The Upbringing of Harry Black

"James?"

For one second Remus Lupin forgot everything about who he was. There was no past, no present, no Hogwarts or New York, and there certainly wasn't any future. There was only this boy, skinny and dark-haired and almost exactly like James Potter.

Remus soon found himself again, however. He began to notice the boy's flaws. Well, not flaws exactly, but he didn't look exactly like James. He had a smudge or a scar of some sort on his forehead and he wore jeans and a Greenday T-shirt, which James never would have worn. He was a sweaters and rugby-shirts man.

And then Remus noticed his eyes. He had seen them before.

"Harry."

"Hm...what?" said Remus, shaken out of his own head.

"My name, it's Harry," said the boy. He was looking at Remus the way one usual looks at an unwashed hobo, confusion and the suppression of something else, usually disgust, although the look on the boy's face suggested something more...fuzzy.

"Oh, yes," said Remus, remembering the cheap paperback before him. He scratched off his pen name, the pointed nib of the pen marking the soft padding below the title page.

"Thanks," said the boy. It made Remus a bit queasy to hear an American accent coming out of that mouth.

"Harry!" Deirdre appeared at Harry's shoulder, a cheerful blue-haired imp. "Glad you got out here." She turned to Remus as she forced the teenager forward. "Remus, I want you to meet my neighbor, Harry Black."

"Harry Black," recited Remus like a child learning a short poem.

"Yeah," said the boy. A slow red flush started across his cheeks and went all the way up to his ears. "Um, I really like your books."

"He's usually a bit more eloquent than this," insisted Deirdre, nonplussed by the boy's lack of vocal skills. "He's just a bit stunned, I guess."

"Oh," said Remus, voice deadpan, all enthusiasm gone due to the fact that Remus had been shocked stupid.

"Well, I've gotta go," mumbled the boy, eyes darting around for an escape or a distraction. "My uncle...erm, thanks for the book."

Ducking out of Deirdre's grip, he headed for the door, skateboard tucked under his arm.

"Wait," called Remus. Harry turned back around with a look of confusion and hope. "Do you want to get some, um, bubble tea?"

* * *

Fifteen years before:

"Relax, Moony, it's just a baby."

Remus looked down at the small plush wolf toy he clutched in between his faintly scarred hands, as if it were a little life preserver and not a cheap stuffed animal he'd picked up at the drugstore on his way to Sirius's.

"It's not just a baby, Padfoot," he replied. "It's James's and Lily's baby."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, which had begun to grow a bit raggedy.

"Yeah, you've got a point there," he said.

Inside of Remus bloomed a sort of happiness he thought he'd never felt, that he thought didn't exist. He thought he would never be as happy as he had been at Hogwarts, that nothing could compare to the rush of being young and sleep deprived because you had spent the night out with your best friends, but there it was. He felt like it was almost his child he was going to see. One of his best friends had just had a new baby, and Remus was beginning to realize he was finally an adult.

Fall was beginning to come around, the mild heat of the English summer fading away to a brisk climate of sweaters, school books, and fallen leaves. The sun was out, bringing more crispness to Godric's hollow. Breathing in the cold exhilarating air, Remus was surprised to look up and find himself at the doorstep of the Potters.

Sirius rang the doorbell, and there was that awkward pause before the door opened when Remus began to wonder if he'd made a mistake, if the day was wrong and the Potters were out, or that irrational fear that they just wouldn't open the door. Every thought and worry went away, however, when the door opened and the smiling, beaming, radiantly happy face of James Potter appeared in the doorway.

"Hi," he said.

Sirius didn't need any more of a welcome before he threw his arm around James's shoulder. With a laugh James replied with a manly slap on the back and stepped back to let Sirius inside. Remus gave James a much less energetic hug then followed.

"You lucky bastard," said Sirius, grinning at the elegant but slightly stuffy living room, decorated with tasteful crimson couches stitched with gold thread and a twisted chandelier. "Look what you've got."

"A house my parents passed on to me?" replied James.

"No, you've got that...that one thing. What's it called again?"

"You've got a family," said Remus, finishing Sirius's chaotic thought.

"Yeah, that thing."

James smiled a shy grin that was obviously happy, but Remus couldn't decipher what exactly he was happy about.

"I never thought I'd hear you two congratulating me on having a family," he said.

This sort of sentence could have brought on an awkward pause if Sirius hadn't strode forward, shoving a small brown parcel at James.

"I got something for the baby," he said. James took it, studied the package, then looked back at Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

"Fireworks, Sirius?"

"They're very small fireworks," replied Sirius. "Besides, they're non-burning. Don't babies like sparks and colors and that sort of thing, anyway?"

James just chuckled and put then down on the coffee table. "I'll save them for when Harry's a bit older." Standing back to his tall lanky height, he glanced at Remus. "Well, Moony, is that for Harry or have you begun to regress back to your childhood?"

"Now James, his name is Snuffles and Remus doesn't like it when you talk about him like he's not real."

"Shut up, Sirius," said Remus. To James, "Yes, it's for Harry."

"Well, c'mon then," said James. "Lily and Harry are in the nursery."

Remus and Sirius followed James up the stairs and down a hall to a bright white room filled with brightly colored toys and books. Remus's first impression was that it was heaven, for the first thing that drew his eyes was the hazy gauze hanging over the room, accentuated by the sunlight peeking in through the window, as if it too wanted to see the new baby.

Huddled in a chair in the room, the picture of young maternity, was Lily Evans Potter. She smiled, looking at the silly men.

"Look, Harry," she cooed to the bundle in her arms, tilting the blankets up so the baby could see them and they the baby. "Look at who's come to see you."

The sleep, puffy face cracked open, and Remus felt something like thrill and fear, for looking at him were two identical sets of emerald-green eyes.

* * *

"I don't really like bubble tea," said Harry. "The tapioca's weird."

"Oh," said Remus.

"But, um, there's really good hotdog stand nearby," Harry continued. "We could walk there when you're done."

"I'm done now, I think. Deirdre?" He turned to his editor, who seemed lost in her own world.

"What? Oh, sure, go ahead, I'll meet up with you-SPIDER!"

Remus watched, stunned, as Deidre picked up the nearest paperback book and flung it at a wall.

"Arachnophobia," Deirdre replied to Remus's quizzical expression. "Go on, really, I'll take care of everything here."

"Right," said Remus. He tucked a few random bits of paper or pens into his briefcase and headed to the door and to Harry.

"Hey, what about my-" demanded the androgynous preteen in the purple beret.

"Talk to the blue-haired woman," answered Remus and then he and Harry were on the streets.

*

Any glimpse or wisp of a cool breeze that day had been burned away by the bright sun forcing its way through the smog and turning the asphalt and concrete into hotplates. Remus and Harry had walked about half a block before Remus had to stop and wipe the salty acrid sweat out of his eyes.

"You might want to lose the jacket," suggested Harry, watching Remus's suffering through his t-shirted comfort.

"Good point," said Remus, shedding his layer of tweed. They continued on in the awkward sort of silence between two people who have little to talk about, but want to talk nevertheless.

"Um, I like your book," Harry said at last.

"Why?" demanded Remus before he could think about the words.

"Well, they're fun," answered Harry. "I'm guessing you don't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Erm," said Harry. "Well, there was this kid in my class who used to know you said he thought you were ashamed of them."

"A kid who used to know me?" asked Remus, trying to think of who in all of New York City who would have an inkling of who he really was.

"Yeah. A kid you taught. At Hogwarts."

Remus nodded along with a complacent sort of expression until the full weight of Harry's words sunk in. He stopped again, squinting at Harry through the bright afternoon sunshine.

"Oh. You're a wizard, then," said Remus, running a hand through his hair. He was disgusted to pull it away with the moisture from the humidity collected around his scalp.

"Yeah," replied Harry, stopping also and scuffing the edge of his black Converses on the sidewalk. "I guess you are, too."

Ah, yes, another piece of pie in this mysterious pie tin, thought Remus.

"So that wasn't a bit of information you originally knew," stated Remus, brushing the thought of pies away.

"No," said Harry. "I just figured you were a Muggle guy who was really into werewolves. I mean, you did write a lot about them and not about anything else."

"It's an interest I just sort of...fell into," said Remus.

"That's cool, I guess," said Harry, squinting into the small grassy park beyond Remus. "But you never even mentioned the wizarding world or anything. Just seems sort of odd now, in context and everything."

Remus frowned and started to walk on, conscious of needing something to do.

"My books are fluff, Harry," he said at last. "Our world...it isn't fluff."

"It feels like it is," said Harry, without thinking. "Don't, like, get me wrong or anything. It's just that the wizarding world seems kind of...dull at times."

"Well, if you live in a world like this," said Remus, marveling at the busy streets, the people, the bicyclists rudely shoving past. "It's all very...Mugglized."

"No kidding," said Harry, grinning. "You should meet my friend. He's a wizard too, but he's really into computers and stuff. He spends hours on the Internet and downloads crap all the time. He even plays RPGs and goes LARPing. Why would you do that if you were really a wizard?"

"I'm going to be honest with you, Harry," said Remus. "I don't know what half the words you just used were."

"Role playing games and live action role playing," elaborated Harry. "It's like, pretending to be an elf and going on quests."

"That's silliness."

"Yeah, it is," said Harry. "But sometimes it feels like that's the only way to get some kind of...magical excitement. I mean, I know spells and history and everything, but at my school they also want us to go to college and get jobs. Assimilate. Sometimes I go weeks without even holding a wand."

Remus wanted to reply, but suddenly he found himself confronted with smell of grease and a rather hairy man in a crisp white paper hat staring at him from behind the counter of a shaded stand.

"Oh, um, hello," said Remus.

"Two hotdogs, please," Harry asked the vendor.

"Four seventy-seven total," grunted the man.

Before Remus could protest Harry had fished out a five dollar bill and placed it in the man's sweaty palm.

"It's on me," said Harry.

"You really don't have to-" began Remus, but was shut up when the man suddenly shoved something brownish red and shiny nestled in a freakishly white bun at him. He took it and stared at it. He almost thought it was meat.

Harry had already begun to pile his hotdog up with brightly colored things until you could barely see the original product. Remus looked back at his food and wondered if he should do the same thing.

"You don't have a lot of hotdogs where you come from, do you?" asked Harry, watching Remus studying the thing as if he were to be tested over it.

"I'm sure I've had it once. Maybe," replied Remus.

"Here's a hint: eat it, and don't think too hard about where all the meat came from," advised Harry with a grin. He immediately took his own advice and devoured half of the hotdog the way only a sixteen-year-old boy can, managing to pour down the five-inch thick layer of condiments into his mouth without spilling any of it.

Awed, Remus raised his hot dog and nibbled off a bit. An image of sizzling fat and clogged arteries popped into his head, but otherwise his taste buds were quite pleased.

"Mm," said Remus. "Delicious, although very greasy."

"Thass the bes' pa," said Harry through a mouthful of food.

"I'm beginning to understand why so many of you Americans are so obese."

Harry just smiled and polished off the last of the hotdog.

"Yum."

All of a sudden, an electronic melody along the lines of, "I don't want to be an American idiot," radiated from Harry's pants.

"Ah," said Harry, pulling out a silver cell phone. "Sorry," he apologized to Remus, "it's my uncle."

"Go ahead," said Remus, bemused. He'd never seen a wizard use a cell phone before, or any phone, for that matter.

Harry flipped open the phone and the song stopped, but Remus could here a little high-pitched phone babble coming from it still.

"Sorry," said Harry to the little hunk of plastic. "Yeah, I stopped for a hotdog...no, I'll be into the café in an hour. Okay, love you too, bye." With a delightful click, he snapped it shut. "I have to go to work; my uncle's getting figety," Harry said to Remus.

"Oh, that's fine," said Remus, although he was a bit disappointed. He wanted to know about the boy's parents, despite how foolish the thought made him feel.

"You can stop by the café sometime though. You know, if you, erm, want," said Harry, the open nature he had developed receding back into shyness. "We've got good coffee. And, erm, bubble tea."

"Well, I do enjoy...coffee," said Remus, growing timid also now that their conversation was now at a close.

"I'll give you the name and address," said Harry, grabbing a napkin from the hotdog vendor and pulling a pen out of his pocket. He scrawled a little note then handed it to Remus. "You know, you might know something about my uncle," said Harry, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes to reveal an odd little scar. "He went to Hogwarts, too."

Remus looked down at the flimsy napkin in his hand. Four words leapt out at him, blazing in blue ink into his memory.

The Dark Dog Café.

"I wonder if I might," he answered.

* * *

Remus Lupin stepped inside of hotel room and began to scream.

"Gahh-ahhhhh-eee-SNAPE!"

Severus Snape, who was seated quite comfortably on the loveseat of Remus's suite, looked up from the bag of chocolate-covered cherries he had been intent on devouring.

"Oh. Took you long enough," he replied.

Remus, who had fallen back against the door due to a mild heart attack, continued to stare at Snape, unconvinced that the bat-like potions master was really sitting in his hotel room eating overpriced minibar snacks.

"Severus, why the hell are you here?" he demanded, straightening up and trying to regain something vaguely resembling composure.

Instead of speaking, Snape reached inside his billowing black (and unseasonably warm) cloak and pulled out a pint-sized bottle filled with some blackish potion that could only be described as "icky."

"A month's supply of Wolfsbane Potion," explained Snape. "I couldn't find a strong enough albatross to carry it, so I Flooed it here myself."

"Thank you," said Remus, incredulous that Snape had done something that could be vaguely described as nice.

"Don't thank me," spat Snape, hearing Remus's tone and affronted at the insult to his reputation. He got up and went over to the window, glaring down his large nose at the bustling city below. "Professor Dumbledore insisted. If it had been up to me, I would have left the city to you. It's not like you would have eaten anyone important."

"Severus, have I ever complimented you on your tact?"

"No."

"Well, that would be because you haven't got any."

Snape ignored the insult and turned back to Remus to finish his instructions.

"Make sure you keep in refrigerated until the week before the full moon, then warm it up in one of those dingy things."

"Microwaves?" asked Remus, raising an eyebrow.

"Whatever. What I gave you should be enough to last you until your return to Hogwarts."

He started towards the door, an entirely pointless gesture since he was going to Apparate, but Remus grabbed a hold of the edge of his cloak to stop him.

"I'm not returning to Hogwarts," he said.

Snape stopped to turn and confront Remus with a dark-browed glare.

"That's not the impression the Headmaster is giving," he said.

Remus drew back, as stunned as if Snape had slapped him lightly in the face.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Dumbledore has left your position empty, and has mailed out the school lists with all your course books on them," said Snape. "He seems sure you will come back."

"Well, I'm not," said Remus, frowning.

"Don't pout at me about it. Personally, I prefer it this way." Snape went over to the lacquered desk and picked up a cheap pad of hotel stationary and plastic pen. "Anyway, here is the name of a decent apothecary here, should you actually remain in this godforsaken place. They're not as good as me, obviously, but they should do."

"Fantastic," said Remus as Snape scribbled away. "Going to do any sightseeing?" he asked, cheering himself with the image of dark-cloaked Snape on a ferry to the Statue of Liberty.

"God no," said Snape as he finished the address with a flourish. He dropped the pen and paper with a wrinkled nose of disdain. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, reaching once again into his multi-purpose cloak. "A student ran into me at the Owl Post and asked me to give this to you." He pulled out a thick white envelope and handed it to Remus, who examined the address written on the front in heavy black no-nonsense handwriting. "Obviously the little brat wanted to save on the stamp fee."

"Oh. Yes," said Remus, frowning at the envelope. He had the strangest of feelings, both fuzzy and extremely unpleasant at the same time. It was as if someone had taken his stomach, turned it inside out, and was now using it as a hand puppet.

"I'll be taking these." Snape stooped around Remus to pluck the packet of cherries from the coffee table.

"Be sure to visit again," instructed Remus with mock pleasantry.

"Don't worry. I won't."

With the tiniest of pops, the potions master was gone.

* * *

Although just about every other teenager Harry knew thought working in a coffee shop was the best shop ever, Harry just couldn't understand what they were talking about. For one thing, he'd been helping out for as long as he could imagine, and for another it was tedious work, the lattes and espressos all blending together in one caffeinated mix. The café was even more boring when it was only Scott working with him and the university was out. Without the sleep-deprived college students the only patrons were the angsty black-clad teenage crowd toting messenger bags and the faces full of eyeliner. There were some adults, but in order to keep the bored high schoolers happy Scott played a guitar-heavy angry music that left Harry with a headache and a strange desire to cry.

"I've had it," declared Scott a couple of hours into Harry's shift. "If I have to put up with another ten minutes of this music I'm going to buy fake plastic-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting pants, and then where will we all be?"

"You're the one that decided the play this," pointed out Harry.

"Not by choice," answered Scott, leaning his elbows on the counter and running his hands through his hair. Harry was disgusted to spy two girls his age with more metal in the self-inflicted holes in their faces than a box of needles pointing and giggling and his uncle's protruding butt. "Ugh, and I thought that once I owned a shop I could play music I liked."

"Celine Dion?"

"Shhhh!" hissed Scott. "That's not public talk, Harry. Now cover for me while I take a cigarette break." He ducked out of his apron and headed for the door to the back alley, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket.

"You're setting a bad example for me," Harry called after him.

"Deal with it. Maybe you could turn it into some sort of a song like these people did."

Harry just shook his head at his uncle and went back to finishing the drink he was making. After a few seconds of whirling the mixture around and topping off the foamy stuff with a squirt of whip cream, he stuck a lid on top of the cup and pushed it across the counter, shouting, "Espresso Machiato!"

The drink's rightful owner-a skeletal boy in a Sex Pistol's T-shirt-reached for the cup just as a blonde boy swooped down and snatched it away.

"Mmmm," said the blonde, devouring the drink. A little pink tongue darted out to like away the whip cream, as if he were a pleased cat. "Much better than this morning."

"You fucking fucktard!" screeched Skeletor, using up the range of his vocabulary to express his outrage. "That was my fucking drink!"

The blonde pilferer finished swallowing down the espresso, unperturbed by the other boy's yells. He turned to the boy with a confused and horrified expression on his face, as if something had crawled out from under his shoe and started talking to him. "Is there are reason why you're talking to me," he said, voice so lazy it was almost a sigh.

Skeletor moved to grab the blonde boy but Harry stuck out an arm and grasped his brittle bicep.

"I'll make you a new one, free," said Harry. With his other hand, he fished out a few quarters and clicked them down on the counter. "Have a pool game on the house."

Skeletor glared at Harry, then took the quarters and sulked away to the adjoining rec room, leaving Harry to deal with the thief.

"You'll have to pay for that," said Harry.

"Excuse me, waiter or whatever you are," said the blonde boy, completely ignoring what Harry had said, "could you find my paper for me? I left it here this morning."

"Did you hear me?" Harry demanded, annoyed.

"Yes, I just choose to ignore you," quipped the boy. "Now, about my paper..."

"Just go buy another one," snapped Harry. "Or steal it."

"I can't. That was my favorite paper. I called him Mr. Newsie."

Harry closed his eyes, pressing his eyeballs in with his fingers so colorful sparks exploded against his lids.

"I don't have your fucking paper," he said. "Now pay for the goddamn drink."

All he got was silence, with the exception of the sobbing music.

"Hello," said Harry, opening his eyes. A hot wave of fury prickled up his spine as he realized the boy was gone.

* * *

Sirius felt every muscle in his body unwind as he took a long, deep drag from his cigarette. Even though he knew cigarettes would kill him (or at least they would if he was a Muggle--the wonders of Wizard medicine) he comforted himself with the thought that he looked damn sexy smoking one.

Looking damn sexy on your own can get rather dull after a few seconds, however, so he pulled out the copy of The Quibbler again and began to reread it.

Before he had even reached the byline, however, the date had jumped out at him. It was from May second, Paleolithic in the tabloid-newspaper world. Why on earth would that boy have been toting it around?

As Sirius frowned over the newspaper, the buds of his thoughts were nipped as there was a crash and a "Bugger!" from the stack of old cardboard boxes behind him. He turned around and found the towers of garbage all smashed in and two hands and two legs sticking out comically, grasping for something to get a hold on.

"Hello?" called Sirius, approaching the boxes. "Are you all right the--"

The question died on his lips as he reached the garbage and found himself staring at a very frazzled Remus Lupin.

Every molecule in Sirius's body froze except for his heart, which had leapt into a furious frenzy of panic as he and his old friend stared at each other with stupid gaping expressions. For a second the most coherent thought he could produce was, "Wha?" Then his brain started up again, and he decided to do the best thing he could.

He ran.

* * *

One of the very few perks to being a werewolf was that Remus had been much stronger and faster than his friends. Although James had always been the athletic one, Remus could streak ahead of him on the ground at an impossible pace and once, to get him to stop bother him while he was studying, he picked up Sirius and tossed him across the Hogwarts library.

So when Sirius bolted out of the alley, Remus merely scampered up from the boxes and up the nearest fire escape, and watched Sirius force his way down the street. He followed across the roofs, occasionally leaping over a (thankfully narrow) street to the next building until a block or so later Sirius had turned into another empty alley. Remus leapt from the seven story building and landed in front of his old friend, as graceful and unperturbed by the drop as if he had been a cat.

"Hello," he said.

Sirius looked stunned for a moment, then turned to run again, but Remus took out his wand and cried, "Petrificus Partialus!"

In mid stride, Sirius stopped literally in his tracks, his feet stuck to the ground.

"Crap," he said.

"Crap indeed," said Remus, circling his old friend. He stopped in front of Sirius, arms folded across his chest. "Well, if this isn't the perfect piece to finish this mysterious pie."

"Oh no, not a pastry metaphor," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "I'm in for it now."

"You know, these thing will kill you," said Remus, plucking the cigarette from Sirius's hand. "Oh, wait, you don't have that problem because YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD!"

"Remus, I-"

"YOU ARROGANT LITTLE BERK!" shouted Remus, pouring every bit of sadness, confusion, and hurt out of his mouth. "For the last sixteen years, have you honestly been sitting here in America smoking your stupid cigarettes and drinking your stupid coffee raising the only son of our best friend?! While I and all the rest of the wizarding thought you were both DEAD!?"

"I-"

"How dare you!" continued Remus. "How dare you leave me alone."

With that he turned away from Sirius, combing back his graying hair with his fingers as he brought the cigarette to his mouth.

"I thought you didn't smoke," said Sirius, meek.

"I don't," replied Remus, voice soft. He took another drag. "Feels like a good time to start."

Sirius studied Remus's back, the gold hair not so much flecked and smothered with silver. He didn't seem old so much as...tired. Exhausted. An eternal traveler without a place he could ever call home.

"Moony," said Sirius, "I'm sorry."

Remus turned, slow and intent on the ground. Sirius wondered for a moment if he was going to start shouting at him some more, but then he looked up and Sirius saw something in the fire-warmed brown eyes that made him feel as if the shouting was over.

Then he felt all the air go out of him as Remus rushed at him and gave him a warm and extremely tight hug.

"Gaaaaa."

"You stupid moron," said Remus into Sirius's collarbone, voice muffled.

Sirius swore he could hear a couple of his ribs breaking. "Remus," he croaked. It only made Remus hug harder. Sirius hoped he'd dropped the cigarette or else he'd end up with a nice hole burned into where his lungs would have been if Remus wasn't squeezing them out of his nose.

"God, I missed you."

"GAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Oh," said Remus, finally letting go. "Am I hurting you?"

"Understatement," coughed out Sirius, clutching his stomach and poking at his ribs to see if they were still intact.

"I should probably take the spell off your legs too, huh?"

"That'd be helpful," croaked Sirius.

"Finite."

With a sigh, Sirius felt the muscles in his legs relax. He brought his legs back together and began shaking them out as if he had merely sat on them wrong and they had gone to sleep.

"Goddamnit," he coughed, still trying to get his lungs back in working order. "If I didn't know better I'd have thought you were purposely trying to kill me with your little brotherly hug back there."

"Oh, don't be such a pussywingle."

"You've got fucking super-werewolf strength! And 'pussywingle' isn't a word."

Remus watched Sirius's comical dance of pain, still trying to sort out his feeling. There was still anger, of course, but it had had its say and was already beginning to give way to plain curiosity.

"Sirius, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Sirius.

"Book tour," explained Remus.

"Ah, yes, and the alley behind my café's become a bustling epicenter of literary activity."

"Oh, that," said Remus. "I met a certain Harry at my book reading. You know, yay tall, Lily's eyes, otherwise looks exactly like James. Had your last name."

"Ah, yes," said Sirius, face crumpling in a bit as if waiting for some sort of blow to befall him. "Have I already said crap?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, then poop."

"We had something called a hotdog, then he gave me the address to your little shop," said Remus. "Nice name, by the way."

"I thought it was a nice touch."

Remus began pacing about the alley, a favorite activity of his. It was comforting to have his body as active as his somewhat frenzied mind. "Why are you in New York?" he asked. "Why you alive, actually. I thought Voldemort had killed you." A question that had been lurking inside of his mind ever since he saw Harry popped out. "Are James and Lily-"

"James and Lily are dead," answered Sirius before Remus could even finish. He stood up straight, face pale. "I...I found them. Voldemort had..."

There was no need to finish the sentence. Its end hung in the air between them, more potent than the humidity and the smog.

"So you saved Harry?"

Sirius barked out a morbid sort of laugh.

"More like Harry saved all the rest of us."

"Sirius, are you saying that...that Harry..."

"Defeated Lord Voldemort. Yes," said Sirius. "There's no other explanation. When I got to their house, Voldemort was gone. Completely."

"There was no Dark Mark," said Remus. "I remember hearing about it."

"He was gone, and there was Harry."

Neither of them spoke for a second as each of them thought over the significance of that tiny little sentence. Sirius had gone through it countless times but he was still just as perplexed as Remus.

"Harry was just a baby," said Remus.

"Yep. Have you seen the scar on his forehead?"

"I thought it was just a bit of dirt."

"Well, it's not," said Sirius. "It was a present from Voldemort."

For a moment Remus just stared at Sirius, then he went over to the wall and sat down, pulling at tufts of his hair.

"My head hurts," he said. "This is far too much for anyone to take. I think I must be going absolutely bonkers."

"Going?"

Remus looked up and glared and Sirius, warning him that there was still a lot of shout left in him.

"Listen, I still don't get it and I've had sixteen years," said Sirius. "I can't imagine what the hell must be going through your head right now."

Remus stood up, leaning on the wall for support. He looked sort of flustered, a tinge of red on his cheeks. He kept brushing back his gray hair from his face, only to have it fall right back in his eyes again.

"Sirius, erm, are you busy tomorrow evening?"

"Aw, Moony, this is how you're asking me out? I always imagined this moment with you on bended knee."

"I forgot how much of a pain in the arse you are," said Remus.

"You know you missed it."

Remus grinned. "Actually, I did."

"So, I know a decent restaurant in the Underground," said Sirius. "I can explain more there tomorrow over dinner."

"More?" said Remus, a hint of a sob in his voice.

"Oh, there is so much more. In fact, by the end of tomorrow I daresay you may have more up the wa-zoo."

Remus just closed his eyes and rubbed his head, as if he could physically message his thoughts back into order.

"I'm going to go to bed," he said.

"It's six-thirty," Sirius pointed out.

"I have jet lag as an excuse."

"Fine," said Sirius. "I need to write my cell number down for you."

"Cell phone?"

"You have to get a special permit here to have an owl," explained Sirius.

Remus shook his head. "I'm never going to get used to this. Any of this."

Sirius conjured up a piece of paper and pen and scribbled a number on it.

"Don't lose this."

"I've ingrained it in my memory," said Remus, pocketing the slip.

Sirius started for the main street, then stopped, remembering something he needed to say.

"Moony?" he called.

"Hm?" asked Remus, who had yet to Apparate.

"I really did miss you."

Remus gave Sirius a small, melancholy sort of smile, and then he was gone.

* * *

Sirius was back in the Shrieking Shack, there was no mistaking it. All the times he had been there, with James and Remus and Peter. He remembered the exhilaration of being young and powerful and stupid.

He didn't feel young now, however. He felt old, tired, thin. He felt an ache in his shin and stomach and head, and from his nose he could feel a steady drip of warm blood falling from his nose.

For a moment he thought James was with him, pointing his wand in his face, but then Sirius saw his eyes. Lily's lovely green eyes staring down at him with disgust and hate, making him want to die, to do anything to make Harry stop looking at him like that.

Then he heard his own voice speaking, croaking, a whispering parody of himself.

"Going to kill me, Harry?"

Harry's lip curled as he replied.

"You killed my parents."

"NO!" cried Sirius, bolting awake. "NO, I DIDN'T!"

For one hundredth of a second Sirius thought he was still in the dream, that he was that bleeding, sniveling creature lying before Harry for his judgement, but then he realized where he was. The details of his stark little room came into focus in the weak moonlight. Any remnant of his past life had been slipped into a spelled box underneath his bed, but there were pictures all over of him and Harry, and in every single on of them they were both smiling and laughing, a perfect little family.

"No, I didn't," croaked Sirius.

His body groaning and demanding he stop this silly charade of waking up, he got up out of bed and stumbled down the stubby little hall to Harry's room, which was still cracked open. He slipped in, the door creaking a bit but Harry continued to snore.

Harry's room looked exactly the way you expected a teenage boy's room to look: horribly messy with the faintest odor of wet socks. Sirius walked about three feet into the room and managed to step on several clothes, a sneaker, a couple of CD cases that cracked a little under his foot, a tiny stuffed wolf Sirius had salvaged from the Potters' house, and little rubber skateboard wheel. He managed not to make much noise, however, and made it to Harry's bed without him even stirring.

Pushing aside the other Corgi, who little out a tiny whine of protest, Sirius sat down on the bed next to Harry's slumbering, skinny form. His glasses were resting on the nightstand, and without them he looked so young, helpless, like the puffy-faced little baby Sirius had found huddled up in his crib, screaming eternally for his mother.

As tentative as a child with a pup, Sirius reached out a hand and let his fingers pass under his godson's feathery black hairs. Growing more bold, he began to rustle up the hairs so they stuck out oddly, and Sirius had the strongest urge to just stay that way forever.