Padfoot & Moony's (Not-So-)Excellent Adventure in Babysitting

* * * ONE * * *

* * * * *

...Pretty much any given evening, 1970 - 1977

The Marauders' dorm room can get a bit unpleasant.

That's actually an enormous understatement..

To put it with dazzling honesty: Ten months out of the year - the entire time we're there - the room is a malodorous cesspool of chaos and noise.

One bed is covered in crumpled-up bits of parchment, and underneath, one can usually find several pairs of unwashed socks and/or pants. Wormatil himself sleeps flat on his back, and the noise is incredible. He snores like a troll, and what's worse, he farts in his sleep. Constantly.

James' quarter of the room is plastered in Quidditch posters and what we call "The Lily Shrine" - a picture he snapped of her before she realized Prongs had the camera pointed at her (it keeps shouting at him; we Silencio it each morning, though it might make Peter's snoring more bearable if we just let her have at it), and several of her class papers he nicked from the bin. Pathetic, really. Thankfully, Prongs isn't flatulent like Wormtail, though the stench emanating from his Lucky Socks ("I wore 'em for my first game, and I haven't washed 'em since!") more than makes up for it.

Sirius, on the other hand, comes in after dinner, settles himself on the windowsill, and chain-smokes till bedtime. Even with the window open, the whole room is smoky and smells like cheap Muggle cigarettes. Then, once I'm ready to sleep, Sirius is so keyed-up on nicotine that he will pounce on everyone else's beds and insist they stay up to talk to him. It's okay when he wakes up Prongs, since James will talk about Lily and Padfoot will go on and on about whatever pops into his brain, and they don't seem to realize that they're not involved in the same conversation. Prongs and Pads are just good mates that way.

They all drive me mad.

Since first year, I've had to sleep with a pillow over my head in order to get any peace. Sometimes, I lay in bed with my face under my pillow even when I'm awake.

Don't get me wrong. I have the three best mates ever known to man (or to werewolf, as case may be). I just miss solitude, and quiet, and being able to get a decent night's rest without someone pouncing on my bed at some un-Godric-ly hour, yelling, "Moony! Wake up! C'mon! MOONY! I have sweets...MOOOOON-EEEEEEEE..."

* * * * *

Midnight, or half past (...Way too damn late, anyway): July 8, 1976

"...MOOOOON-EEEEEEE, get up, mate!"

Oh, sweet Merlin, no...It's summer...I'm at home...in my very own room...No...

"Moony! C'mon, you great bloody wanker, get up!"

I realized I'd taken to sleeping with my ears covered even at home. Living with the Marauders had changed my life forever, and seeing as how it was July and I was sweating like a sodding pig, it hadn't all been for the good.

"Pa'foot?" I muttered into my mattress.

"Yeah!" Sirius yelled, yanking the pillow off my head. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Well, first I smelled what had to be those manky socks, and thought it might be Prongs, but then I got a good whiff of your nasty smoker-stench and realized it must be you." I refused to open my eyes. I downright refused.

Sirius leaned down and sniffed his feet. "Huh. Must've grabbed Prongs' Lucky Socks by mistake. Though they were a bit rank."

"Do us all a favor. Wash 'em while you've got 'em."

"He'll kill me."

I took his momentary inattention as my chance to grab the pillow back and shoved it over my face. "It'll save me the trouble, Sirius Black, because you have precisely ten seconds to tell me why you are in my room, and then I am going to kill you. Go." (Death threats are less effective when they're muffled, but I knew damned well it's the middle of the night, and I was not up to dealing with this. Not now. I'm on vacation from this insanity...)

"I have a business proposition for you. Now wake up and talk to me!"

The pillow was over my mouth; I figured that if either of us was going to wake up my Mum and Dad, it would be Mister Loudmouth Padfoot, so I went ahead and let loose a mighty-yet-stifled scream into a mouthful of linen and goose down.

I gave up and sat upright, trying my best to give Sirius a really mean glare. (It didn't faze him. I'll have to work on that.)

"First off...You showed up in my room. Uninvited. In the mid...Hold up. What time is it, anyway?"

Sirius shrugged. "Dunno, mate. Midnight? Half past?"

"How in Merlin's name did you get in?"

"Your mum let me in. Looked a fair bit angry about it, really. Threw open the door, pointed me upstairs, and went storming back off to bed. It's not that late, now, is it?"

Padfoot was looking at me with such a guileless, wide-eyed expression that I had a hard time even trying to explain to him that my parents are even more rabid about a good night's sleep than I was.

I'm shocked that Mum hadn't told him to cut his own switch, really.

"I'm gonna catch it because you woke her up. Now, tell me why you are here, and go home."

Sirius tapped a fag out of the pack in his pocket; I grabbed it from him and broke it in half. "Now, you bastard!"

"Prat," he muttered, and settled back against the wall. "Anyway...Yeah. Business proposition. You're coming with me tomorrow on a little job."

"I am?" Did I miss something?

"Yeah," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "The inheritance from Uncle Alph doesn't come due for another six days, and I'm in need of a bit of gold to get me through till then. I've agreed to babysit for my cousin Andromeda's kid, and you're coming."

"I am?" Yes, I must have really missed something...Did I agree to this when I was drunk or something?

(As I soon found out, in a roundabout way, I had indeed done just that.)

"See, I have no idea what to do with a kid," Sirius continued, reaching deep into another pocket and fishing out a piece of paper, "but you're good with the little sprogs, and I figure half the gold's better than none. So you're coming with me. Or..."

"Or...What?" I was beginning to get suspicious by this point.

"Or I'll go ahead and send this by fast owl to Dumbledore." Sirius held up the paper, so I could see it, but didn't have a prayer of reaching it.

It was a photograph that James apparently snapped during a post-Quidditch-victory party in our dorm. In it, I am obviously pissed out of my mind, a stupid grin on my face which I'm certain I have never seen there whilst sober. We're enjoying a rousing game of Knuts, and I'm bouncing my Prefect's badge into a tumbler of whiskey.

"Oh. Bloody. Shite."

"Yup, that's what I think Dumbledore'll say, too. So, you're coming?"

I threw myself back down on my bed and shot Sirius a hand gesture that I usually found most distasteful.

"Great. I'll be here at eight to pick you up." Sirius planted an enormous smooch on my cheek and stuffed the pillow back over my head. (Never mind the fact that he'd snogged every girl in our year; Padfoot had become infamous for kissing anyone in reach. Drove me mad. It was quite amusing when he did it to James in front of Lily, though.)

"You have dog breath," I muttered, "even when you're human."

"'Night, Moony," he called, then I heard him stop at the doorway and creep back to my bedside. Suddenly, the corner of my bed lifted, and as I was tumbling toward the wall, he grabbed something from underneath, dropped the mattress, and ran, slamming the front door on his way out.

Bloody bastard stole my issue of Playwizard.

I solemnly swear that I am going to kill him.

* * * * *

Far too few hours later: July 8, 1976

Sirius showed up again at five past eight, bleary-eyed and already dressed in what we like to call his Bad-Arse Attire: Ripped jeans, old T-shirt, and that ridiculous Muggle leather jacket. He stumbled into the kitchen, one unlit fag hanging from his mouth and another stuck behind his ear, only to grunt at my Mum and raid our icebox.

Mum was looking at him with an expression that bade no goodwill toward Padfoot. The saucepan in her hand looked quite heavy, really. I pried the marmalade out of his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen, grabbing a few slices of toast off the table and tossing a half-hearted wave at my mum over my shoulder.

Great, she's angry at me by association.

Well, if I'm being blackmailed into babysitting, at least the timing is good.

Sirius and I arrived at the Tonks' neighborhood at half-past, still munching our nicked toast. We were both looking a bit sleep-deprived, but today's assignment shouldn't prove to be too difficult. I mean, it's a single four-year-old child. From what I knew of my neighbor's children, at that age, little girls enjoy listening to fairy tales and having tea parties.

I like books, I like tea; this will be a piece of Cauldron Cake.

We found the address: The house itself was small but neat, painted a cheery yellow and white, with crisp curtains in the window. The instant we ascended the porch steps, the door was flung open, and a tall woman with light brown hair and grey eyes, just like Sirius', pulled us inside.

"Oh, thank Godric you're here!" she gasped, pulling Sirius into a bone-cracking hug and kissing him full on the lips. Then, she saw me and kissed me as well.

I'd never seen the woman in my life. At least now I knew where Sirius got his Kissing Thing.

"She's still sleeping, praise be to Merlin and all the Muggle saints, but she'll be up soon, and I'm going to go mad if I don't get out of he--I mean, I'd like to be on my way before she wakes up. She'll get used to you more quickly without Mummy around, after all. Left you a note - good luck, boys - and...Sweet Circe...Don't turn your back on her."

The woman bolted down the walk, and took the street at a run, jumping in the air and clicking her heels on the way.

"Umm...Padfoot? Have you ever met your little cousin?" I asked, cautiously peering inside the tidy living room.

Sirius pushed past me and flops down on the couch. "Cool! A telly!" He clicked on the television set and settled in for what looked like an entire morning of vegetation before the tube. "Oh, sorry, Moony - did you ask me something?"

"Yes. Have. You. Actually. Met. Your. Cousin. Yet?"

"Andromeda? Sure, we're mates from way back. She's bloody brilliant, really." Sirius propped his feet up on the table and was scratching his stomach. He looked quite at home.

I, on the other hand, was facing a feeling of growing dread. "No, prat. Her daughter. You know? The little girl? The one we're supposed to be watching today?"

Pads glanced up. "Huh? Oh, no, not for a long time. She was a baby last time I saw her. She's just one kid, though. How bad can it be?"

I decided to find out for myself. I went in search of Andromeda's note.

* * * TWO * * *

*****

8:55 A.M.: Still July 8, 1976

I found the note on the kitchen counter.

Dear Cousin Sirius, and Sirius' friend, too (so glad there are two of you coming today) -

I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I thought I'd go mad if I didn't get a day off from being Mummy-Mummy-Mummy soon.

A few things to know before you begin today...

Nymphadora is a very sweet child. She is quite inquisitive, however, so you'll do best to keep the knives out of reach. Same goes for open flame, any object connected to, or related to, eleck elkel eletrick the power supply, and anything else that could be harmful to her safety (or yours).

She is very bright, and a quick learner. Watch what you say, unless you'd like to be responsible for teaching a four-year-old little girl to swear. Ted's done a fair job of it already, but he says that spending the day with two teenage boys may increase her vocabulary further, in ways I'd rather she not repeat around her Grandmother Tonks.

Expect her to wake up around nine. She refused to go to sleep until well past midnight last night. I have no idea where she gets this infernal night-owl streak.

I've laid out her clothing for the day. Yes, I know it doesn't co-ordinate. It is imperative that, if you take her out of the house, you keep her dressed as conspicuously as possible. Trust me on this one. And with any luck, she'll keep her clothes on for once in her life.

The play park is down the street. If you let her run around, she'll be much easier to manage once you get her back home. She does tend to run off, though, so keep a close eye on her.

DON'T FORGET THE FIRST-AID KIT.

If you need me If you need help, call Ted. The Floo connection's on the icebox. He'll be home from work by three.

Love, Andromeda

PS - I'd strongly suggest not giving her sugar.

I read the note. I read it again. I grabbed a highlighter pen from the jar on the counter and ran it across several important points.

Somehow, I didn't think we were going to be having a peaceful schedule of "And they lived happily ever after"s and "Would you like more tea, dear Missus Pinkypuddles?" today.

"Padfoot," I said softly, mindful of the still-sleeping child down the hall, "Read this."

Sirius scanned the note. "Okay. So she's a hyperactive, foul-mouthed, clumsy little streaker. What's the big deal, Moony?"

I shoved his feet off the couch and flopped down next to him. "No problem. I just think we're in for a long day. And turn that thing off." I leaned forward and snapped off the telly.

"Moony! Turn that back on or I'm going to hex your knob off!" Sirius yelled, diving for the set.

"Why are you going to hex his knob?" a little voice asked thickly.

We started and looked up. There, in the hall, stood a little mousy-brown-haired girl with a pixie-ish face. She was clad in a nightgown that was emblazoned with what appeared to be a gigantic, sparkling ball of fur on the front. One hand was plastered to her face, her thumb firmly stuck in her mouth; the other hand clutched a stuffed kneazle with only three legs and most of its stuffing gone. She had bruised shins, skinned knees, and a plaster on one elbow.

She had to be the cutest kid I'd ever seen.

"Errrrr..." Sirius muttered, looking horror-struck.

I approached the little girl and knelt down. "Hello there."

That same sweet little voice said, "Wotcher."

"Are you Nymphadora?"

She shook her head.

"No? Well, then, who are you?"

The girl grinned through a mouth full of thumb. "I'm Pretty Peggy Puffskein."

"Oookay." Great, the kid's delusional, too. "Well, my name is Remus."

"You can call him Moony," Sirius interrupted.

I whirled around and shot him that distasteful gesture as inconspicuously as I could.

"Mummy says that's naughty," my new friend Pretty Peggy Puffskein said.

Oh, bloody hell, can this kid see through walls and doors, too?

"And why're you going to hex his knob?" she persisted. Even though her thumb had never left her mouth, I could understand every word. I had the feeling that the thumb was pretty much a permanent fixture. Well, maybe it would keep her a bit more quiet...

"Well, Pretty Peggy," I said, watching her face light up at being addressed the way she'd asked, "can you show me a doorknob?"

She gave that smile-around-the-hand again. The grin was mischevious and sly. It was worthy of a Marauder.

We're screwed.

However, our little charge obediently trotted over to a door. As she pointed to the doorknob, she jammed her finger. "Damn," she hissed.

I raised my eyebrows but plowed on, trying to rectify Sirius' blunder. "Well, your silly cousin Sirius here thinks it would be funny to put me in a room and take off the doorknob. He thinks it'd be funny if I couldn't get out. Isn't that just terrible?"

A pair of dark eyes widened, and she nodded, giving Sirius a thoroughly mistrustful look.

"Hey, now, you great prat," Sirius snapped, "don't make me out to be the bad guy. Say, little cousin, are you ready for breakfast?"

Pretty Peggy/Nymphadora (I must say, I don't blame the kid for adopting an altar ego) tripped into the kitchen. Literally.

Sirius rooted through the cupboards. "All this stuff is total bollocks! C'mon, there's gotta be something good...OI! Sugar-Frosted Skippin' Sweetsie Puffs! I loved these things when I was a kid!"

Sirius poured two large bowls of cereal as his cousin climbed onto a chair. It tipped over, and she giggled, extracted herself from underneath, and tried to scale another, this time with more success, though she did bump her head on the edge of the table.

"Want some, Moony?" Sirius asked, having poured enough milk in both bowls to impede the Puffs' movement. He set one down in front of Nymphadora, whose eyes lit up at the bounty of sugar. I, on the other hand, refused. Wizarding cereals creep me out, and this one was particularly odd: The puffs were hopping and making odd squealing noises. They sounded like Padfoot, strangely enough, when he'd had too many sweets.

Oh, no.

"Sirius, we're not supposed to give her sugar," I hissed, reaching for the little girl's bowl. She immediately let forth an ear-splitting wail. Sirius and I clapped our hands over our ears. I decided that the sugar high might be a decent trade-off for keeping our hearing intact.

"Well, little miss," I told her, (in hopes of shutting her up) as I gave her my most gentle and charming smile, "we're going to have a lot of fun today. Your mummy went out, and Cousin Sirius and I are going to be your babysitters. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Little Nymphadora nodded. Eyes wide, she told us, "Mummy said I'd have lots of fun with Cousin Sirius, and he'd better show up or she was going to sell me to a band of traveling hags."

Sirius snorted milk through his nose.

"Eat up," I said hastily, "and we'll get dressed and go to the park."

Nymphadora shoveled more Puffs into her mouth, dropping her spoon into the milk no fewer than eight times, as I leaned against the counter and examined the cereal box. "Fortified with Sucrose!" was a particular selling point.

As soon as she'd drained the bowl, slopping artificially-sweetened milk all down the front of her nightgown, Nymphadora raced down the hall, and came back from her room carrying the oddest assortment of garments I'd ever seen.

A tiny t-shirt (so ickle and sweet), striped in a bright turquoise and a voilent shade of purple; a pair of cute little shorts in mustard-yellow with blinding pink polka-dots; and two little socks, one vivid green, one traffic-light red. Her trainers were white, and they were the only items in the entire ensemble that matched.

"Sweet bloody Merlin, we're supposed to take her out in public in this?" Sirius asked, aghast, as Nymphadora threw off her nightgown and proceeded to try to stick her head through her shirt's armhole.

"Here, little one," I said, straightening her shirt and helping her to get everything settled in the right places.

"Thanks. Look, I have big-girl knickers with Pretty Peggy Puffskein," she giggled, sticking out her bum.

"Good for you. That's very exciting. Now put on your shorts." If Andromeda's note was correct, I had the feeling Pretty Peggy Puffskein would be making another appearance that day; hopefully not in public, though.

With some major wrestling and Nymphadora managing to fall off the sofa at least a dozen times, we got her socks and shoes on the correct feet, and started out the door.

"Wait!" Nymphadora shrieked, and raced back inside. She returned clutching that ratty stuffed kneazle.

"That's gonna get lost," Sirius called from the gate. "Leave it here."

Nymphadora let out another of those hair-raising screams. I thought I was going to go deaf. This called for quick thinking...

I remembered something else I'd seen when I was highlighting Andromeda's note, something in the cup of pens and pencils... "Nymphadora..."

She peeked up at me and seemed to be assessing my intentions, and drew another deep breath to scream.

"You love your kneazle, right?" I quickly asked.

She held her breath and nodded.

"Well, how about if Mister Kneazle stays here so he's safe, and we take Little Miss Kneazle to the park?"

She was turning blue as she considered.

"Kneazles have whiskers. Would you like whiskers, too?"

She finally exhaled, and figuring I'd won this little battle, I ran inside and grabbed the laundry marker I'd seen in the kitchen. Andromeda would probably kill me for this, but at least we wouldn't lose her this way, and I figured that even ink marked "permanent" would wash off a kid's face. (...Eventually.)

"Stand still," I said firmly, and I drew a fine set of cat-like whiskers in strong black ink across her cheeks.

Between the horrible outfit and the lines all over her face, there was certainly no way Nymphadora would be getting away from us. "Okay, now, we're ready for the park."

"Hey!" Sirius remembered something else, something much more important, as we started down the walk. "Aren't we supposed to have a first-aid kit?"

From what I'd seen thus far that morning, I wasn't surprised; in fact, I was shocked at myself that I could manage to forget.

Nymphadora banged her shins the entire way up the steps and stood in the doorway, pointing out the first-aid kit.

At first, I thought she had to be joking. I mean, it wasn't you average small package.

It was a bloody suitcase.

On wheels.

The permanent marker had apparently been used on this as well. Sure enough, it was undeniably and indelibly labeled: FIRST AID KIT .

"You pull this, I'll take your cousin," I muttered to Sirius, who was staring at the case with a similar look of horror.

"Mummy restocked it for you last night," Nymphadora said cheerfully as she traipsed down the street, her slobber-covered hand in mine. She looked different when she wasn't sucking her thumb, wolfing down sugary cereal, or screaming.

Yeah, she was definitely the cutest kid ever, even if she was kind of a pain.

"Oh? Had it been a while?" I asked, swinging our hands.

"No, she does it every day. We use it a lot," she informed me, then picked up the pace as the play park drew into sight.

Within three paces of the park gate, she landed face-first on the gravel path.

First Aid Kit Use Number One: I held a whining and squirming Nymphadora on my lap as Sirius cracked open the case and cleaned and bandaged the long scratches on her chin.

As soon as she was patched up, Nymphadora was off again, and we had to sprint to keep up, Sirius hauling the behemoth Kit and swearing very loudly.

"Watch your mouth," I hissed, as we reached the swings.

Sirius immediately deposited the luggage beside a bench, and raced off to join his cousin. Both of them were swinging, and both were screaming, "Look at me, Moony! Look at me!"

"You're both doing very well," I called back, trying hard not to laugh at Sirius, who was acting even more obviously than usual like an overgrown four-year-old.

Nymphadora lost interest in the swings within a few minutes, and she dragged her little feet in the sand, then toppled off and skidded forward on her hands.

Use Number Two: Scrapes on palms of hands disinfected and wrapped.

Sirius chased Nymphadora around the park, and was joined by an entire gaggle of children. I watched, trying to keep an eye on our young charge, but I did a double-take after a moment.

One little blonde-haired girl, wearing a darling navy jumper and white ankle socks, was being chased by what could have been her identical twin...

...but was wearing a striped t-shirt, polka-dot shorts, mismatched socks, and ink on her face.

I shook my head to clear it. No, now the oddly-dressed child was chasing another twin, this one a redheaded boy. The one in stripes was only distinguishable from the other by the clothes, and the whiskers.

There's something very odd going on here.

Sirius came jogging back after a while, out of breath and sweaty. "Okay, that's enough for now," he wheezed. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up, then had a seat on the bench beside me, draping an arm across the back and swinging his feet up to rest in my lap.

"Geroff," I snapped, shoving his shoes to the ground. "You'd feel better if you quit that filthy habit. Pads, look over there."

Sirius gazed at the group of children. "Yup, there's Nymphadora. I'd know that horrible outfit anywhere."

"Er. But doesn't she have, erm, brown hair? Cute little heart-shaped face?"

"Yup."

"Look again."

Shading his eyes with his hand, Sirius squinted and looked more closely. "I'll be damned. She's gone magenta."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Well, at least I wasn't hallucinating. Then, it made sense: The odd outfit, at least. If she was dressed even remotely like the other kids...

"Padfoot, there aren't any metamorphmagi in your family, are there?"

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, Great-Great-Great-Aunt Alteria was one. You don't think..."

"Yes, I do. Nymphadora's a metamorphmagus. She must be. That's why Andromeda made us give her those awful wonky clothes. If she was wearing a normal dress or something, we might've taken home the wrong kid. We blokes aren't exactly the most observant when it comes to fashion, after all."

Sirius took another drag. "Wonder why Andi didn't tell us, though?"

"Well, Padfoot," I said, "If you knew you were taking care of a kid that could make herself look like somebody else, including you, wouldn't you be a bit leery?"

"Nah. I think all kids should be so lucky as to look like me," Sirius said, lounging back on the bench and sending a wink toward a group of giggling Muggle teenaged girls passing by.

I thought it over. "Maybe Andromeda's just a bit reluctant to tell people. It's a very rare gift, after all, and Nymphadora's awfully young. Do you think she uses it consciously?"

"Who knows?" Sirius asked, stubbing his fag out with a toe. "Hey, where is the little shape-shifter, anyway?"

Oh. Bloody. Hell.

Nymphadora was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, just look for the clothes," I said, jumping off the bench to go in search of our blindingly-dressed missing charge.

We found the shirt. It was under a bench.

The shorts were draped over a drinking fountain.

"We have to find her!" Sirius cried. "She's on the loose and she's starkers!"

"She'll keep the pants on, at least," I said. "She likes those too much to part with 'em."

We raced around the park, searching for Nymphadora. No luck.

Luckily - or, unluckily, as we soon discovered - there was a Friendly Officer of the Law patrolling the park.

"Sir, you've got to help us!" I gasped, clutching a stitch in my side. "It's my friend, here - his cousin's gone missing, and we need to find her."

"Well, now, what does she look like?" the bobby asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil.

Sirius and I paused and looked at one another. "Erm. Look like?" I asked.

"Hair color, eyes, height, that sort of thing."

"Bloody hell," Sirius said, "That could be anything."

The bobby looked decidedly skeptical. I continued hastily, "She's wearing one red sock, one green sock, white trainers, and a pair of sparkly blue-and-purple underpants."

"And she has whiskers," Sirius added.

Our would-be helper gave a snorting laugh.

"You blokes are off your nut," he said, and sauntered off.

Sirius and I looked desperately at each other. He got a gleam in his eye which, in retrospect, I should have recognized, and subsequently ignored, for my own good.

"Raise both your arms," he said. "Maybe she'll see you if you present a bigger target."

Stupid me. I did it.

Sirius immediately yanked my shirt up, sighted my wand stuck in the waistband of my trousers, and grabbed it.

"Sirius!" I hollered, lunging for my stolen wand.

Too late.

"Accio Nymphadora!" he called, waving it high above his head in a circle.

A giggling, grubby, underpants-clad little girl immediately came flying at us from underneath a clump of shrubbery.

I grabbed her as she soared past and held on with all my might. "Right, now, we're going home," I snapped. "Sirius, give me your jacket."

"I'm not giving you my jacket!" he protested.

"Jacket, and my wand," I commanded in my best Prefect Voice, wrapping an arm more firmly around his shrieking cousin and holding out a hand.

Sirius grumbled, but he shrugged out of his bomber and handed it over, along with my wand.

"You bloody sodding idiot," I continued as we made our way down the path, "It's not just that you're underage till the fourteenth; they'll trace the magic back to my wand, and I'm the one who's going to get in trouble with the Ministry, and you stupid prat, do you realize I'm going to have stiffer penalties than you would because of what I am?"

We'd reached the First Aid Kit of Doom. I pointed wordlessly at it; Sirius, looking abashed, went to fetch it. I was still breathing heavily through my nose and had become a bit distracted as I ranted. Nymphadora wriggled free and went tearing back down the path.

I caught back up with her soon enough and held her firmly by the shoulders. "Nymphadora Tonks, young lady, you have made enough mischief for one morning. You took off your clothes, you ran off without telling me or Sirius where you were going, and you hid from us when you could hear us calling you. This was not a good outing, little miss, and you've made the choice to go home. Now."

She gave another terrific screech and tried to pull away. I lifted her under my arm and said in a no-nonsense voice, "Your cousin and I are very disappointed."

"I don't care if you're dis-ta-point-ed!" she screamed. "I don't care, I don't care!"

I made my way through the park with a leather-draped four-year-old clutching the front of my shirt, with her repeating the same three words, over and over.

We made it back without further incident, save for Nymphadora's shrieking, to her house.

Sirius lugged the First Aid Kit inside and collapsed on the sofa. He looked done in. I could've killed him gladly at that moment, but apparently I was the one designated to disciplining our loudly-wailing little friend, so Padfoot's murder would have to wait.

"I DON'T CARE!" she yelled, one last time, still grasping my collar.

"Yes, I know," I said wearily, "you must've told me a million times."

I handed her the ratty kneazle and steered her down the hall. "You're going down for a nap, Miss Tonks."

She stuck her tongue out at me and slammed her door.

"And don't hex off my knob!" she shouted from the other side.

I couldn't help it. I dove for the living room before I started to laugh.

* * * THREE * * *

*****

Afternoon: July 8, 1976

I peeked in at little Nymphadora after a few minutes; she was sound asleep, her thumb in her mouth again, still only wearing her knickers and shoes, with her kneazle tucked beneath her arm.

She was so cute.

Sirius had fallen asleep as well. Apparently, giving me all the childcare responsibilities had really taken it out of him.

There hadn't been any Ministry owls swooping down upon my head, so I was grateful...and in need of a good kip, myself.

I stretched out on the rug and was out like a light within a moment.

It felt like an instant later when the front door was flung open, swinging mere inches from my skull, and a deep voice called, "I'm home!"

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Er. Hello."

Ted Tonks was tall, with sandy hair and a square jaw. He looked like one of those newscasters from the telly. "Hello there. And who might you be?"

I hauled my sore self to my feet and held out a hand. "Remus Lupin, sir. I was helping your wife's cousin to look after Nymphadora today."

Ted looked as though he was trying hard not to smile. "She's quite a handful."

"Yes, sir. That she is."

Ted headed into the kitchen and perused the note his wife had left that morning. "Oh, dear Merlin. She didn't tell you that Nymphadora's a metamorphmagus?"

"No, sir. That she did not."

"Did her cousin give Nymphadora sugar for breakfast?"

"Yup."

"Did she spend the whole day tripping over her own feet?"

"Yup."

"Did you dress her in the loudest outfit ever known to Wizardkind?"

"Yup."

"Did she take it all off as soon as you got into public?"

"Oh, yes."

"Did she hide from you and make a scene when you caught her?"

"Oh, yes."

Ted actually reached over and ruffled my hair. "You're a brave boy. How'd Sirius do?"

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself.

"Yeah, that's about what Andi thought. I'm so glad he had backup. Thank you for coming along today. Here." Ted fished in a pocket and pulled out a handful of Galleons.

I shook my head. "No, I can't accept all that!"

"Think of it as hazard pay," Ted said with a wink. "Share it with Sirius, if you must."

I counted out exactly half and slipped it into the still-sleeping Padfoot's pocket.

Just then, there was the sound of little feet coming down the hall. "Wotcher, Remus," Nymphadora said through her thumb.

"Hello there, Pretty Peggy Puffskein. Are we friends again?" I asked.

She nodded, then launched herself at me and grabbed hold of my leg.

"Is that my little princess I hear?" Ted called. Nymphadora clutched my leg even more tightly.

"Let's go see your Daddy," I said, and I hobbled awkwardly to the kitchen, a small child still firmly stuck to my leg.

Ted beamed at the sight of his daughter. "Wotcher, sweetie-pie!"

Nymphadora finally detached herself from my pants leg and ran over to her father, leaping into his lap and stuffing her thumb back into her mouth.

"And what did you do today?" Ted asked.

Nymphadora leaned into his chest. "Went to the park."

"Were you a very good girl?"

Nymphadora gave him that Marauder-esque grin again. "Nope."

"That wasn't very nice," Ted told her sternly.

Her bottom lip poked out, and Nymphadora's big dark eyes filled with tears.

"I think Remus still likes you, though," her father added, sending me a wink.

I winked back, making sure Nymphadora could see. She giggled and snuggled closer to her father.

"So, who are you going to marry when you grow up?" Ted asked. It looked like it was a game they played often, and I could tell he usually got the same answer: Daddy.

Not tonight, though. "I'm gonna marry Remus when I grow up," she said, actually pulling her thumb from her mouth.

Ted's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Really."

"Yup."

"Well, then, darling girl. Why don't you go see if your Pretty Peggy Puffskein Program is on the wireless. Jump on your cousin Sirius while you're in there, too."

Nymphadora went running into the other room, and I heard a great THUD, followed by Sirius howling in pain.

"Think she landed on a particularly sensitive area?" Ted muttered, grinning.

"There's only one spot on Sirius' body that isn't completely dense," I smirked, "and I think she found it."

We snickered.

"You know, young man," Ted chuckled, "if you came courting in another fifteen or twenty years, I don't think I'd mind one bit."

Sirius spoke up from the other room. "Just hope he doesn't drop by at the full moon!"

I'd have been much more upset about Sirius spilling the Flitterbloom seeds on that one if he hadn't spoken in soprano. That took a bit of the sting out, for certain.

Ted, in the meantime, surveyed me thoughtfully. I could tell he had figured it out - smart bloke, he was - but, shockingly, he didn't seem to be ready to throw me out on my ear. "I don't think that's necessarily such a stumbling block."

I snorted.

"Really, Remus," Ted insisted, "I mean, Andi becomes a bloodthirsty beast every twenty-eight days, too, and I like her just fine."

He clapped me on the back, then went into a high cupboard, pulling out a very large bottle completely full of an amber liquid.

"Sirius!" Ted left my stunned self in the kitchen as he took the bottle into the next room. "Happy early birthday, young man."

I followed, mulling over the idea that not everyone in the Wizarding world was automatically prejudiced against werewolves. Most wizards, yes; but not all.

Wow.

Padfoot was over the moon with his birthday present. "Good Godric, Moony, check this out. It's amazing. This is the best present I've ever had."

"The gift that keeps on giving," I agreed, staring at the enormous bottle of Firewhiskey.

"I'm cracking this baby open tonight," Sirius said, clutching the booze to his chest with an expression of glee.

Ted guffawed. "Share it with Remus. I think both of you could use a stiff one after spending the day with my princess."

I couldn't fault him there.

We bade our good-byes to the Ted and Nymphadora, the latter of which had to be forcibly removed from my leg again before I could depart. As we made our way down the front walk, I heard Ted ask his daughter:

"So, you had fun with your cousin and his friend?"

Nymphadora, her high-pitched voice carrying clearly to where we stood, "Moony said Pa'foot's a bloody sodding idiot, and I think he's right."

Sirius and I exchanged a look, and we ran for it.

* * * FOUR * * *

*****

A very long night: July 8 - 9, 1976

The Firewhiskey was truly excellent stuff. Top quality. The first shot burned most nicely going down.

The fifth was just as good, but I wasn't noticing much by then. By the eighth, I could've sworn I was in the running for Minister of Magic. Padfoot was gonna make the worst Senior Undersecretary ever, swear to Godric.

We went through most of the bottle that night, out in the Potters' garden (I'd Flooed Mum to let her know I'd stay at Prongs' overnight, making sure I caught her before bedtime, and she looked a bit less weary and grouchy, but I figured another night to let her sleep and cool off wouldn't hurt). James wandered out and joined us after a while; Padfoot was amenable to sharing his birthday booze with Prongs, since James was a bloody lightweight and wouldn't go through much of the stuff.

The next morning, I woke up sprawled beneath a gigantic elm tree, feeling like my head had been bashed in with a particularly thick-bottomed cauldron. A sparrow swept past and made droppings in my hair, but I wasn't feeling alert enough to wipe it away.

"Urgh," Padfoot moaned from a few feet away.

"Yeah," I agreed thickly.

"H'th'hell'd we get out here?" James moaned. Barely a nip of Firewhiskey, and he acts like this the next day? Bloody lightweight, I tell you.

"Dunno, mate," I muttered, shading my eyes, then grunting and yanking my hand out of sparrow poo.

We stared blankly into the leaves for a while.

"Moony?" Sirius called weakly.

I halfheartedly chucked a handful of dirt at him in response.

"Where'd we get that stuff?"

I thought about it.

Damned if I could remember.

I vaguely recalled a long day with a remarkably cute and incomparably naughty kid. Everything else was a blur. I didn't think I'd retained much of the past twenty-four hours, and somehow, I held the belief that that may have been a good thing.

Good Godric. I love Firewhiskey.

My head gave a nasty throb.

Sod that. I'm never drinking again.

*****

Epilogue: August 15, 1997

She drags me places I'd never dream of setting foot in on my own.

Gladrags Wizarding Wear, for example. Paris, London, Hogsmeade, HELL. I've never liked shopping, not that I do it often; the state of my robes reflects as much.

"Ooh!" she squeals, hauling me by the arm to a brightly-hued selection of goods. "Vintage! Wow!"

I'm less impressed than she is. I wish I'd thought to bring a book.

She's rooting through a barrel filled with T-shirts. Half-price! She is thrilled. I, too, can barely contain my glee.

Really.

They need a chair in this place.

Suddenly, there's a high-pitched cry of utter joy, and I see her fall face-first into the display in her excitement.

I haul her back out of the barrel, and she is clutching something pale-blue and sparkly and, to my eye, quite horrendous.

"LOOK!" she cries, thrusting it into my face. "I loved this program when I was a kid!"

I stare at the shiny ball of fur on the front of the T-shirt. There's a feeling of something long-buried being dredged up in my mind...

"I had Pretty Peggy Puffskein toys and nightgowns and even teeny-weeny little Pretty Peggy knickers! I'll bet I was so cute," she says, sending an unmistakably sly grin up at me and batting her lashes.

Pretty Peggy Puffskein...Teeny-weeny little pants...That grin...OH -

OH - SWEET - MERLIN ------

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor, pounding the carpeting with my fist and, barely able to breathe for laughing so hard.

It's been a long time - probably not since before Prongs died, in fact - that I've been banned from any establishment in Hogsmeade. Getting chucked out of bars was a damn shame, but I'm not that fussed about having been asked to leave Gladrags Wizarding Wear. It's rather a relief, really.

Nymphadora's still staring at me in utter shock, not minding her feet, so she's stumbling a fair bit and yanking on my arm to keep her balance every few paces.

And I'm still bawling with laughter, hoping I'll come down before too much longer. It's rather embarassing.

Then again, it can't be as mortifying as having to chase down, in public as well, a four-year-old clad only in ink whiskers and her sparkly pants.

I'm finally calming a bit. Nymphadora can hear me breathing a bit more steadily. She asks, tentatively, "Remus?"

I glance at her. She still sucks her thumb while she sleeps. I close my eyes and will myself not to burst into hysterical laughter once more.

Then, I have an idea. She has a permanent-ink pen of her own. She's used it on her clothing (and on mine, mind you), and I know she carries it with her everywhere.

I reach swiftly into her pocket and grab it. After I've uncapped it behind my back, I hold her chin and give her a quick kiss. She looks surprised. I'm not usually that demonstrative in public, after all.

She's much more shocked when I take the pen to her face and give her a lovely set of kneazle whiskers.

"You're still the cutest thing I've ever seen," I tell her, and heedless of the baffled expression on her inky face, I grab her hand and lead her down the street.

"It's a lovely day for visiting, you know."

"Er...Remus? Darling?...Have you gone mad?"

"No. Quite the contrary, in fact. Now, let's go see your father."

THE END