Grimmauld Place
‘How does it look?’
‘It looks fantastic.’ Remus said, ‘really, he’s going to love it.’
‘Maybe I should get another poster up over here? What do you think? And maybe we should get the wardrobe from the other room, it's a bit less, you know… creepy?’
‘Sirius. Stop. It's perfect.’
Sirius looked up at him and smiled nervously.
‘I just really want it to go well.’
‘I know,’ Remus said softly, a hand on his arm, ‘but I really mean it. I think it's perfect.’
It had been nearly a month since the end of the school year. They had spent almost every day at Grimmauld Place, slowly combing through the rooms, clearing out the years of decay, preserving anything of potential interest and trying to turn it into somewhere livable. Most recently, however, the rest of the house had taken a backseat whilst Sirius dedicated himself to a more urgent project: Harry’s bedroom.
He’d selected a room on the first floor, below where his own childhood bedroom lay untouched, in what had been one of numerous guest rooms and to say there had been a transformation was a gross understatement. The curling grey wallpaper had been replaced with a pale spring green, and Sirius had used magic to strip the floorboards of their dark stain, leaving behind a honey-warm hue. He had transformed the furniture to match, and while it was still large, it was no longer so imposing. They'd been shopping: to a Muggle department store on the Fulham Road and chosen soft rugs and cheerful bedding, cushions and a desk lamp. The posters had been ordered from Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Remus had selected a few age-appropriate books, Muggle and Wizarding, to stock a bookshelf that still had plenty of room for Harry to fill with the presents they'd wrapped for his upcoming birthday.
‘Come on,’ said Remus, squeezing Sirius' shoulder, ‘let's finish tidying up a bit and then get some dinner.’
*
The next morning they arrived on the cul-de-sac in Little Whinging. Remus yawned, the air was already thick with July heat and he could feel the sweat on the back of his neck. Neither of them had slept well. Sirius had been up all night, tossing and turning with anticipation, and despite the fact they were still transfiguring the sofa in the flat each evening in a gesture that was becoming emptier by the day, they seemed to inevitably end up in the bedroom together, clutching at each other, navigating the nightmares, whispering them away in the small hours.
‘Number four,’ said Sirius, looking again at the scrap of parchment he'd memorised a month ago and then back up at the identical doors that ran down the street, standing smartly behind neatly trimmed rows of shrubs. ‘It's that one.’
He headed immediately for the path, full of purpose, and stopped at the gate. Remus watched as his hand stilled on the latch eyes glancing furtively up at the windows.
‘Come on,’ Remus urged, following him, ‘let’s go and get him.’
He unlatched the gate and pushed it open, moving through it and holding a hand out to Sirius as he passed. He led him up the path, and knocked smartly on the brass door knocker.
Immediately there was a thundering of feet in the hallway and a wild yell.
‘Do not run on the stairs!’
The door opened, and there was Harry, flushed and beaming, broomstick slung over his shoulder and Hedwig’s cage in his hand.
‘I’m ready!’ he said, pushing past them on the doorstep and setting off down the path. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Harry…?’ Remus watched him for a second before turning back to the door. A large man with a red face had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a very thin woman hovered down the hall behind him.
‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Dursley,’ Remus began, ‘it’s so nice to meet you -’
‘Two weeks we’ve been told,’ the man replied abruptly, his moustache quivering. ‘And then you'll drop him back.’
Remus felt Sirius tense beside him and take half a step back. ‘Of course,’ he said, with an attempt at a smile, ‘yes we're so grateful to you for approving the visit. It should be a lot of fun.’
‘Right, well, see you then,’ the man said with a curt nod, and closed the door.
They stood there in silence, staring at the door.
‘That was rude.’ Sirius said, flatly.
‘Yes. I wonder if we just…’ Remus raised a hand half way back to the knocker -
‘Hey, can we go?’ called a voice from the street. They both turned to see Harry, now sitting on the garden wall, Hedwig perched beside him. ‘Where are we going? The station or -’ he looked around, eyebrows raised and tilted his head towards the alleyway across the road which was well shadowed and thick with ivy.
‘Er - yes, I suppose so,’ Remus replied. ‘Let’s go.’
*
They apparated to Grimmauld Place, Remus taking Harry, and Sirius, who was still a little out of practice, Hedwig. It was a tight squeeze on the doorstep, but they were quickly through the door, the hallway dark and cool after the brilliant summer sunshine outside.
‘Woah’, Harry breathed, looking up at the elegant chandelier that hung from the ceiling. ‘This place is incredible.’
‘Heh,’ Sirius said as they closed the door behind them, ‘incredible’s one word for it. There are probably a few things we should warn you about. Go straight down and through that door at the end. Try not to touch anything.’
They followed Harry down the hall, past the bottom of the large staircase and through the kitchen door, where light from the garden spilled onto the terracotta floor casting a warm glow.
‘So,’ Sirius said, dropping Harry's rucksack onto one of the wooden benches that lined the scrubbed oak table. ‘Here we are, my childhood home…’ he paused and glanced around as if unsure where to begin.
‘We’re so happy to have you here Harry,’ Remus filled in, moving to put the kettle on. ‘We're here instead of the flat because there's so much more space, but the renovation is a bit of a - process - so we'll have to just go over a few things - have a seat.’
Harry sat, and Sirius followed suit.
‘The kitchen is pretty much safe,’ Remus continued, ‘although Kreacher is often in here - Sirius' House Elf. He's a little… unusual - he's been alone for a long time, but we're trying to work with him.’ He ignored Sirius' snort, and went on. ‘Don’t go through this door here though - it's kind of a potions lab we haven't been able to clear yet - bit of a mess - and it's best to be quiet in the front hallway.’
‘What’s in the hallway?’
‘My mother.’ said Sirius shortly, eyes darkening.
‘Her portrait,’ Remus explained. ‘We can't get it off the wall, and she's quite - antisocial.’
‘Understatement of the century, Moons,’ Sirius laughed. ‘She’s behind the big green curtain opposite the front door. She can't hurt you, but she's noisy, and she takes forever to shut up so try and avoid setting her off if you can.’
Harry nodded solemnly and Remus stirred milk into their teas, carrying them over to the table and sitting down with them. ‘The living room down here is pretty clean though, you can go in there. The decor is still quite - antique - but nothing dangerous anymore. And your room is all sorted. Stick to those for now if you're on your own, but anywhere else you want to go one of us will come along with you just to make sure.’
‘Ok, sure.’ Harry said seriously.
‘Sorry Harry,’ Sirius said glumly, ‘you’ve just arrived and we're telling you you've come to stay in a haunted house.’
‘What?’ Harry exclaimed. ‘No way! Honestly I'm so excited. This last month has dragged. I can't wait - two weeks here and then I'm only back at the Dursleys for two weeks before I go to Ron’s. This is the best summer ever.’
Sirius glanced up at Remus, eyebrows raised. They should ask, he supposed, the pick up had been pretty odd. ‘Yes, Harry,’ he began. ‘About your aunt and uncle -’
‘Oh don't worry about them,’ Harry cut him off dismissively, ‘they're always like that. Can I see my room?’
If the request was designed to distract them, it worked. Almost before Harry had finished forming the words, Sirius was up, Harry’s rucksack in his hand. ‘I’ll show you!’ he said, ‘it's upstairs! This way!’
*
The room had, of course, been a hit. It had been funny, watching them together, Remus had thought. Watching Sirius watch Harry, his face full of hopeful anticipation, desperate for him to like it.
‘I wasn't sure which teams you liked,’ Sirius had said, fretting again over the poster that Harry was gazing up at with awe. ‘And we didn't know what you'd bring, so there’s room for your things but if you need more things we can get them.’ Sirius had opened and closed the wardrobe three or four times before Remus had taken his hand off the handle.
Harry had insisted he was fine, but on unpacking turned out to have a paltry selection of clothing, most of which was grey and strangely oversized, and so they'd agreed that when his Hogwarts letter arrived (Dumbledore knew where he was) they'd pay Diagon Alley a visit.
They'd spent much of the afternoon in the garden of the pub round the corner, quietly playing gobstones and chatting. Harry updated them on what Ron and Hermione had told him in letters, sipping coke through a straw, and listening intently to Sirius' descriptions of the nastier infestations they'd prised from every nook and cranny of the old house. Sirius had relaxed quickly, grinning at Harry over the foam in his pint glass, joking with him, enjoying himself. It had been, Remus thought, as he sat in the living room that evening, a golden afternoon. Perfect. Happy. Normal. Too good? It almost made him uneasy, but he was pulled from his thoughts by Sirius, coming through the door behind him.
‘Ok!’ he said, joining Remus on the sofa. ‘He’s all good. Glass of water, looking at those books you got. His pyjamas were kind of small though - I think we need new pyjamas.’
‘Mmm, we can get pyjamas,’ said Remus, ‘but yeah. Do we need to - I know Dumbledore is firm about him living there and Harry says it's fine but - it's obviously not - fine I mean. Can we -?’
‘Yeah I think I might have a word.’ said Sirius.
Remus looked at him. He was staring hard at the wall, brow furrowed, at a patch of charred tapestry. Not his own, someone else, higher up the wall, once part of the family, violently banished several centuries back.
‘Let’s talk to Harry first.’ Remus said, quickly. ‘Nothing rash, you know?’
Sirius blinked and turned back to him, shaking his head slightly.
‘He’s just so -’ Sirius paused, face scrunched, ‘he’s just, he’s so different to James.’ He stopped and swallowed, turning properly on the sofa to face Remus. ‘I know he's not him. I do, but I've spent a month imagining this, making him up in my head, and they look so exactly alike and I suddenly feel like I don't know him at all. He's so - he's so big now. He's a whole person, and I missed it all.’ His voice cracked and he looked away, ‘they've missed it all.’
Remus bit his lip and reached out to still the hand that Sirius was digging into his other arm. ‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘Hey.’
Sirius looked back up again.
‘We’ve missed too much,’ Remus said, trying to keep his voice steady, eyes wide, to make Sirius believe him, to make him believe himself. ‘Too much, but we haven't missed it all.’
*
They were up before Harry the next morning, and by the time he appeared in the kitchen, Remus had coaxed Kreacher out of his nest, and persuaded him to help them light the ancient range properly, and get a hearty breakfast sizzling in a pan. Sirius, who had slept badly again, his anxieties from the evening plaguing his dreams, was nursing a strong coffee at the end of the table, but smiled when Harry opened the door.
‘Sleep ok?’ he asked him.
‘Yeah, great.’ Harry said. ‘The room is great. That book, Remus - the one on the desert island - really great but also wow, dark.’ He stepped down into the kitchen and went to sit beside Sirius.
‘This is Kreacher,’ Remus said, indicating the House Elf, who had retreated from the cooker, but not all the way back into his cupboard, curious at the new guest. ‘Kreacher, this is Harry.’
Kreacher didn't move, but he looked up at Harry, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘Erm,’ Harry said, half holding out a hand, ‘it’s nice to meet you Kreacher.’
‘Another stranger in my Mistress's house.’ Kreacher muttered under his breath, backing away from Harry and into the wall, ‘strangers moving in, taking things, Kreacher sees them.’
The elf turned and scuttled through the basement door. ‘It’s a work in progress,’ Remus said, watching him disappear and pulling the door closed again, ‘breakfast?’
Harry and Sirius nodded and Remus served up bacon and eggs. Sirius had been steadily regaining his appetite and was gradually looking better for it, Remus watched him for a moment, tucking into his toast. It made him feel warm in the pit of his stomach and he tried to push away the needles of dread that seemed to appear whenever he started feeling comfortable.
‘So,’ said Sirius to Harry. ‘What do you want to do today? Day out? Day in? We can go literally anywhere - magic you know?’
‘Oh, wow. I don't know,’ Harry said, looking between them.
‘Well, what do you usually do in the summer?’
‘Nothing really,’ Harry shrugged. ‘I mostly just hang around. Try and stay out the way. Read my textbooks.’
Sirius was looking at Harry, eyes slightly narrowed, ‘you mean-’ he began.
‘That’s fine,’ Remus cut him off. ‘It’s a big question. Why don't we just have a lazy morning, have a look round the house? We can show you round, go in the garden.’
Harry's eyes lit up. ‘Yeah I'd love to look round! There's a painting upstairs in the hallway that looks empty but I'm sure it was snoring last night. And that plant in the bathroom - the one that smells really weird? And I could see out the window this morning and the garden looks narrow but I can't see the next door at all - how does that work?’ he paused and inhaled deeply.
Remus laughed, ‘yes I suppose there are a lot of interesting things here.’
‘Quite a lot of dangerous things here,’ Sirius interjected, looking vaguely - was that disapproval?
Remus smiled at the apparent role reversal.
‘We can be careful.’ Harry said, innocently.
They ended up in the library on the first floor. Remus had been dying to have a look through the books, and Sirius seemed to think it had been little used by his parents and probably largely full of dusty tomes to do with family history and blood purity. On first inspection, he was mostly right.
They set up a space in the centre of the room, Remus waving his wand to clear the worst of the filth from an ornately carved side table and setting up the tea tray he'd brought up with them, and began to wander between the dark shelves.
‘What are we looking for?’ said Harry, from behind a shelf of identical volumes bound in purple leather.
‘Not sure,’ said Remus. ‘Just… anything you think looks interesting. Or unusual. Don't touch it, just mark it with a scrap of parchment.’
‘It all looks interesting and unusual,’ said Harry. ‘Hermione would be losing her mind over these: ‘Moste Anciente and Potente Potions’... Loads of them are in French? And Latin? Can you even read any of this?’
‘Yes,’ said Sirius, without looking up, eyes scanning his own shelf, ‘although I was always a poor Latin student. But they're translatable for sure.’ Harry looked faintly impressed, but didn't say anything, adding another slip of parchment to the shelf.
‘Le Dragon Rouge…’ Harry said again, butchering the pronunciation as he blew the dust off a huge book that sat horizontal on the shelf, ‘about dragons?’
Sirius moved to where he was standing, reading the rest of the title off the book, ‘some dragons, mostly demonic evocation. Maybe leave that one where it is for now… Come back over here where the lineage stuff is.’
Remus watched as Sirius settled Harry beside a pile of green volumes, inlaid with silver and went back to the shelf he'd been working his way along. The library here was fascinating, hundreds and hundreds of books, some he'd seen before but mostly ones that were the stuff of legend: banned or banished or highly controlled by the ministry, and all just sat here in a room in a house in London, beside school textbooks and family trees. It was just one more tragedy, he supposed. All this knowledge left to rot.
‘Oh, look,’ Harry exclaimed suddenly, ‘is this useful? It's like a list of the books. A catalogue.’
Remus moved to look. Harry was right - he had found a large sheaf of papers, bound with a cord in a green cardboard folder. Carefully lettered columns detailed books by genre, in alphabetical order. The paper hummed very slightly with magic - a clever charm to reorder the titles once a new one had been listed. Remus took the binder and flicked carefully through the pages.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘very very useful. Look, Sirius- did you know this was here?’ He passed it over and Sirius took it from him.
‘No -’ Sirius broke off, staring down at the curling script. Not unlike his own, Remus noted. ‘No I didn't know. This is - this is Regulus' work. He - he loved the library.’
‘Reg-?’ Harry began, but Remus cut him off, bending to lift a page off the top of the stack.
‘There are books missing,’ he said, ‘I’ve just been down this row and there are gaps,’ he carried the page over with him and held it up against the shelf. ‘Look - no Bourne, no Bullock. ‘Potente Potions’ and ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’.’
‘Moste Potente Potions?’ said Harry, ‘That’s in the library at school. Restricted section.’
Remus looked up at him, and glanced across at Sirius who was doing the same. ‘Should we comment on your sudden and unexpected knowledge of potion books in the restricted section?’ he asked, slowly.
Harry shut his mouth and shook his head. Sirius chuckled.
‘So,’ he said gruffly. ‘Missing books. Any idea what's in them?’
‘Not really,’ said Remus, ‘but I’d assume some pretty dark magic…’ he raised his eyebrows at Harry, ‘Albus might know. We might be able to look it up. Possibly they're still here - somewhere.’
‘We’ll keep an eye out,’ said Sirius. ‘Here Harry, take a section of the catalogue and mark anything else not on the shelves.’
It took them all morning to go through the list. There were a number of volumes missing, a few of which Sirius was able to retrieve from his father's office, suggesting the rest might still be in and around the house. At lunchtime, they made their way out of the dark library, down the stairs and into the overgrown garden. Kreacher, who seemed to have cheered up a little since breakfast - pleased the precious books had been tidied - had made them some sandwiches and Sirius unrolled an old blanket under a tree, squashing down the long grass.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, Remus pouring lemonade into unnecessarily ornate goblets with the Black family crest on them.
‘So how come I can't see the other gardens from my window?’ Harry asked. ‘Can they not see us either?’
‘It's the wards,’ said Sirius, ‘the house is Unplottable. Layers and layers of masking spells make it impossible for Muggles to see. We’re here, but we're sort of not. They go all the way up from the ground to the sky. It was annoying as kids but it was good for flying -’ Sirius waved vaguely at the dilapidated shed at the end of the garden.
‘Flying?!’ said Harry, sitting up straight, ‘is that a broomshed?’
‘Yeah,’ Sirius replied, ‘goodness knows what's in it now though. Want to have a look?’
Harry was on his feet and across the garden before they had time to hear his reply. Sirius looked round at Remus who had settled himself on the blanket, eyes closed.
‘You brought it up, you follow him,’ he said, smiling.
*
There had been brooms in the shed, a Nimbus 1500 and an ancient Comet 220. Harry had run up to his room for his Firebolt, and Remus had settled himself back against the tree to enjoy watching Sirius attempt his first flight after 12 years in prison on a 30 year old broom.
‘Come on now,’ he called across to them as Sirius wobbled violently a metre off the ground, ‘call that flying?’
‘Oh so now you're interested in watching me fly?’ Sirius shouted back, and Remus was reminded briefly of a Quidditch match, so many moons ago, and wondered vaguely if it had been the same broom, knowing there's no way he'd ever remember.
Eventually Sirius had got the broom properly off the ground, steering it gently up and down the garden. Harry flew in circles around him, zooming this way and that, coming closer to make some observation about the broom or the garden that Remus could not hear, but would have Sirius laughing or nodding in response. After a while Harry hopped off his broom, diving back into the shed and coming out with a half deflated Quaffle, which Sirius speedily restored with a tap of his wand.
‘Here, Harry, take this back and give me one second,’ Sirius shouted across to him, hurling the Quaffle to where he hovered and gliding gently to the far end of the garden, rummaging around in the overgrown bushes. Remus thought he caught a faint ‘aha!’ and sat up to get a better look when -
Three large circles appeared out of the ground, growing upwards on poles towards the sky, changing as they grew from green to gold, glinting in the sun.
‘No way!’ shouted Harry, ‘how did you -’
‘Reason to pay attention in Transfiguration!’ Sirius yelled back, jumping back onto his broom.
In the end, Remus had had to go back inside for the camera.
*
Sirius fell asleep easily that night, exhausted from the game of Quidditch that had run well into the evening. Remus lay beside him, watching him breathe gently in and out in the moonlight that shone through the gap in the curtains. They had taken another guest room, down the hall from Harry’s but it hadn't had the same level of restoration, and jagged shadows from the heavily carved furniture fell across Sirius' face, distorting his peaceful expression. Another wonderful day, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes, letting his mind play through the scenes of the afternoon: Harry’s eyes shining as he emerged from the shed with two antique racing brooms, Sirius grinning back at him as the goal posts grew towards the sky, the look of pure joy on his face as he flew through the air alongside his godson. Wonderful. So what was this feeling of dread that lurked uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach? He opened his eyes again and rolled over, sitting up carefully to avoid disturbing Sirius and reaching down under the bedside table for a sheaf of parchment stacked there.
It was a small pile of newspaper clippings. The habit he had picked up last year at Hogwarts had intensified and he had taken out subscriptions to The New York Chronicle, Le Cri de la Gargouille and several of the Muggle newspapers. So far, they had produced little of interest: there were the original articles of course, detailing Peter’s capture and subsequent escape - his Animagus form now publicly recognised. Following that, just a few snippets of possible information: a speight if thefts in a wizarding village in Liechtenstein, notable for the small holes the perpetrators had come through; an unsolved murder and a missing wand in Ljubljana; even a possible sighting near Vrbovsko - a blonde man with an English accent seen running from a break in. Remus read through them one by one, eyes meticulously scanning each word, knowing there was nothing else to glean from the sparse rows of text. Where are you, Peter? What are you doing? He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He really had no idea. Shuffling the cuttings back together, he pushed them under the table and lowered himself back down onto the mattress. Don't think about those things now, he told himself, think about the wonderful things. And sleep.