Of Western Stars

Of Western Stars
By neutral

Chapter thirty-three - of home comings (epilogue part 1)

“Hey, Harry, wake up,” Sirius whispered, lightly shaking the small child drowned under hospital sheets. It was still dark in the middle of the night, and he felt slightly guilty for cheating Harry out of a peaceful sleep.

Harry made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat, but obediently opened his eyes. “Padfoot?” he asked groggily.

Sirius grinned with suppressed excitement, throwing off the covers and wrapping a thick cloak around the child. “Come on, get up. We’re going home today.”

Harry’s eyes widened in the dimly lit room, a mix of fear, surprise, and hope drifting across his face. “Home?” he echoed.

*

The living room of the Black mansion came back into focus with a sudden lurch. It was dustless and immaculate, lit by a single flame floating in the center of the room. Remus had left it for them after taking on the job of readying the house by himself. He was scheduled to portkey to his new home with his luggage the next day.

The thick carpets and mahogany carvings, the tall ceiling charmed with the canopy of a forest path, the grandfather cloak, now quiet from the passing of time, brought a wave of nostalgia that caught Sirius unexpectedly. He stared at the empty divans scattered around the low table, almost expecting James to dart from behind one of them, or Lily to fold her arms disapprovingly but hiding an amused smile all the same.

A light brush on his hand scattered those images.

Sirius shook those memories away, turning his attention back to the slight weight in his arms. Clear green eyes stared back at him searchingly, almost like the lingering presence of his parents. For a moment, he almost lost himself in the past again, as he pulled the child close and rested his chin on Harry’s unruly hair. Those memories had passed, the people were gone, there was a more important person to think about now.

“What do you think of your new home?” Sirius asked. Carefully, he placed the child on the ground, keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder when Harry swayed dangerously. The previous injuries were still eating away at him, and he was never really able to shake off the damage the excessive bleeding did to his body.

Harry was silent. For what seemed like hours, he just stared at the ceiling, at the divans, at the rug beneath his feet. He turned back to his godfather, gripping at his sleeve desperately.

“This is home?” Harry’s voice was dazed, as if fearing everything was a dream that would dissipate in minutes.

Sirius nodded, kneeling down beside him. “Do you like it?”

Harry was speechless again, swallowing repeatedly. He seemed fearful of even touching anything, standing stationary.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, concerned.

Harry stiffly shook his head.

Sirius inwardly sighed, carefully lifting his godson again as he made his way to the staircase. “Let’s go look at your room, okay?”

That was a bit of a trip to scout down Harry’s room in a mansion that size, and he had no idea which one Remus chose. But as he passed his stray door on the second story, a shimmering placard caught his eye. Sirius grinned in amusement.

“Remus gave you my old bedroom,” Sirius mused, pushing open the heavy mahogany door. He would need to cast a weightless charm on it later, otherwise, Harry would be trapped in his own room.

The bedroom was unchanged since Sirius last remembered it, before he moved out of the house. A king sized four poster, in the center of the room. Red and gold overhangs, that he transfigured after being sorted into Gryffindor. The only difference was the spotless floors, which he would always litter with socks, books, and various items that drove the house elves crazy.

“What do you think?” Sirius asked, probing the child lightly on the arm.

Harry peeked over the fringe of his collar, eyes widening again as he took in the seemingly colossal room.

“This is…?” he swallowed nervously, unable to continue as his eyes traveled through the red and gold tinted expanse.

“Your bedroom,” Sirius finished encouragingly. Smiling widely, he set the six year old on the thickly carpeted floor. “Go on,” he said, giving Harry a small nudge when he was too stunned to move.

*

Harry was stiff, looking out of place in his tattered, oversized clothes in a place that was even larger than the Dursley’s living room. Haltingly, legs still weak from the numerous escapades, he took several steps towards the wall, examining the velvet overhangs, deep red ceiling, and rich carpet that swallowed half his foot at every step.

This was his room? Harry hardly dared to believe. He never asked for this much. All he wanted was to live with his godfather; he could sleep on the floor and still not complain. But this… Everything seemed so intricate, so delicate, so expensive. He couldn’t possibly deserve this. He’d ruin it.

“But…”

“But what?” Sirius asked gently, kneeling beside him and peering into his face with concern.

“But… is it really okay?” Harry worriedly asked. “What if I break something? You’d be angry! I… it can’t be mine!”

Sirius’ expression fell, his previous happiness shattered. Harry desperately wished he could take those words back, but those fears spilled from him before he could hide them. To be such a burden, Harry wanted to disappear. He shook his head, edging towards the door fearfully.

“Harry, that’s not true. I will never be angry with you,” Sirius whispered, giving the child’s shoulder a small squeeze of assurance.

Harry turned towards Sirius questioningly, silent wondering what he should do. He couldn’t possibly be allowed to touch anything, much less sleep on the bed. Sirius only smiled encouragingly at him. Harry chewed his lip nervously.

As if reading his mind, Sirius placed a gentle hand on the child’s arm, supporting and reassuring him at the same time. “Harry, you deserved this long ago,” Sirius pushed a tendril of hair out of Harry’s face, brushing it over the scar on his forehead. Grinning brightly, he half carried half guided Harry to the center of the room. “Look around and tell me what you think.”

Impulse led him to dark corners. Harry made his way slowly to the closet. Having spent the majority of his life residing in a cupboard under the stairs, he naturally assumed he’d be sleeping there. The large four poster bed was too grand; it had to be for someone else, not him. Harry would feel uneasy even touching it. He slid open the closest door tentatively.

It was like a small room in Harry’s eyes, nearly as large as Dudley’s second bedroom. Boxes littered the space in stacks, large paintings leaned against the walls. Robes of all colors hung neatly in a row, next to a pile of forgotten books.

There were no blankets, but the carpet was so thick that it cushioned his feet like a mattress. Harry sank to the floor in exhaustion, sighing softly in relief as the strain left his throbbing and sore limbs. He had been so tired since he awoke in the infirmary with a sore neck and parched throat a week ago. It was as if an incessant weight hung from his body, dragging him down as he walked. He was so tired…

After being torn from his bed at the dead of the night, Harry could feel his eyes sting in weariness. Hugging his knees against his chest with a habit ingrained in him years ago, he curled up in a small lump on the closet floor.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Sirius warm tone drifted sluggishly to his ears, and Harry opened his eyes to see his godfather’s worried face staring down at him. Sirius knelt down, placing a hand lightly on the child’s forehead. “Are you in pain? Does your leg hurt?”

“No, I… I was going to sleep…” Harry timidly murmured, impulsively grasping the edge of Sirius’ sleeve with his hand. It was a reflex that stayed with him, and Harry wanted to reassure himself that his godfather was really there beside him, not dead, gone, or abandoned.

Sirius’ brow furrowed slightly in confusion for a moment, but realization crashed like bricks over his face and his expression contorted into a mixture of guilt and anger.

Harry tensed, “Sorry, I…”

“No,” Sirius cut in, making an obvious effort to sound reassuring. He gathered the child from the floor in one fluid motion, carefully wrapping an arm around the small boy’s shoulders as if holding fragile glass, lightly running his fingers through Harry’s untamed hair. “Don’t be sorry, you never did anything wrong. Don’t ever be sorry, okay?”

Harry was silent, his face buried against Sirius’ shoulder, unsure of what to say.

Sirius abruptly grinned, as if trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t lie down in the closet, there’s nothing in there yet. Here’s your bed.”

Harry could feel him lightly ruffling his hair before he was placed on something thick and soft. Harry tensed, feeling the thick velvet of the bed sheets beneath his hands. They were like the layers of laundry that Aunt Petunia always asked him to wash. He remembered laying in the warm, crisp clothes after they just came out of the drier during the cold winters; they always got rid of the numbness in his hands and feet. She caught him once, and he never did it again. Harry peeked through the folds of Sirius shirt at the vermilion dyed sheets.

“This…” Harry swallowed, staring at the thick blankets with wide eyes.

“The closet has all my old things, and I doubt you really want them,” Sirius continued, smiling reassuringly at Harry. He pulled back the bed sheets, smelling lightly of soap and rain, and carefully wrapped the child in its folds. “In a few days, Moony and I are going to buy you some clothes. Do you want anything? Books? Toys? What do you like?”

Harry let his head drop, gaze downcast, his throat suddenly constricted. Sirius was always doing something for him, helping him sometimes in ways that exacted a toll on himself. He always did everything within his power to make him happy, but that left a biting sense of guilt on the child. Harry desperately wished he would ask for something in return just so he could repay the lifetime worth of dues he owned his godfather.

There was a rustle of fabric as Sirius sat beside him, and Harry could sense him frowning worriedly. Compulsively, Harry stumbled forward and hid his face against Sirius’ shoulder, arms tightly latching into his neck. It was an abrupt action that surprised them both, but Sirius smiled and soothingly rubbed the child’s back.

“What is it, Harry?” Sirius softly asked, resting his cheek against the child’s unruly hair. “You’re so quiet today.”

Harry tightened his clasp around his godfather’s neck, burying his face against the soft fabric of Sirius’ infirmary shirt. “Thank you,” he whispered.

*

Remus had to smile as he cracked open the door to Harry’s bedroom. Harry’s small form was a small lump under the blankets, curled in a snug ball with the covers spread lightly over his shoulders. He was lying haphazardly, using his pillow as a bed with his head on his godfather’s shoulder. Sirius’ hand was on the child’s back in a gesture that seemed to be reassuring to them both, propped up against the headboard in awkwardly. His posture was obviously uncomfortable; he seemed to have fallen asleep without actually meaning to, sitting over the covers with only the wall keeping him from toppling over.

Remus shook his head with a sigh, but smiling nonetheless. Soundlessly, he dropped his luggage at the door and made his way into the room. He tapped Sirius lightly on the arm -- he was going to wake up with a major backache if he kept it up any longer -- and then shook his shoulder when he still didn’t stir. Sirius was usually a very light sleeper, but that afternoon, he stubbornly refused to wake. He only batted away Remus hand and turned away, sinking deeper into slumber.

Only to almost slip off the bed in his awkward position. Sirius blinked awake with an abrupt jerk, groggy and sluggish.

“Wha… Remus?” Sirius mumbled, lifting an arm to rub his eyes and grimacing when his back cracked audibly.

“Softly, Sirius. Harry’s sleeping,” Remus whispered, gesturing him to be silent.

Sirius nodded groggily, and Remus wondered if any of his words made it to his brain. His friend straightened slowly, careful of the slight weight against his shoulder, and winced as a distinct crack echoed through the room.

“Ow,” Sirius made a face, rubbing at his neck gingerly.

“You’ve been sleeping against wood all night,” Remus whispered, picking up a small cushion from the chair and placing it behind Sirius’ head. “You should put on son ointment if it feels really sore. Careful, Padfoot, you’re becoming an old man.” Remus grinned, unable to resist teasing him. His mischievous humor was returning around his friend, and combined with the occasion, it was too tempting.

“Wazzat? Oh… shut up…” Sirius slurred out. “You’re the one whose graying.”

“But the lower back pain doesn’t reflect well on your age either, Padfoot,” Remus retorted without missing a beat, seemingly unfazed by Sirius’ observation.

It was amazing what a week could do to patch up old grievances. Through the misunderstanding of five years and the bitter first meeting that followed, all of that seemed almost insignificant after Remus’ visits to the hospital wing. After the brief glimpse of how short and unpredictable life could be made the both desperate to rebuild his friendship with either misunderstood friends. Their friendship wasn’t the same as it was years before, but considering the extent they both matured, returning to their Hogwarts days was impossible.

Of course, right then, they were being anything but mature.

Sirius shot him a glare, looking as if he wanted to sit up but thinking better of it last minute. Harry was still sleeping obliviously, head pillowed on his stomach. Sirius glanced around as if looking for something to throw at the slowly retreating friend. Thing only thing within flinging range was Harry’s glasses, but he wasn’t about to throw that at Remus. He settled on boring holes into Remus’ head with his eyes.

“I’m going to get you back for that,” Sirius grumbled, keeping his voice low. “Be happy that Harry’s asleep, or I’d be exacting revenge.” The smile that quirked at his lips destroyed the effect of his words.

“You shouldn’t threaten someone who has considerately brought you food,” Remus said with a rather pointed stare. “I sort of assumed you wouldn’t be able to cook anything edible so I brought some breakfast.”

“You should have more faith in me! I took perfect care of Harry for a week,” Sirius muttered, rubbing his neck where it laid over a lump. He was stiff after sleeping in an uncomfortably inclined position for several hours, and there was a crick in his neck that was a unpleasant reminder.

Remus sighed. “Do you want to know how much money you spent on room service?”

Sirius’ expression melted into a slightly sheepish look, “Oh, that…”

Remus grinned when Sirius made a face, feeling exultant but rather immature at the same time. He drew up a nearby chair, bending over the edge of the bed to peer at Harry; he looked snugly comfortable despite his awkward positioning on the bed.

If Harry was awake, he’d be hiding behind Sirius in embarrassment, Remus thought with a small smile.

“He looks younger,” Remus whispered, tentatively brushing some strands of hair from the child’s face. “I know it makes no sense, but… he does.”

Sirius’ face softened at that. He ran his fingers through the unruly hair fondly, watching the child.

“I know what you mean,” he said after a moment of silence. “Sometimes, it’s hard to imagine he’s just a six year old boy, other times, it’s hard to believe he’s already six years old. He’s been through so much, but he always manages to pull through. It’s about time Harry can act his age.”

He broke off abruptly when Harry stirred, shifting slightly and slowly blinking awake. He took in his surroundings past half laden eyes, still bleary. He lifted his head, nursing a numb ear where it was squashed against Sirius’ rib, hair rumpled in a flyaway angle.

Sirius didn’t wait for him to readjust; he ruffled the child’s hair even more, smiling. “Hey, Harry, look whose here.”

Harry rubbed his eyes with his oversized sleeve, an action so childishly innocent that it made them both smile. His hand paused on an eye when he took in the blurry image of Remus, and suddenly meek and timid, slowly began edging behind his godfather.

“Hello,” Harry said very softly.

Sirius smiled in amusement, “Harry, it’s just Moony. You shouldn’t be shy around him.”

Harry peeked over Sirius’ arm at Remus nervously, and Sirius shook his head with a resigned sigh.

Remus felt a flicker of regret as he watched him. The child was so deeply scarred after his years of abuse, he lost all faith in people. But Harry’s attachment to Sirius ran deep; he was the only person Harry turned to. Remus often wondered what those first few days were like for them both, with Harry cringing and shuddering at every word and gesture, and Sirius mentally and physically shaken after five years of Azkaban looming over him. But Sirius must represent something remarkable to the child, after he had broken into the Dursleys at extreme risk to rescue him.

Harry rarely spoke to anyone else other than Sirius. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t trust him, or Dumbledore, or Madam Pomfrey; he was just shy, and painfully so. Apart of it probably came from the shock of Pettigrew’s threats, Remus mused bitterly. Harry’s outburst in the hotel a week ago was forced from him due to the situation, and after that, barely said more than twenty words to Dumbledore. He hid behind his godfather every time Madam Pomfrey glanced his way, and Sirius had taken to fending off the nurse to spare him. Harry wasn’t as timid around Remus, but he glanced at Sirius nervously whenever he spoke. Remus supposed that Harry’s faith was hard to gain, and he had yet to earn it.

Remus leaned against the edge of the bed, giving Harry a warm smile of comfort. “How do you like your new home?”

Harry bit his lip, eyes traveling over his room almost nervously. He was still, as if fearing the entire thing was a distant dream, but at his godfather’s inquiring gaze, lowered his head. Sirius and Remus exchanged knowing glances; Harry was so repressed that any word of assent or happiness was magnified several times over.

“It’s… nice,” Harry said after a pause, a small and timid smile hidden against his godfather’s shirt.

Remus grinned, leaning on his elbows to give the child a small pat on the head. “You know, Harry, you spoke more to me when I was posing as Mrs. Figg’s nephew.”

Harry flushed, small tinges of pink staining his unnaturally pale face as he shrank behind Sirius again. “Sorry…”

“Remus, you’re embarrassing him,” Sirius drew the child in a loose, one-armed hug, a defensive reflex that seemed to be ingrained in his actions.

Remus sighed, knowing better than to chide but still couldn’t hide a rather exasperated glance Sirius’ way. The godfather was so protective of the six year old that Remus was beginning to wonder if Harry will be sheltered for the rest of his life. The abused child needed that sanctuary, but at the extent Sirius defended him, he’d ever be able to understand the rest of the world.

Sirius stubbornly stared back, as if reading his mind. He finally settled on ruffling Remus’ hair for revenge, rumpling his light brown strands so it stood as wildly as Harry’s did.

“Hey!” Remus batted off Sirius’ hand indignantly, making a face. He tugged at his disheveled hair, glaring at his friend. “That was uncalled for!”

“Yeah, well, that was revenge for calling me an ‘old man,’” Sirius grumbled with a rather smug grin.

Remus glowered, but swallowed his next retort when he noticed Harry watching them both in puzzlement. His emerald eyes were wide, and they darted between Sirius and Remus uneasily, unsure whether his two guardians were truly angry or not.

“Old man…?” Harry echoed curiously, looking up inquiringly at his godfather.

Remus choked back a spurt of laughter, coughing discreetly into his hand. He had to duck his head to hide a smile when Sirius turned a heated stare his way.

“Yeah, that’s what Padfoot is.” Remus grinned mischievously when Sirius’ jaw dropped.

“He… he is?” Harry asked, bewildered. The child seemed to be actually considering Remus’ words.

Sirius inwardly groaned, but he forced his expression into one of a rather strained calm. He covered the six the old’s ears as if trying to hide him from those statements. Harry was still innocently oblivious, completely perplexed by the odd exchange.

“No, Harry, Remus is in denial that he’s an old man and is trying to shove the blame on other people,” Sirius muttered, his glare promising Remus many threats of retribution in the near future.

Harry blinked. “He is? But aren’t you both the same age? Does that mean you’re both old men?”

*

Chapter thirty-four - of beginning anew

*one month later*

Remus apparated back to the Moor House, previously known as Black Manor, to the most sheltered position possible, his past attempts long since given him that astuteness. After popping twice into a middle of a tickle war between Sirius and Harry (which was always one sided and amounted to a serious victory) and becoming a victim (Remus, although appearances said otherwise, was horribly ticklish. Sirius was not, which he personally thought, was cruelly unfair), he had learned his lesson. Another time, he found himself right at wand point when Sirius was attempting to teach Harry a rather unflattering hex, but that he’d rather not recall.

Remus stepped out of the broom closest, flicking some dust out of his robes and straining his ears for any sound. But the house was peacefully quiet; they must be outside.

It took a week to finally convince Madam Pomfrey to release Harry from the infirmary. In the end, it was Sirius who gave the nurse more trouble than the six year old. Remus paused, unable to suppress an amused smile as he recalled the sight that met his eyes when he walked into the secluded guestroom.

//

“Would you stay still?” the ever-suffering nurse snapped, prodding Sirius none too gently on the arm. “I’m never going to be able to diagnose this if you don’t!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Sirius grumbled, looking even more irritated than Madam Pomfrey. “Harry’s sleeping, and he doesn’t take to the idea of wands anymore after the incident at the hotel room.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed in exasperation, straightening. “Black, you are impossible to deal with. You obviously need treatment, but you completely refuse to take the potions!”

Sirius rubbed his hand gingerly, grumpily eyeing the flustered nurse. “Potions? Since when did I get potions?”

Madam Pomfrey pointed to a vial, filled to the brim with a blue fluid without answering.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, throwing several worried glances at the sleeping form in a bed a few feet away. “That’s mine? I thought that was for Harry”

“What?! You tried giving that to the six year old child? This is for adults, not for a still growing child! You…”

“No! Of course I didn’t try to give that to Harry, knowing how…” Sirius seemed to bite back the word territorial, as it wouldn’t go well on the nurse. “you are. I’m perfectly fine. How’s Harry?”

Madam Pomfrey folded her arms; Remus could almost see her narrowed eyes and thinned lips from the doorway. “Black, you have a one track mind! You’re anything but okay. Exhaustion, malnourishment -- who knows what dementors could do to you for five years, those unhealthy and unsanitary creatures -- You need treatment right away. I’m amazed you can still walk with all the damage your body has taken. Now sit down!”

Grimly and very reluctantly, Sirius sat again. Madam Pomfrey wiped her wand against her sleeve out of habit, making the tip glow faintly as she examined his eyes. But Sirius’ line of sight kept darting to the bed beside his where Harry slept. The small form seemed to stir slightly, disturbed by the raised voices. The nurse finally sighed in exasperation, raping the godfather sharply on the forehead.

“Stay still!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down, he’s waking up,” Sirius whispered, raising a hand to his lips. He ducked under Madam Pomfrey’s arm, and in two long strides, plopped himself back on the chair beside his godson’s bed.

The nurse visibly bristled.

\

Sirius was so preoccupied by his godson, Madam Pomfrey couldn’t treat him for more than fifteen minutes before he was already sneaking away. It grated the nurse’s patience to no end, and drove Remus to cast the sleeping charm over Sirius more than once. That was the only way he could pry him away from Harry; Sirius desperately needed the reprieve. The six year old wasn’t the only one who looked wasted. Sirius had been so pale those days in the hospital wing, he looked washed out, like skin stretched over a bag of bones. The five years of Azkaban plus two weeks of emotional exhaustion was taking its toll, but it seemed that everyone but Sirius realized how grave his condition was. It wasn’t until Harry began voice his worries that he finally relented. But Sirius always placed himself as the lowest priority on his ‘to take care of’ list.

When he managed to secure the house for the trio with Dumbledore’s help, they all jumped on the opportunity to finally get away. Sirius moved back into his family mansion, large enough to house twenty people, and sneaked into it in the middle of the night to avoid prying reporters. Remus followed a day later, and they both settled as a makeshift version of a family. The money paid as retribution for Sirius’ imprisonment was enough to support them for more than a lifetime, even at the squandering they were doing now.

Remus found himself plastered with the job of a voluntary house elf, picking up after the two (Sirius was often the one he had to pick up after. Harry was meticulously neat and organized, but the child never had many possessions. The two guardians were still trying to stock up, but Harry always seemed embarrassed by their efforts). Sirius had given up the idea of real elves after a few glued themselves on Harry when they found out who he was, and nearly frightened the child to bits. That left Remus with all the work.

He didn’t particularly mind, though. Life was rewarding as it was, and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. The remaining marauders, plus a junior member (although this one didn’t cause nearly as much trouble, and nor could they bring themselves to play pranks on the innocent little boy), fell back into the days before graduation, when Voldemort was nonexistent in their worlds.

It wasn’t like that they didn’t change. Sirius was still Sirius, but he was no longer the reckless, rash teenager who refused to grow up. There was an air of aged maturity in his actions, but once in a while, he’d do something that would make Remus fling a hex his way. Whatever shadows Azkaban left on his life, he didn’t show it. But with the kind of attention he paid James’ son, Remus couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was a sort of anchor, someone that kept him sane and tied him to reality.

To Harry, he was somebody different altogether. Remus would often marvel at the facets of temperament that Sirius exhibited. One moment, he’d be screaming at some reporter through the fireplace, and the next, calm and comforting to his godson. He indulged the child with anything possible, and was even more overprotective than the most doting parent. Every morning, the first thing he’d do when he awoke was to peek into Harry’s room. Every night, he wouldn’t leave the six year olds bedside until he fell asleep. Remus was beginning to wonder what’ll happen if Harry ever grew up.

But for Harry, the adjustment was slow. The countless scars that laced his back was always a reminder of the events that occurred, and how much everyone suffered. The emotional scars, for a child so young, was difficult to heal. He no longer flinched at every touch, or whimpered from a raised voice, but sometimes, there was still darkness lurking behind the emerald pools.

The Dursleys had neglected the child to an extent that it made Remus wish he had done more than just broke Vernon’s jaw. Anything that would have avenged Harry, anything to free him from the past.

After Harry was removed from his bandages and the bruises from his ordeals faded, old scars that had been hidden stood out with frightening intensity. A deep gash on the child’s bony shoulder that was too long to be a belt or stick, a smooth ringed patch of skin on his arm that held alarming similarity to a burn from a muggle stove…

It grated Sirius' restraint beyond endurance, and Remus suspected he was quietly gnawing away his patience for revenge.

Harry lived in constant fear of having his perfect sanctuary torn away from him without a moment’s notice. Harry had those nightmares frequently, and no matter how many times they tried to reassure him, he would still be haunted. After those dreams, Harry tagged behind Sirius so closely that he would have been knocked over if the older man wasn’t careful. Sirius humored him in those times, and would carry the child around the house through the majority of the day.

But the child was learning, slowly reacquainting himself with the new world he was given.

Remus grinned when he recalled the time Harry snuck into Sirius’ room in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, and crawled under the blankets. And the time he flicked a cherry at Remus for transfiguring Sirius into a stuffed dog (Harry always sided with Sirius in these matters. Remus always believed he was as attached to his godfather as Sirius was to him. But his actions were so restrained that everything Harry thought or said had to be read through his eyes. Needless to say, both he and Sirius were both becoming experts). They were small little things, but they still made him smile.

Remus wondered if this was what parenthood was like. Sirius and Remus had two whole photo albums filled with Harry’s pictures within the first month. It was unfair, in a way. James and Lily should have been able to enjoy it. But he never lingered on that thought for long, with a quiet six year old and loud twenty-five year old running through the four storied, twenty-two bed roomed house.

Remus opened the front door and stepped into the grassy expanse, broken only by a few tall trees.

The sound of a small child laughing.

To see a little boy riding a dog like a strange undersized horse would make anyone start, but Remus only sighed and shook his head.

Padfoot tore through the grass with Harry in tow, gripping at the fur to keep from flying off. The child was a light burden; despite all the weight he gained since his arrival, he was still disturbingly small for his age. The dog was taking obvious care not to jostle him too much.

There were times when Remus wondered where he belonged between all this. But Sirius needed him as a friend, and through the years, he needed constant reminder of the present. Harry trusted him as someone uniquely him. Plus, Remus didn’t completely like the idea of Sirius raising Harry by himself. It wasn’t that he would be a poor guardian, knowing how much he loved the child, but he was still Sirius. He’d burn the house down just trying to cook.

Padfoot bounded between trees, making the child grasp his glasses before they flew, before finally disposing Harry in a heap on tall grass. He scooped up a thick, oak branch, littered with teeth marks.

Remus had to smile at the sight.

Padfoot and Harry, engaged in a biased game of tug-of-war, was amusing no matter how many times the played it. The bear-like dog had already pulled the poor boy off his feet, and was proceeding to drag him across the grass. Harry shook his head, stubbornly refusing to relinquish it.

Until Padfoot nudged him in the side with a paw.

Harry broke down in a fit of laughter, dropping in the grass. Victorious, the dog nuzzled him again, and the child hurriedly tried to roll to safety.

“No! Bad Padfoo…”

More laughter, and a hiccup this time.

Remus shook his head. Time to go to Harry’s rescue.

“Padfoot, let the poor kid breathe!” Remus shouted reprovingly, running across the ankle length grass.

Padfoot shot him a resentful glare, but reluctantly released the boy. Harry scrambled to his feet, wild hair even wilder with pieces of leaves and grass, and fled to his savior.

“Moony!” Harry greeted with a timid smile, some of his shyness returning. He was only truly a child around his godfather, but Remus held the position as a honorary big brother / second godfather / friend (the word uncle had been tainted; Harry stubbornly refused to refer to anyone as uncle) of sorts in his eyes.

Remus scooped him up in a small hug, and discreetly started to extract the pieces of grass tangled in his hair. Harry was gasping for breath, trembling from exertion and weariness. He was still easily tired after a month of slow recovery, and Remus inwardly sighed, saving Sirius a rebuke later. He patted the small child’s back in a mixed effort to alleviate the coughs and dust the leaves from his clothes.

“Padfoot’s picking on you again?” Remus teasingly asked, glaring at the dog pointedly and speaking just loud enough for him to hear.

Padfoot barked indignantly.

“Nod, Harry,” Remus whispered under his breath, when the child proved to be clueless.

Obediently, Harry nodded.

Padfoot growled. Remus triumphantly grinned.

Remus lightly smoothed out the child’s hair, “Moony is so much nicer than Padfoot, right? Keep nodding, Harry. See, I don’t tickle you to death and pick on you all the time. And… oh no. Harry, run. Run back in the house!”

Remus barely set Harry back on the ground before the growling, oversized, furry blob ploughed into him, knocking him off his feet.

*

Ten minutes later, Sirius sulked on the grass with spiky black hair, glaring at a rather smug looking Remus with a wand.

The front door cautiously cracked open, and Harry peeked out. Noting the clear coast and the oppressing silence, he tentatively stepped outside.

Harry paused when he caught sight of the two, blinking after a rather nasty shock. “Padfoot, your hair…”

Not the best thing to say, considering the temperature of Sirius’ glare doubled. Remus made a grunt that sounded suspiciously like inhaled laughter, covering his mouth to muffle the sounds.

Sirius abruptly grinned, a wide, malicious, scheming grin. “They’re to stab people with,” Sirius cheerfully declared.

Remus instantly backed away, and taking the next closest victim, Sirius poked the five inch long spikes in Harry’s direction. The six year old yelped, ran, dodged, and finally settled on latching onto his godfather’s back so he’d be successfully out of range. The child was amazingly clever for his age, Remus mused, especially when it came to survival.

Whatever murderous intentions in Sirius’ mind melted at that. He patted on the ground beside him, and when Harry plopped down on the grass, affectionately ruffled the child’s hair (it was a sort of habit that stuck. Remus would smoothen it out, and Sirius would ruffle it up. It got to a point where people could predict who he met last. Harry never bothered to use a comb).

The ex-convict had long since lost the shadows under his eyes, and his skin was lightly tanned from all those hours under the sun. His hair was finally back in working order, smoothly cropped but no longer neat after the dash through the grass (and Remus’ hex). If his blue eyes were just a shade lighter, he would look exactly like the man he was five years ago.

“Harry, think you could change my hair back?” Sirius asked, trying to tug a few spikes of hair so that they could rest flat on his head, but with no success.

It was strange, really, asking magical help from a child. But both Sirius and Remus long since learned how apt Harry was when it came to these matters. They often found him doing performing wandless transfiguration after just seeing it once, and modifying it in ways that they were sure McGonagall would even have trouble with. Remus was beginning to wonder if a trip to Ollivander’s was even necessary. Harry’s premonitory abilities faded with these practices in magic, but in a way, Remus was relieved. No child should ever have to deal with the burdens of a clairvoyant.

Harry squinted hard at Sirius, emerald eyes brightening with an unnatural light, and the protruding strands of hair peeled back and returned to the laws of gravity. Sirius patted it curiously, shooting a few warning glances Remus’ way when he fingered his wand.

“It looks a bit messier than normal,” Harry mused quietly, patting his godfather on the hair much like the way he scratched Padfoot’s head. It was a habit he never really abandoned.

Sirius glowered in Remus’ direction, and whispered low under his breath. “Try to turn Moony’s robes orange.”

Harry furrowed his brow in thought. “Orange? I’ve never tried it on a person’s clothes before. I’m not sure I can do it right.”

Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What was that? What is Sirius teaching you this time?”

“Necessities of life,” Sirius informed him nonchalantly. He turned back to the child. “It’s the same, but you have to start at his shoes.”

“But wouldn’t that be really mean?” Harry asked, chewing his lip.

“It’s for practice,” Sirius grinned schemingly. “And besides, if the wolf ever gets mad, Padfoot will be here to fend him off. Go ahead, try it.”

Harry fidgeted, but under Sirius’ gaze, seemed to finally relent. He nodded somewhat hesitantly, giving Remus a rather apologetic look.

The wind current shifted around the unsuspecting werewolf, the grass ruffling unnaturally around him. He startled as the patches of grass at his feet froze as if pulled taunt by invisible hands, widening into fat yellow sticks.

Sirius gaped, then snickered.

“What the hell?” Sirius choked out.

Remus picked at a yellow rod that was originally a length of grass, examining it between his fingers. “Harry, why did you change the grass into French fries?”

Harry ducked his head, face reddening as he hid behind his godfather. “Oops.” At Remus’ incriminating gaze, he slowly began melting towards the grass in embarrassment. “I’m a little hungry.”

Sirius drew Harry in a fond, one armed hug with a large smile. “It’s a pity you didn’t turn Moony into a French fry.”

*

The end.