Child Of The Lion

Harry's old Defence Against the Dark Art's teacher blinked in startled surprised, his brow creased in concern. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

The raven-haired boy smiled sheepishly, ducking his head slightly as he quickly considered how best to explain the situation, preferably in a way that didn't make him sound like the 'crazed attention-seeking teenage delinquent' that Rita Skeeter's replacement - Gabby Tattler - had chirpily titled him in her latest column.

Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by a small thud from behind Lupin, followed by an incredulous throaty whisper. "Harry?"

Lupin glanced over his shoulder quickly, shifting to the side so that his childhood friend could get a clear view. However, Lupin still took up a fair portion of the narrow doorway and the dark-haired man had to peer over his shoulder, aided by the good few inches he had on his friend.

"Uh. Hi?" Harry said, raising a brow as he tentatively waved at his Godfather. "Siri - Snuffles?" He prodded, slightly concerned when Sirius said nothing in return, merely gaping at him.

"You can speak freely here, Harry," Lupin said finally, his eyes narrowed slightly. His lips finally flickered in a dull mockery of a smile. "This place is possibly the most charmed building in the whole of Britain ... with the possible exception of Hogwarts and Privet Drive, of course."

"Privet Drive?" Harry frowned. "But why -?" He trailed off suddenly, his eyes lighting up in sudden understanding, though it didn't exactly take a degree in Apparation theory to work out just why the muggle housing estate was shielded. It was because of him, because he lived there.

Lupin nodded encouragingly, his earlier signs of hostility well and truly gone ... Harry just wished he could say the same for Sirius who looked ready to tear the teenager to pieces for wandering out into the world - either wizarding or muggle - on his own, just when Voldemort was beginning his rise to power all over again.

"Uh," Lupin began, finally noticing Sirius' predicament, given away by the expressions flitting across his face. A mix of concern, surprise and righteous anger warped his skeletal face, but despite his eerie, gaunt features, it seemed that lately life on the run had been good for Sirius, and his face had filled out a good deal. "Maybe you'd better come inside."

Lupin stepped back to make way for Harry, pushing Sirius out of the way with a sigh when it became apparent he wasn't about to move independently on his own anytime soon.

"Harry, where's your trunk?" The ex-Professor prodded, shutting the door behind them. As he did so he motioned them into a slightly cluttered and dark yet welcoming room to his left, steering Sirius by the arm ahead of him.

Harry stopped perusing the small cottage with a start, jerking himself around to face the adults. "Uh? Oh," he rummaged through his pockets quickly, shifting as he did so to allow optimum searching range. Finally, he procured a small, wooden trunk from his jeans pocket and he quickly tossed it on the floor before, with a swish of his wrist, he restored it to its natural size.

"Bloody hell," Lupin intoned and Harry looked up to find even Sirius looking mildly impressed -- though the rest of his features were still twisted in anger. Damn, Harry thought.

Lupin, swallowing back questions and, looking even paler than he did during full moon, quickly ushered Harry into a seat before plopping down into one of his own. Sirius stood there for a few moments before groaning and claiming one of the comfy armchairs himself. The silence that had fallen lasted a few minutes, each loud tick emitted by the imposing grandfather clock at the other end of the room punctuated by Harry nervously glancing at the adults, Lupin rubbing his temples in soothing circles and Sirius shooting angry glares at the offending object.

Finally, the clock chimed, indicating that it was two in the morning and Sirius snapped. He shot to his feet and immediately launched into a tirade, watched closely by a weary Lupin and a startled Harry, who looked just about ready to bolt of the house at top speed, screaming 'Maia! He's going to kill me!' at the top of his lungs as he ran down the lane.

"I don't know what you thought you were blooding doing, but I don't appreciate it, you hear me?" he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You could have been killed! Running away from the Muggles at this time of night ... on your own ... you, the Boy-Who-Lived ... my Godson ... Harry Potter. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? Huh? What were you bloody thinking? Gave me a bloody heart attack last year ... Voldemort rising to power again, kidnapping you ... and then Dumbledore sends me a message saying you've ran away from the muggles but that 'everything is being taken care of.' Do you have any idea how worried I was? Do you?"

Harry grimaced guiltily as he numbly tried to figure out the best course of action. Suddenly he shook his head. What was doing? He wanted Sirius to be mad at him. He wanted Sirius to hate him, because if Sirius severed all connections with him, then there would be less chance that he would be killed to get access to Harry.

"You know what?" he said, his voice rising as he stood. "I have no idea what I was bloody thinking. Why the hell did I decide to come here ... what am I talking about, I didn't decide to come here." He shook his head quickly, shrinking his trunk and stuffing it back in his pocket as he headed towards the front door, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "Well, that can be fixed. I'm leaving."

He began to stomp towards the door, only to be dragged by his arm back into the living room by a livid Sirius who looked just about ready to begin round two. Harry grimaced; he'd rather face a thousand dementors.

"Oh, I don't think so. Do you think I'm going to just let James' only son go off and get himself killed? Well, you've got another thing coming. You're staying here." Sirius saw Harry's defiant expression and added, "Under house arrest!"

"What? You can't!" Harry snapped, his voice taking on a slightly petulant tone as he tried to rip his arm from Sirius' grip. "You can't make me ... you can't keep me here!"

"I can, and I bloody well am," Sirius said, sounding a great deal calmer. "And," he added almost as an after thought, "if you don't explain just what the hell you were doing, you're not going to Hogwarts this year, either!"

Finally, Lupin stepped in, laying one hand on Sirius's shoulder as he tried to gently prise him away from a slightly indignant, but mostly shell-shocked young Harry Potter. "Sirius ... maybe that's taking things just a little too far. Harry's safe, nothing happened, and," he added quietly, "I understand you feel you have a great deal to make up to him, but it's not your responsibility to make sure he chews twenty times before swallowing."

Sirius closed his eyes tightly, his hand dropping away from Harry who rubbed his arm huffily and was seriously considered making a run for it. "No, but I can make damn well sure the boy eats his greens," Sirius said finally.

"Fine," Lupin conceded wryly, "But at least give the kid a choice between broccoli and carrots."

Sirius chuckled and, in the epitome of a mood swing, launched himself forward and engulfed a struggling Harry, who was still trying to figure out the various food analogies, in an enormous hug, "God, kid, you scared me. Don't you ever do anything like that again, you hear me?"

Harry nodded quickly, a strangled "Urk!" coming from his mouth as Sirius tightened his hold, eventually being gently pulled away by Professor Lupin.

"Sirius, relax. I'm sure Harry's not planning on running the moment you're not in physical contact with him. Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded quickly, all thoughts of alienating his father figure and ex-Professor gone as soon as they'd come. After all, Sirius was actively working to capture Peter Pettigrew, one of Voldemort's dumber henchmen and also the creature behind Sirius' imprisonment; and, as for Lupin, who was a staunch supporter of Dumbledore and a werewolf to boot, it was very unlikely that he would be excluded from the targeted wizards. Besides, Harry thought gloomily, they'd already been associated with him and, knowing of Wormtail's betrayal and scheme to portray his own death on top of their past association with James Potter, it was unlikely that Voldemort would spare their lives, Harry or no Harry.

Sirius smiled slightly. "I suppose I did go a bit overboard."

"A bit?" Harry snorted incredulously. "You went totally off your rocker." The moment the words were out of his mouth Harry groaned; he was beginning to sound just like Ron.

"Be that as it may," Lupin interrupted, once more herding the duo into seats. "I do believe you still owe us an explanation, Harry. One that deals with just why you did what you did, perhaps?"

Harry sighed and sank further into his chair, ignoring the concerned looks he was being given. "Have you ever met the Dursleys?" He asked finally.

Lupin shook his head but Sirius nodded darkly and, when Harry glanced upwards in alarm, he merely shrugged. "I lurk. It's amazing what people will say when they think there's just a lovable stray listening," Lupin snorted, "Fine. So I hid underneath an open window. But the point is your name got brandied about quite a bit, Harry ... not in a very good way, either, I'm afraid." He scowled darkly, subconsciously cracking his knuckles against his open palm. "Yeah, I've met them."

Harry nodded tersely. "Then you'll know they're not the best of people to live with."

Sirius snorted. "Understatement."

Lupin glared at Sirius, shaking his head pointedly. He waited until Harry had sighed and continued with his story until he whispered under his breath, "Hypocrite."

Harry rolled his eyes at Sirius' outburst, "As I was saying, they're not exactly ... magic friendly." He rolled his eyes once more as another snort came from his Godfather's direction. He swallowed as his thoughts drifted from the happier - if they could be called that - times to those that had driven him to leave. "Well," he said, his eyes dull and his throat tight, "They got worse."

"Worse - " Sirius' protest was cut short and Harry didn't have to look up to know that Lupin had somehow silenced him.

"Yeah," he chuckled bitterly. "Worse. They were - difficult. At the beginning they hadn't really changed. I guess it all started when they sent Hedwig away to some place called the Lake District ... then, well then I fell asleep. I'd had a few nightmares about ... Cedric and apparently I talk in my sleep. They found out and they ... played on it, I guess. I couldn't take it anymore ... I told them the truth; that Voldemort was back, the truth behind Cedric's death ... I told them about the Death Eaters and their unhealthy fascination with me. I told them everything," he finished quietly.

For once Sirius seemed lost for words, his eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to figure out the twist in the unusual tale. Instead it was Lupin who spoke, his voice soft and tentative. "What happened next, Harry?"

The boy snorted. "They kicked me out. Said I was too much of a risk to Dudley, to them ... to their house insurance."

"House insurance?" Sirius spluttered, earning himself two scarily identical glares.

"So I packed, went to the train station, met a really ... weird girl and then got dumped here," he shrugged, dismissively, not wanting to delve any deeper. "You know the rest."

Sirius grinned and, when Lupin opened his mouth to speak, interrupted cheerfully. Harry was glad that someone was in a good mood at least. "A girl?" he asked, his eyes twinkling boyishly and a knowing grin playing on his lips.

"She's a witch," Harry said flatly, although the words seemed to choke in his throat. He glanced discreetly at Sirius to find that if he hadn't noticed his sudden speech impediment, he had almost certainly noticed the faint blush that was beginning to colour his cheeks. "And, yes, she's on our side. Apparently she's working for Dumbledore to keep me safe."

Sirius raised a brow, his smile widening, "And is this protector of yours hot?" he asked, delighting in Harry's deepening shade of crimson. Harry stammered an incoherent reply and Sirius whooped. "I knew it! Who is she? What's she like? Does she go to Hogwarts?" He paused, eyeing his Godson critically for a moment. "Have you two ever ... ?"

Harry's eyes bulged out of their sockets. "What? No!"

Sirius' other brow rose to join the other by his hairline. " 'No' what?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Lupin stepped in, deciding that, though amusing, Harry's current shade of purple couldn't be healthy. "Down boy," he instructed Sirius with an undertone of mirth. "If there's anything to tell, I'm sure Harry will let you know soon enough. Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded awkwardly, his cheeks still burning in horrified embarrassment.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Spoilsport," he turned to his Godson, his lips still curved in a knowing smirk. "C'mon, then, Lover Boy, I'll show you to your room and then you'll get to sleep. You need your rest." He began to usher his mortified Godson out of the room before turning back to Lupin. "Moony ... could you please contact Dumbledore. Let him know that Harry's safe, if he doesn't already know."

He led Harry through the small cottage that suddenly didn't seem so small anymore. Sirius noticed Harry's amazement as he led them up yet another set of stairs that, as far as Harry could tell, was not perceptible from the outside.

"Enlargement charm," Sirius explained. "When Remus got this place he spent the entire day casting enlargement charms on the interior - "

"Like wizard tents," Harry said suddenly. "At the Quidditch world cup there were these seven story tents with kitchen and bedrooms and stuff."

"Exactly," Sirius said happily. "Wizard tents all have enlargement charms cast on the inside of them, makes them bigger without being suspicious to muggles."

Harry nodded quietly, all of his attention fixed on remembering the various turns and flights of stairs that Sirius led him down; he was doubtful that he'd be able to make his way back to the living room. Thankfully, however, Harry had noticed small signs mounted on the walls at various points in the halls, all sporting a little red arrow that pointed the beholder in the direction of the exit.

Sirius noticed the direction of his gaze and chirpily informed him that the signs only functioned for people approved by the house's owner. Which, Harry supposed, would be quite handy if you were attacked by a Death Eater within the labyrinth of corridors. It wouldn't do to get to the exit only to discover that, thanks to your ingenious signs, you'd allowed your attacker to catch up with you.

"Well," Sirius said suddenly, stopping dead in his tracks. Harry stopped just before he would have walked right into his Godfather's back. "This is it," he finished, waving his hand at a section of wall with a flourish.

Harry blinked and peered at the wall Sirius was indicating, sure that this was either a really lame prank - he was in the presence of a Marauder, after all - or his eyes weren't sending his brain the correct information. "Uh, Sirius?"

"Yes?" came the quick reply, a hint of confusion present in his deep, booming timbre.

"This is what exactly?"

Sirius blinked in confusion before slapping his forehead with an open palm, "Oh. Right." He pulled out a battered wand and flicked it deftly in the general direction of the door. "We solemnly swear we are up to no good!"

As Sirius pocketed the wand, the wall in front of them began to shimmer. Wave after wave of dark wallpaper rippled across its surface, taking on a silken quality to appear like melted chocolate. Finally, the wall began to part down the middle, the syrupy, flowing substance parting down the centre like the red sea. In it's place stood a small door, it's dark wood plain and undecorated. In fact, the only thing that set this door apart from all other doors was the golden writing that slashed across it's wooden panels in front of their eyes, spelling out the question: 'Who comes before me?'

It was Sirius who answered, "Harry Potter. We need somewhere for him to sleep." He turned to Harry. "This door, believe it or not, was an invention of the Marauders. You merely place it on any wall and it'll provide you with a room fulfilling any of your needs at the time. The inspiration for it lies somewhere within Hogwarts." He grinned reminiscently.

Harry grinned back, making a mental note to ask about the room later. Now, however, he wanted to see just how good the Marauder's invention was.

He opened the door and gasped in surprise. In front of him was a large room, bordering on being titled a hall. It was decorated with bold slashes of red and gold - the Gryffindor colours - and the walls were covered with dozens of Quidditch posters, each moving image portraying a different team. Pressed with its headrest against the far wall was a bed which was an exact duplicate of the luxurious bed he slept in at Hogwarts and, Harry noticed with relief, on a small table near it was a wide variety of various different potions which were labelled with various descriptions such as 'dreamless sleep potion' and 'anti-anxiety draught'. Filling the rest of the room, he noted with some surprise, were the various books and equipment that he would need to complete his homework along with long desks suitable for brewing potions or writing long essays.

"It's great!" He enthused, not for the first time wondering just how the Marauders had managed to create this complex invention. Harry, however, didn't harbour too much hope that he'd ever discover the secret to their success, however; he still didn't know just how they'd succeeded in creating the Marauder's Map.

Sirius grinned at his Godson's awed expression. "Everything you ever need," he stated wryly. "Well, you'd best get some sleep." He frowned suddenly, as though just remembering something. Finally he sighed, "I won't be here tomorrow but I should be back in a couple of days, okay? Just be good for Moony."

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed as he contemplated his Godfather's words. "Is it something to do with Volde -?"

"No," Sirius said quickly, cutting Harry off, "Just a little ... personal business I need to take care of. Don't worry about it, okay, kid?"

Harry nodded, his frown deepening before blossoming into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Okay."

Sirius blinked, as though expecting much more resistance than he actually came up against. "Okay?" he echoed incredulously.

"Okay," Harry said firmly.

"Okay," Sirius said finally, squinting at the dark-haired Gryffindor as though expecting his true meaning to be printed across his forehead in flashing neon text. "Okay. Get some sleep," he instructed once more, herding Harry into the room with a parental smile. "Sleep tight," he added, his voice saccharine as he backed out of the room and closed the door behind him with a click.

Harry pulled a face at the closed door, unsure whether to be flattered, touched or insulted by Sirius' recently unearthed paternal streak. Deciding that touched would be the more productive emotion, Harry's scowl turned into a small appreciative smile as he crossed the room. Of course, he thought with a chuckle, fear would probably be smarter: having Sirius as a father figure could quite possibly end up being the most traumatic thing in his life so far, and that was including the Dursleys and Voldemort.

Harry stopped at the small rectangular table that supported the various flasks and bottles that, in turn, housed the assorted potions. Deciding to get changed first, Harry pulled his minimized trunk out of his pocket and, with a flick of his hand, had enlarged the object to it's original size. He rummaged through it for a moment, tossing aside books and potion ingredients before he came across his pyjamas. He pulled them on quickly, carefully folding his discarded clothes and laying them in neat piles at the foot of the four-poster bed.

He turned back to the potions and spent a moment gazing at their detailed labels and colourful solutions. Finally he selected a small quantity of dreamless sleep potion and, following the instructions on the label, poured the recommended amount into a glass goblet provided. He made his way back to the bed, snuggling under the scarlet velvet covers with a sigh of belonging as the covers brushed against his chin; the material was identical to that found in the Gryffindor tower. Once he was comfortable he brought the glass of the deep blue solution and, eyeing it distastefully, he threw back his head and drank it in one gulp. He barely had time to place the fragile goblet on the floor before the drowsiness consumed him and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When Harry awoke the next day, the morning sun was beating down on his pale face and, though groggy, Harry was pleased to note that his ever-present headache seemed to have finally faded.

He opened his eyes wearily, yelping in surprise as he came face-to-face with, well, himself. "Ah!"

The mirror tutted disapprovingly, floating backwards in one smooth, fluid motion. Harry blinked, shaking his head quickly as he thanked Merlin that he'd been too tired to removed his glasses last night; the last thing he needed right now was to have to fumble for his glasses while a floating mirror hovered over him, demanding he at least try to flatten his hair.

"What the -?" He shook his head again; squeezing his eyes tightly shut as if when he looked again the scenario would have turned into something more believable. It hadn't. "What are you?"

"I," the mirror said pompously, "Am a mirror ... your personal mirror as assigned by one Mr Sirius Black. Your Godfather, I do believe." She, and Harry presumed it was a she from the mirror's voice, appeared to regard Harry in exasperation and Harry swore he heard a disgusted sigh. "I have served the Potter line for centuries, child ... and will you just do something with that hair?"

"I can't," Harry said firmly, wondering vaguely just why he was bothering talking to a mirror; he never paid attention to the ones in the Hogwarts, "It's grows this way."

"Yes. Always did," the mirror replied in frustration, "Your father, your grandfather ... same hair, same chin, and same nose ... different eyes, though. I presume you get those from your mother?" Harry opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted once more by the talkative mirror. "Lovely girl, she was, too. Always had such lovely hair ... well, my dear," she said suddenly, changing the subject so fast that Harry's headache was beginning to come back. "What are you waiting for? Smile!"

Harry started and smiled broadly before he could second-guess what he was doing. The mirror tutted again. "White enough, I suppose, but you're going to have to do something about those fillings - "

Harry snapped his mouth shut; having decided that the insults and nit picking had went far enough, especially when he was in the mood he was in today. "Okay, just wait one bloody minute!" The mirror fell silent for perhaps a second before it gasped in horror.

"What language! And from a Potter, too! Why, it's a disgrace, a -"

"Bloody miracle that it wasn't something more creative, if you ask me," Harry snapped, his nostrils flaring, "And just what is your deal, anyway?" he hissed, making a mental note that he'd been spending too much time around Dean, too: he was starting to pick up his slang.

"My 'deal'?" the mirror asked, sounding as though it had just swallowed a melon ... whole. "My 'deal', as you so eloquently put it, Mr Potter, is to give my honest and unbiased opinion on your image, attitude, and any other advice that you'd like me to give. I've also been told that my little communications charm - "

"Yeah, right," Harry snapped impatiently, as he stared back at bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles; apparently he wasn't as rested as he'd thought. "What I meant was why on Earth can't you just stay attached to the goddamn wall?"

"Well," the mirror said, sounding decidedly petulant, "I could ... but where would the fun be in that?"

Harry paused to think, "Well, for one, I suppose I'd be more likely to remain sane ... "

It was true. He'd been talking to the mirror for less than five minutes and he already felt like getting an axe and chopping the offending object into firewood. It was, he presumed, the condescending tone that seemed to be a permanent feature of a feminine voice that sounded like screeching nails on a blackboard. At least the Hogwarts mirrors, as irritating as they were, seemed to have a kind, motherly - if sometimes mocking - voice by default. It didn't help, he supposed, that it's presence seemed to be draining him of the goodwill that a good night's sleep had given him.

The mirror chuckled in amusement, swooping down at him with a whoosh until they were so close that Harry's face took up most of the glass, "You, Potter, don't look remarkably sane in the first place, if you ask me ... those dark circles, those eyes ..."

Harry, of course, wasn't listening. Instead his attention was on the small piece of parchment that had fell from the back of the mirror when it had lunged at him. He reached for the parchment and unfolded it, reading with curious eyes.

Harry,

I suppose if you're reading this then you're awake, and I'd like to apologise in advance for the mirror I've left you. Well, actually, if we're placing blame here, it was your father's ... but, anyway, as you may have noticed, it's not an ordinary mirror. It's been in your family for generations - centuries if you believe anything that it says - and insisted that it meet you, and, as I'm sure you know by now, it can be a right pain in the ass. If you want it to shut up I find a silencing charm works quite nicely and, to get it to stay on a wall like all good mirrors, immobilise the damn thing.

See you in a couple of days,

Sirius.

Harry glared at the parchment for a moment: he was going to kill Sirius for giving him this thing, Potter family heirloom or not ... and still the damn thing continued to talk.

"Honestly. They've invented hair gels, haven't they? If it's got to be messy, couldn't you at least make it look like you did it on purpose?" The mirror whined, backing up to allow Harry room to breathe without steaming up its pane. "And," it said after a moment of consideration, "Have you ever considered contacts -?"

"Silencio!" Harry hissed, finally at the end of his tether. The mirror fell silent, though it began to zoom around the room in what could only be interpreted as a furious rage. It knocked over the various bottles of dreamless sleep potion as it crashed into them, knocking them to the floor where they shattered into shards of coloured glass. "Immobilus!"

The mirror stopped in mid-air and fell to the ground with a heavy thud, the impact making a crunching sound on the glass fragments. Harry blinked and fell back on his soft pillows in relief, reaching under his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. Finally, however, Harry threw back the warm, velvet covers and forced himself out of bed, employing a small trick he'd learnt for early morning quidditch practice: he literally threw himself off the bed. He hit the ground on his feet thanks to reflexes born of the same quidditch training.

With a groan he ambled over to the mirror which was eerily still on the wooden floor, muttering as he did so about magical mirrors and seven years bad luck which, according to wizarding superstition, actually applied when you shattered a magical mirror, by accident or otherwise. Of course, wizards also believed that you would definitely die soon after seeing a grim but, as Harry could state with confidence, that seemed to be a load of nonsense, too.

Harry picked the mirror up and scrutinised it for a moment. The actual mirror itself was a perfect square. There wasn't a smudge or dirty fingerprint on its surface and it gleamed proudly in the sunlight that filtered through the window. Harry licked his thumb and swiped firmly across its pane, smiling darkly as it left behind a dull smear. The frame that housed the mirror was wooden and had apparently been painted white. This fact was only discernible from the small chips of white paint, which still clung valiantly to the grain. The charms protecting the mirror had worn off.

As Harry watched the dirty smear he'd placed on the mirror only moments before, erased itself. Harry blinked in surprise before the satisfaction he'd felt vanished along with the mark. With a growl of frustration, he hurled it across the room and watched as it skidded under the bed.

The Gryffindor stared after the mirror for a moment before shaking his head sharply, his scowl clearly reflecting his thoughts on the floating piece of junk. He got dressed quickly, glowering from start to finish; not even his surprise at finding the cupboards filled with more clothes than he remembered owning in his life, luckily all in his size, could wipe the sour expression from his face.

Once finally dressed, Harry practically bolted from the room, not in the mood for any more surprises courtesy of the Marauders.

He'd barely took two strides away from the door into the wide hall where the Marauder's invention was housed when he crashed into a lean wall of muscle, the impact sending both males to the ground.

"Harry!" Lupin cried as he hit the ground with a thud, the various sheets of parchment, quills and inkwells he'd been cradling falling around him.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet.

"Please, Harry," said Lupin, a small distracted smile playing on his lips, "I'm not a Professor any more ... call me Remus." He quickly collected all of his dropped parchment and other various stationary, shaking his head when Harry offered his help. "No. I'll manage ... oh, and before I forget, your Hogwarts letter arrived today," he fished the cream envelope from the pile in his arms and handed it to the raven-haired boy.

"Uh. Thanks ..." Harry said, watching in bewilderment as Lupin smiled once more and then, without another word, began to make his way down the corridor.

Harry watched him for a moment, blinking stupidly until he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like the funeral march. When he was sure that Lupin ... Remus was gone, he turned his attention back on the envelope with emerald lettering. He turned it over to open it and found another envelope. This one was a plain white, the address printed in blue ink, which seemed to have been hastily scrawled. It was addressed to Remus.

Harry blinked but made to go after the sandy-haired ex-professor when he noticed the moving wizarding stamp stuck haphazardly onto the front, featuring a dark-haired man waving a red cloth up and down, screaming 'Aruba!' at the top of his voice and every so often scrambling out of the way of an agitated bull.

"What the -?" Harry stuttered, blinking in surprise. He'd never seen wizarding stamps before, had, in fact, been unaware that they existed. Happily oblivious, you might say; the miniscule Spanish bullfighter reminded him remarkably of Sir Cadogan, the overly enthusiastic knight that had substituted for the fat lady after Sirius had attacked her.

"Aha!" The man said, turning around gleefully. Harry's lip curled in disgust as he preened, throwing the red flag to the ground as he adjusted his moustache. "I am Pedro ... Pedro Mortissimo, the legendary wizard! I am, young sir, undefeated in the ancient art of tauromaquia!"

Harry blinked. "Of what?"

"Tauromaquia!" The figure said, peering at Harry for any signs that he understood. Seeing none, he rolled his eyes in disdain and tiptoed up to the frame, leaning forwards to whisper the answer to Harry. "Bullfighting?"

"Oh," Harry said, his opinion of the stamp sinking lower by the minute.

"Yes, 'oh'," the stamp mocked, "Well! What are you waiting for, boy? Take me to whomever I am addressed to, please."

Harry didn't pause to wonder just how the stamp knew the letter wasn't intended for him. What he did pause to consider, however, were just what the consequences would be if he left the letter on the floor instead of returning it to Lupin. These thoughts were dispelled as soon as they came, Harry deciding that as Lupin had taken him in without any real explanation, he could at least rectify this mistake.

With a sigh he began to stomp in the direction Lupin had disappeared in, wondering vaguely how long it would take before he got lost and then, wondering with more than a little interest just why Remus was receiving letters from Spain. Was it something to do with Voldemort? Was that where Sirius had disappeared to? Had Remus in fact slipped the letter to him on purpose, guessing that Harry would want to hear from his Godfather?

He paused for a moment to think, torn between ripping open the envelope and doing what his conscience insisted was right. The stamp's insistent chatter finally reached him.

"I once defeated Miventio, you know ... so, yes, he was merely a squib ... but, so what? He was a very good bullfighter!" There was a small pause and Harry could practically feel the stamp's scrutiny. "Honestly, young sir, can't you do anything with that hair?"

Harry scowled and, making up his mind, began to stomp down the corridor once more.

And just what was the obsession with his bloody hair?