A Man, a Boy and a Dog

A/N: This was originally written for midnitemaraud_r. Beta'ed by jazzypom.

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From the back door, Remus watched Harry sit with Padfoot, on the cracked concrete step that led into the weedy garden at Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Harry had been with them for three weeks now; his trial by the Wizengamot was just days away. By now it was late August, and unbearably humid; the old house was brutally hot except in the dank basement kitchen. So after the morning's sweep of the drawing room for any further pests (whether that included Kreacher, Remus wasn't sure), Harry and Sirius high-tailed it outside for a long, lazy afternoon.

The city added its own sultry notes of hot asphalt, summer flowers and hints of garbage from the dustbins. Remus felt chilled, despite the sweltering sun that was half obscured by smog. He looked at the sky as he pulled his cardigan closer around him. Sirius had transformed; he was alert, panting in the heat, but otherwise quiet. Remus could sense Sirius within, constantly on watch.

Harry, he noticed, had his arm around the dog, idly patting his flank. Observing them, Remus couldn't help but feel a slight constriction around his chest. Had it really been twenty years ago when he'd sat outside with Sirius like this, down by the Whomping Willow, running his own fingers through the dog's fur in the distant Scottish sunshine? Time was flying by far too fast, the grains running through their fingers; this summer was running away from them, and it wouldn't be long before Harry was back at Hogwarts. Assuming he was found innocent in his trial, of course; though Remus was sure Dumbledore would convince the Wizengamot of Harry's innocence.

Harry had not known what to do with Sirius in his Animagus form at first, now that he was living in the same house with him. When Sirius had been living in the cave near Hogwarts earlier that spring, Harry had only seen him a few times, and never in close quarters like this. Remus had to admit it was probably very strange for Harry, as Sirius often shifted at will, sometimes in mid-sentence. Remus was long used to it; though more than once Harry was caught off-guard by that silver shimmer, followed by the dog looking fondly up at him.

"What do I...?" Harry looked helplessly at Remus when Sirius transformed the first time in front of him, the morning after he was rescued from Privet Drive.

"Padfoot's like any other dog, Harry. You pet him, you play with him, you teach him some useful tricks--" Sirius glared balefully at that and Remus smirked.

Harry nodded, his fingers already reaching down into the dog's ruff. "Does Sirius remember what I'm saying when he's...when he's in his Animagus form?"

Remus considered a moment, as Sirius gazed up at him with serene gray eyes. Yes, he knows everything--

Sirius had tried to explain it to him once, at Hogwarts in fifth year, when the four of them sat in the dormitory; Remus, Sirius, James and Peter, ostensibly revising for their OWLs.

Of course an Animagus understands everything completely. He is me you know, and I'm him, Sirius had said. It's like being locked in a glass room, you can see and hear everything, but you learn to act like the animal so you don't get caught.

It's rather relaxing, actually, James had added, and Peter had nodded solemnly in agreement. We can guide the Animagus, to do what we want, but we don't have to think about it. We just--go along with the flow and feel.

Remus had been slightly jealous, because he couldn't remember any human impressions when he transformed; all he remembered were the animal's senses, the dark sky twinkling with stars; the rich and mossy smell of earth, the crispness of the night air, and bloodlust at the cloyingly sweet smell of humans. But all the same, he was grateful that they had become Animagi for him.

Sirius retained all the dog's memories, as well as the human's. In Animagus form though, the human essence was not in ascendant; the dog's memories were wrapped up in impressions and feelings more so than actual words. It had been confusing, but comforting too in an odd way. In the end it meant Remus could confide in the dog; things that he never dared tell the boy directly. Remus had always secretly appreciated that; that freedom of whispering hopes and hurts deep into the dog's fur, the dog sitting patiently, even commiserating with him.

Remus knew Harry would appreciate that confidence too, but he didn't know how to explain it without revealing his own troubles to the boy. Harry did not need to worry about Remus on top of everything else. "He does," Remus answered finally, finding himself unwilling to continue. Harry glanced at him, then shrugged, not about to press the issue further.

Remus noted Sirius often chose to hide in his Animagus form, to avoid any difficult verbal exchanges with anyone, including Harry. The stress of Harry's upcoming trial was affecting everyone in Grimmauld Place. Remus suspected Sirius wanted Harry to lose, so that he would not leave Grimmauld Place on the first of September; but he said nothing. Instead, Remus sat down on the other side of Padfoot, hands dangling between his knees.

Harry turned his head. "Hallo, Professor," he said, his voice rather hoarse.

"You don't need to call me that now, Harry," Remus reminded him gently. "You may call me Remus, you know."

Harry's mouth curved in a shy smile, and he ducked his head, his glasses sliding down his nose. The dog turned his head and watched Remus intently.

"Where are Ron and Hermione and Ginny?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Out at the shops, I guess. Somewhere."

Silence fell again.

"It's terribly hot here in London," Harry said after a few minutes.

"Aye, it is," Remus agreed.

"It's nothing like in Sussex," Harry continued. Remus felt, rather than heard, the faint growl starting to emanate from Sirius, and he grinned. "But I'd rather be here," Harry finished. The growling subsided.

"Would you like a lemon ice to cool off?"

"Yes, please."

Remus raised his wand; the door opened, and two lemon ices floated out lazily.

Harry caught his and offered it to the dog, which lapped it up gratefully. Remus passed his on to Harry.

The three continued to sit on the step, Remus staring at the gnarled rosebushes and Harry eating the lemon ice and scratching the dog; neither man nor boy talking at all, although several times Harry glanced towards Remus as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. They stayed until Molly came to the door, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Tea's ready," she announced, frowning at the three of them. "Come and get it."

Sirius growled again as Molly's continued under her breath, "Those three laze about all afternoon while I'm slaving by myself in the kitchen--" and trailing off downstairs.

"Padfoot," Remus warned, and the dog looked at him balefully. They went in, Harry first, then the dog, and Remus trailing behind.

Despite the humidity, it did not rain at all that day. Later that evening, as Remus went about getting ready for bed, Sirius sat, bare-footed and cross-legged on the floor.

"You keep too much to yourself, Remus," he said. "We sat on that back step all afternoon and you said, what, five or ten words total to Harry?"

"There wasn't much I could say," Remus said, concentrating on folding his shabby clothes on the chair. "He's got several things on his mind. He didn't seem to want to talk, and I didn't want to force him."

"That may be, but he needs to know that we are there for him. Both of us."

"That's rich, coming from you," Remus said lightly, but with a definite edge in his voice. "Seeing you spend the rest of your free time with Buckbeak."

"That's different," Sirius retorted just as quickly. They both fell silent as Remus donned his nightshirt.

"No one wants to know what a werewolf thinks, Padfoot, much less want to confide in one."

"Harry doesn't think that, I'm sure. And neither do I."

"I think you're an exception to the general rule."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Harry is as good as one of us, Remus. He is one of us. So you can let him in too, you know. He deserves it, and he'd appreciate it. I daresay you would too."

A muscle in Remus' jaw twitched. "It's not my place," he protested. "It never was." He climbed into bed.

Sirius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "It is now. It's what James would have wanted."

Remus flinched and pursed his lips, but said nothing. He reached over for his book on the bedside table and opened it. Several minutes passed, yet Remus did not turn a page.

"It's OK for you to miss him, too," Sirius whispered into the thin air.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, his hands shaking. "Nox," he hissed through gritted teeth, and the bedside candle doused. He heard the faint shimmer of transformation, then felt a bounding weight on the mattress. When he opened his eyes again, the dog was standing on the covers gazing at him, his gray eyes somber and glowing in the half-light.

Remus nodded, and reached out. The dog curled up beside him, and Remus leaned into him, burying his nose in the thick black fur.

The next day dawned just as hot and humid as the day before, this time with towering thunderclouds forming over most of London. They worked in the attic this time, ridding it of as many pests as they could find, before calling it a morning.

After lunch, Sirius and Harry disappeared. Remus puttered around the library and the kitchen, avoiding going outside again, until Molly shooed him out. "Go find Sirius and Harry, dear, you're not much help to me today," she said kindly.

He found them on the back step again, in the same position as the day before.

"Hallo, Harry," Remus said, bending down to sit on the other side of the dog.

"Hallo, Prof--er, I mean, Remus."

"You remembered," Remus said fondly. Harry only nodded and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sky.

The awkward silence mounted as the air grew still, in that moment that heralded an encroaching storm. The wind picked up, revealing the undersides of the leaves of the twisted elms in the garden. Remus noted that Harry again glanced sideways at him, wanting to say something, but always pulling back. Sirius turned his head and watched Remus intently, his pale eyes clearly telling him "Go ahead, you berk."

Remus looked away from the intensity of Sirius' gaze, over at Harry's face in profile. He had kept himself at arm's length all through that year teaching at Hogwarts, because he had been Harry's professor, and did not want to usurp Sirius' right as godfather. That had been all. But he saw James, and Lily there, and Harry's own struggles, reflected in the set of the boy's features. He did not want to get too close, being what he was; at some point, he would have to leave Harry as well. Until he had to leave though, he could be there. So he reached out slowly, tentatively, behind Sirius' head, and let it rest on Harry's hair.

Harry froze, but said nothing. Remus ruffled the unruly shock carefully, then slid his hand down to the boy's shoulder and squeezed.

Harry turned his head, grinning at him shyly, and Remus grinned back, the ice finally broken between them. He withdrew his hand to scratch the dog's ruff. Sirius rubbed his head against Remus' hand, as if to say, "Good job."

"Tell me about my dad?" Harry asked quietly, as the first drops of cool rain hit their skin. "What do you remember of him, Remus?"

The clouds broke open finally, pouring torrents of rain. "Of course, Harry," Remus said, as they rose to duck indoors. "What would you like to know?"