint in his grey eyes was more than enough proof of that—was a shock.
Except, that was, for Remus. "Easy, Padfoot," he said gently, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're among friends. I swear it."
"How long did it take Prongs to score his first goal for Gryffindor?" Sirius snarled without a trace of fatigue. His wand was still held out toward each of them.
"Two-and-a-quarter minutes," Remus said without hesitation, "though he fluctuated depending on whether he was telling a girl or not. When he told the story to Lily Evans, he seemed convinced it had taken fifty-four seconds."
This seemed to pacify the man. Though still wary, Sirius lowered his wand and sank to a sitting position next to Harry, who had taken no notice of the noise and was still snoozing. "Did you have any luck?" Sirius asked no one in particular. "Did you find him? Did you find anything?"
Dumbledore shook his head, his expression turning grave. "No, unfortunately. There are no traces of Lord Voldemort or any of his supporters anywhere near the safe-house where Peter Pettigrew was staying. Some of the suspected Death Eaters have come out of the woodwork, claiming innocence. It seems as though they were manipulated into service by a great number of means. Torture, blackmail, abduction…"
"Like who?" Sirius asked, eyes narrowing as his jaw flexed.
"Your, ah…esteemed cousin and her husband, for two," Remus offered.
"Narcissa?" Sirius spat on the ground. "If she and that two-faced twit were manipulated into anything, I'm a bloody street magician." Another sigh. "Might have expected this. Well, it's no matter to me. Let them hoodwink the ministry into giving them a medal for all I care." Sirius looked around at them all, and he suddenly looked worried. "I've got a bigger problem on my hands right now."
"And what might that be?" Minerva asked crisply.
Sirius gestured to the boy. "What in creation do I feed it?"
Three.
It was Remus who broke the stunned silence. He began to chuckle, softly at first, then with increased mirth until he was outright laughing. Sirius didn't look the faintest bit amused by this, glaring daggers into his friend's shaking form, and the other three wondered if he might not draw his wand again.
Dumbledore's smile returned. "Ah. Quite the dilemma, indeed."
Even Minerva, still stone-faced, had a bit of a twinkle in her rather severe green eyes.
"It might be a good idea for you to come along with us," Remus said when he'd regained control of himself; he was grinning like a fool. "Arthur's invited us to stay at the Burrow for a while. Bit of an impromptu headquarters, while we figure out what to do about Peter. I'm sure he and Molly will be able to help you a bit."
Sirius's anger seemed to abate. The thought of turning to the Weasleys hadn't occurred to him the night before, but now he thought about it...it seemed the natural thing to do. "That sounds like a good idea." He stood up again, wiped off his pants, and knelt down. Gently, and somewhat awkwardly, he lifted the bundle of his coat. "Sleeps like a log, this one," he said. Once he had his godson in a relatively manageable position, Sirius started forward. "If any of you turns out to be a Death Eater trying to pull one over on me," he said darkly, "have the decency to do something worth killing you for, would you? I could do with a bit of exercise."
"Duly noted," Minerva said shortly.
They began to walk again. "It's just like you to hide out in a Muggle village," Remus said as they all approached the dirt road. Sirius smirked. "Was Harry injured at all?" he asked, glancing over at the boy. "Looks like there's a scar, there, above his right eye."
Sirius nodded. "Not sure what backfired, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time anyone's ever survived one of that slippery bastard's curses." He glanced at Dumbledore for confirmation.
"People are calling him 'the boy who lived,'" the old wizard said.
"Well, that's clever," Sirius muttered. "Hear that, Harry? You lived. They'll be calling me the man who breathes, next. Idiots." He rolled his eyes.
"Don't be too hard on them," Dumbledore advised. "This is truly a momentous occasion. Whatever it is that did happen last night, Voldemort is no more. I think we can allow the people a fair amount of celebration, don't you think?"
"I'll believe Voldemort's gone when I see his corpse chopped up and burnt on a bonfire," Sirius growled. He was ignoring the conflicted look on Hagrid's face; no doubt he wanted them to stop using the Dark Lord's name, but couldn't bring himself to criticize Dumbledore. "Or stewed and fed to a hag. I'm not picky. Or do they prefer their meat raw?" He turned to Remus. "You're the expert, Moony. What's the word?"
"Have you heard from the Longbottoms yet, sir?" Remus asked Dumbledore, pointedly ignoring the inquiry. "Weren't you saying something about their possibly being in imminent danger, as well?"
"It seems Alice and Frank have been traveling recently," came the sober, but not particularly concerned, reply. "Rather a smart idea, not keeping to one place. But from the sound of it, you would think they were simply taking a vacation." Dumbledore chuckled. "Still, I've sent them an owl, asking them to meet us at the Burrow as soon as they can." He stopped, frowning thoughtfully. "Dear me. I do hope there's enough room for everyone."
"How is Neville doing?" Remus wondered. "He's around Harry's age, isn't he?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Last I had heard, they'd taken him to a Muggle zoo, and he somehow managed to get lost in a butterfly house. It seems young Neville was quite pleased, though the proprietor was quite...concerned. So were his parents, now I think on it. It took them quite some time to find him."
The conversation continued in this vein until the six of them reached a spot far enough outside of the Muggles' territory so as not to draw too much attention to themselves, as they set about more…efficient modes of transportation in order to reach a rickety little house on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, where Sirius dearly hoped he might be able to gain a firmer grasp on the holy mess he had managed to put himself into.
He only hoped Arthur Weasley understood parenting better than he did technology.
Sirius couldn't help but think about the first time the Weasley family's patriarch had managed to land his hands on a Muggle car. Everyone still talked about the resultant explosion with great fondness…everyone but Molly, in any case. Sirius wondered if Arthur's burns had healed yet.
"What the hell am I doing?"he asked again, as the world vanished around him and distance had no meaning.
Four.
One might have thought that Harry Potter was a new puppy, the way Molly Weasley doted on him. As soon as they'd walked through the Weasleys' front door, she'd set upon the Order's members with questions: though she was respectfully subdued when it was confirmed that James and Lilly Potter were dead, she—in a way that would have made Lily proud, Sirius mused—almost immediately put on a bright smile and the warmest disposition any of them had ever seen when she laid eyes on their son.
The Burrow was a loud place, well on its way to becoming the most crowded wizarding residence in Britain, if it wasn't already; the twins were rushing through the hallways, pointing at things with a pair of identical toy wands and—when nothing happened—making sound effects and tossing glitter into the air.
Charlie seemed to have been placed in charge of them for the time being, but wasn't putting much effort into it. In fact, he seemed rather entertained by Fred and George, and more than once Molly snapped at him to keep a closer watch on them, after which Charlie would put on a severe face—which would only serve to make his tiny brothers laugh.
"How old are they now?" Sirius wondered, having not seen the Weasley children in at least a year-and-a-half. Contrary to the way she swelled with ire when talking to her children, Molly swelled with pride at the chance to talk about them.
"Bill's starting school next year," she said fondly. He would be turning eleven in twenty-seven days; Charlie was eight; Percy, five; the twins, three; Ronald was a year old, like Harry; and little Ginevra was only a few months. "Ginny and Ronnie are sleeping at the moment," Molly said, suddenly speaking quietly as though they might hear her and wake up. "And isn't he the sweetest little thing?" she cooed, giving Harry a little wave. Harry, for his part, stared at the woman like he wasn't sure what she was; eventually, he reached out a tiny hand toward her. Molly beamed at him. "Yes, yes, just a little darling. Sit down, Sirius, won't you? Have you eaten?"
"I'm fine, Molly," Sirius said, "but if I'm not mistaken, Harry could do with a meal right about now."
"Oh! Of course! Yes, straight away! Just wait there!" And she was off to the kitchen.
"When she's on a course," Sirius muttered as Remus sat down next to him, "she's just as loud as any of her children. And here she is, snapping at the twins to keep it down." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Can't well hear yourself think in this place," he said. "Bad enough with the nine Weasleys. Throw in houseguests? Bloody chaos."
"Yes," Remus murmured, chuckling. "You seem quite perturbed about it."
"Fred!" Molly's voice thundered from another room. "What have I told you about setting gnomes loose in the house? Charlie, I asked you to watch him! I swe—George! Do not hang it by the ankles! Don't you dare go into your sister's room with that, do you hear me? You stop that laughing, Bill, it isn't funny!"
A wide grin spread on Sirius's face; he kept his eyes closed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I hate it here."
Another first for me: writing the Weasleys.
I am generally of the opinion that the Weasley family is one of Rowling's crowning achievements. Every member of this clan fascinates and entertains me, and the chance to write them is particularly gratifying. Though, of course, it was also somewhat difficult. Getting everyone's ages straight in this timeline of mine was interesting, to say the least. I think I've got everything in order.
If I ever make a mistake in regards to the Harry Potter timeline, please let me know. I've read the books several times over, but dates aren't often mentioned explicitly, so there's always a chance that the information I do find is inaccurate.
I know that Arthur and Molly weren't in the first Order of the Phoenix, but they were supporters. I figured that would make the Burrow a decent, if crowded, meeting place. Not to mention…well, Sirius is going to need some help, adjusting to his new responsibilities, isn't he?
Who better than family (distant, I admit, but that's probably a good thing) to teach him?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
See you next week.