A Responsible Godfather

13 November 1981

Remus

Albus Dumbledore arrived on Friday the 13th, not two hours after Remus awoke, and an hour or so after the Headmaster’s phoenix Patronus interrupted his third double-portioned breakfast in as many days.

The Headmaster was utterly unsurprised to find the Tonkses in residence for the duration of Remus’s recovery. He even cast a slightly-illegal Undetectable Extension Charm on the guest room for the weekend, turning it into a divided bedroom and "kids' room", and enchanted all the toys that weren’t already charmed.

Dora stared at him in awe. Harry pulled his beard. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled continuously. He was like a faerie grandfather.

The Tonkses entertained Harry in the newly-expanded guest suite while his guardians talked to Dumbledore in the sitting room over tea, coffee, and pastries.

Remus shamelessly pulled out his list. The twinkle turned on him as the Headmaster took his seat in the chair, opposite where Sirius joined Remus on the sofa. “Shall we begin with Pettigrew’s approaching trial, the preparations for your relocation, or something else on the no-doubt thorough and well-researched list I see before me?”

“Pettigrew, please,” Sirius spat, crossing his arms and sinking into the sofa like a petulant child.

Dumbledore nodded. “I have been charged with asking whether either of you would care to present yourselves as witnesses in his trial. I feel obligated to inform you, however,” he added with a mischievous look, “that Pensieve memories would be more than sufficient to guarantee multiple consecutive life sentences in Azkaban, in addition to those for the murders of twelve Muggles, killed in the explosion he created trying to evade arrest.”

Remus and Sirius both gasped. Dumbledore filled them in, twinkle super-charged as he described Pettigrew’s attempt to fake his death and escape as Wormtail. With a dozen Hit Wizards surrounding him, he was easily captured before he made it to the sewers.

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot collected their relevant memories of Pettigrew. They each consented to an interrogation under Ministry Veritaserum, and flatly answered questions about the spy they now knew was Wormtail. Dumbledore would share the transcripts during the trial.

He conjured Animagus registration forms for Sirius, assuring them that Padfoot’s prior existence would be protected as a “wartime secret” with no penalty. This same status still protected Remus’s identity as a werewolf as well – for now. Dumbledore nevertheless informed him that a werewolf’s testimony wouldn’t carry as much weight as the Black Heir’s, guardian of the Potter Heir.

They adjourned for luncheon in the kitchen, rejoined by the Tonkses and Harry. Ted prepared sammies all around, cut into bite-size pieces for Harry, and triangles for the rest of them. It was quite disconcerting, sitting around the Formica kitchen table in Lupin Cottage, lunching with the Headmaster and Sirius’s family. Disconcerting, but… pleasant enough, once he got past the initial awkwardness.

They separated again after Dumbledore cleared, cleaned, and returned the dishes to the cabinets with a wave of his wand. “Relocation next,” Remus said as they resumed their seats, with yet more tea and coffee, and a Stasis Charmed charcuterie board this time. Remus gratefully nibbled slices of salami and summer sausage.

“This is going to be an uncomfortable topic, unfortunately,” Dumbledore began, his eyes dimmed. “As the Potter Heir's godfather and legal guardian, Sirius can access the Potter Vaults, including Harry’s Trust Vault, as well as his full inheritance in a managerial capacity. The vaults and their records are otherwise completely sealed under Goblin Wards.

“Since your goal is, essentially, to disappear from the Wizarding World without a trace, I recommend using the Potter Vaults to fund your relocation. I have a worthy real estate investment in mind, but it will require access to young Harry’s inheritance,” he concluded.

Sirius sucked in a breath, ready to argue – but Remus interrupted with a hand on his knee. “Pads, if it’s for Harry’s safety, you can’t honestly say James would've spared any expense.” The man grumbled, but nodded and sank back into his seat.

The twinkle was back. “I am fortuitously… familiar… with the wizard who currently owns a certain magical property in Brighton. The old fellow hasn't resided there for decades, nor visited in years. He's been keeping it under Stasis Wards and was considering renting it to tourists. I’ve persuaded him to accept a modest offer for you to purchase it instead, and I think you’ll find the estate well-suited to your needs.”

He handed a realtor’s bulletin, complete with magical photos, across the table to them.

Remus examined the pictures of “Whychcote” – Home of the Witch , he translated – in Portslade Old Village, Brighton. He goggled at the measurements flashing on the three-dimensional floorplan that rose out of the centrefold. The place was… was just… it was just perfect.

The modest Victorian mansion was shown furnished with a mixture of timeless antiques and Art Nouveau pieces, which a crackly voice informed them would come with their “as-is” purchase. It was decorated in warm creams and browns, throughout the seven bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths. There would be ample room for Harry to have magnificent sleepovers and holidays.

There was even an honest-to-gods cage in the cellar, as well as a tunnel to the back garden. This is perfect.

Trees surrounded the back garden, already warded against prying eyes, along with the hedges atop the wall that hid the front. It was an eclectic recluse’s dream retreat, as the voice informed them the original owner built it to be.

And in Brighton, the queer capital of Muggle Britain, Remus thought to himself drily.

Sirius

The place was… was… too much. It was perfect, yes, but also, too much. Anything for Harry, he had to keep telling himself, as he took in the charmed realtor’s presentation.

It reminded him nothing of Grimmauld Place, but he'd never intended to live anywhere half so grand. A bachelor pad in Soho had sounded more his speed less than a month ago.

He didn’t even look at Whychcote’s price. The Potter Vaults could more than handle the investment, and Remus was right – Prongs never would have batted an eye. James had deposited the mind-blowing insurance cheque after Potter Manor was destroyed, using only a fraction of it to purchase the cottage in Godric’s Hollow. A wedding gift to Lily. Also now destroyed. He should check on that cheque.

Do not let this house follow, Sirius prayed to Merlin and Mother Magic and all the Gods.

The narrative crackled out, along with the image of the estate’s surrounding area. Holy Mother of Merlin. Even Walburga would appreciate the historic magical property. She might have even been speechless at the list of several centuries worth of wards, enchantments, runework, and sundry protective magic worked deep into its foundations and walls.

There were literal Merlin-blessed magical channels sunk deep into the earth beneath those foundations, which drew upon a long-buried Druidic stone circle for unbelievably powerful protection. Will we even need the Fidelius Charm?!

Yes, his annoying conscience replied, anything for Harry.

And Remus, he reminded himself as he thought of the cage in the cellar. Moony would prefer the “Village Green” – which appeared to Muggles to contain only vandalised lavatories and overflowing bins – or the back garden, but perhaps the cellar could be their ( second) backup.

It’s near the beach !!! the dog in him rejoiced. Visions of chasing the waves as Padfoot, with Harry and Remus in swim trunks, sun-kissed, danced in front of his eyes. Harry’s friends could join them for weekends on the shore, and later Hogwarts summer hols.

“The Fidelius Charm will protect the secret that Harry Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin reside at Whychcote, Portslade Village, Brighton. Anyone who might recognise you in the surrounding area will be unable to do so unless they have been personally informed by myself as your Secret Keeper,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Thanks to the buried Henge and the Whychcote Wardstone, the protection will extend several miles around the property.

“I imagine you have preferences for your assumed identities,” he concluded.

That launched Remus into a somewhat-weary reading of the notes they’d (he’d) written about their imagined aliases. “Cyrus Kettle” would adopt his nephew, “Harold Kettle”, and move in with his boarding school dorm-mate, “Remy Wulf”. Remus had even traced back their fictitious lineages, which Dumbledore assured them would assist him in charming a Muggle paper trail imbued with the Fidelius and other secrecy spells.

Sirius sort of tuned out, catching bits and pieces of the lengthy discussion on Muggle forms and protective enchantments. It was all for Harry, but… it was dead boring. Remus seemed to have it handled, tiredly adding notes to his parchment while Dumbledore took his own. The scratch of quills and voices droned on like Binns’s classes.

He tuned back in when talk turned to Sirius’s will. “Harry gets everything if I die, held in trust by Remus until Harry comes of age,” he said firmly. Remus swallowed whatever half-formed protest he had, clearly realising Harry’s future needed to be assured. “If Remus and I both predecease him, Harry goes to Andi and Ted, and they hold his inheritance in trust.”

I also want it noted clearly that under no circumstances is Harry to be placed in the Dursleys’ care, Sirius added to himself. Dumbledore’s attempt to foist his godson off on those hateful Muggles had caused the Headmaster to lose a certain level of respect in Sirius's eyes.

The Headmaster nodded, making the note. “I’ll work it all out with Gringotts as well, leave the Goblins to me,” he said cheerfully. Sirius should probably still hire a solicitor and financial advisor for the family, though. Dumbledore shouldn’t be fulfilling those roles.

Sirius still stood to inherit the Black Lordship, much to Walburga’s continued rage, whenever she finally croaked. She couldn’t overturn Uncle Alphard’s dying bequest now that Regulus was… wasn’t an option. Sirius wouldn’t even have to pay the Potter Estate back for Whychcote – he’d just make Harry the Black Heir and add him to their Vaults when he came of age.

Walburga would eventually be rolling in her grave, unable to do a thing about it.

The afternoon dragged on. Once their identities had been mapped out, the move planned, and Remus’s portion of the list mostly complete, it was Sirius’s turn to ask a few burning questions from his “for later” list.

“Hagrid, McGonagall, the Prophet, everyone is telling me that Harry somehow defeated Voldemort,” Sirius said sceptically. Accidental magic was one thing, but vanquishing a Dark Lord should be well beyond an infant’s capabilities.

Dumbledore replied gravely, “My current theory is that, by sacrificing herself to protect her son, Lily’s magic left a shield around Harry. Because of this, when Voldemort turned his wand on the baby, the curse rebounded upon him instead.”

“Why did he target the Potters in the first place?” asked Remus. That was a good question. Dumbledore had understandably urged all those in the Order with newborns into hiding, but Voldemort’s attacking Harry personally was well outside his MO. He’d usually left the house calls to his Death Eaters.

“No one in the Order really knows,” the Headmaster said cryptically.

Sirius eyed him. That was some careful wording. “No one in the Order” could just as easily mean “no one but Dumbledore.”

“Your best guess, then,” Sirius probed with narrowed eyes.

“There was a rumour,” Dumbledore said slowly, still choosing his words carefully. “A rumour that reached the Death Eaters, as well as myself, of a prophecy made in 1979. It spoke of a child ‘with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord’, born at the end of July, ostensibly in 1980.”

Remus mumbled, “Jesus H Christ, Merlin, and Morgana,” and buried his face in his hands with his elbows on his knees.

Sirius agreed. Divination was an imprecise art, but to a megalomaniac such as Voldemort, even a rumour of a prophecy such as that was almost guaranteed to create an obsession with ending the child’s existence. But… “How many damn Wixen children were born at the end of July in 1980? Why Harry, specifically?”

“There were other elements to the prophecy,” Dumbledore answered him, “specifying that the child’s parents had ‘thrice defied’ the Dark Lord. Actually, it could have referred only to two children: Harry Potter, and Neville Longbottom.”

“So, James and Lily lost their lives to Voldemort’s flip of the coin,” said Remus. The Headmaster inclined his head to agree.

Sirius grumbled, “And Frank and Alice still weren’t safe when the arsehole’s plan backfired.” At least now they knew why the Death Eaters had tortured them so viciously. The Longbottoms had been good people; Sirius wanted to visit them in St Mungo’s if it was ever safe enough for him to go. Maybe Harry and Neville would get along.

“You said with any luck,” continued Sirius, “finding Pettigrew would be the last thing the Order had to do. With luck. Why do we need luck to disband the Order?”

Albus Dumbledore almost looked old at that question. He always looked aged, wizened, but it was usually accompanied by an aura of timelessness and power. The Leader of the Light hardly ever looked like a tired old man, but he did now.

“For the moment, the war is over, and the Order of the Phoenix can safely disband. Unfortunately, I have my concerns that, while he has fallen, Lord Voldemort is not actually gone. I fear he may one day return,” he said.

“Well that’s better than being buggered with a bloody rusty poker,” Sirius said acidly. Beside him, Remus laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “So, to sum up: a rumour of a prophecy sent Voldy after the Potters, Lily’s sacrifice made his attempt to kill Harry backfire, but Voldy might not actually be dead, so if he comes back someday, he will definitely be trying to kill my godson. Have I got that right?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly, causing his appearance of fragility to recede somewhat. “An excellent and concise summary, yes. Thus, the need to ensure Harry’s protection long-term.”

And with that, Dumbledore started conjuring forms. Remus read each one carefully; Sirius just trusted his judgement and signed. Muggle as Cyrus Kettle, magical as Sirius Black. Two were bills of sale for Whychcote: one on Gringotts stationery, the other supplied by the realtor’s Muggle operation. He still didn’t look at the price of the estate. Anything for Harry and Remus. One was indeed the insurance payout for Potter Cottage, destined for the Potter Vaults.

Dumbledore conjured folders to hold all the forms: paper-clipped Muggle documents; colour-coded and Sticking Charm-bound Ministry applications; plus two, double-thick, divided folios with Protean Charmed copies of each. He took the folders and one of the folios and tucked them in his robes, then handed the other folio to Remus, who sent it to a box marked “Documents ~ Office ~ WARD” in the corner.

“Well, with that in order, I’ll leave you to enjoy your family weekend in peace!” said the Headmaster. “I’ll return Monday to assist with your relocation. Expect my Patronus in advance.”

And with that, the Leader of the Light swept out of Lupin Cottage.

16 November 1981

Remus

The weekend, and Remus’s recovery, passed like an island of joy in their post-war grief.

Andi – she snapped at him every time he called her “Andromeda” until he stopped – doted on her “nephew” and her “new cousin” Remus. Dora played with her cousin Harry every moment the two weren’t sleeping. Harry had taken to sleeping next to his newly-beloved “Dor”, curled up on the plush transfigured bed on the floor with her every naptime and evening.

He’d even learned to ask for “An’ And’” and “Unca Ted”. They’d helped him start the transition to calling Sirius “Unca” and Remus “Rem”.

Remus discussed the “lycanthropic cycle” with Andi at length over endless tea. He gave her Pensieve memories of his “preparation and aftercare experiences” and let her peruse the boxes of his books and notes. They read in comfortable silence while they tuned out the children in the sitting room. Ted and Sirius took over “floor duty”, keeping the kids out of trouble while the “real adults” read.

Andi took advantage of Sirius’s shifts into Padfoot to extract Animagus-quality memories of Moony from him for later viewing. Remus would hide his face in his book, knowing that wouldn’t work to get Moony’s memories from him. Werewolves were incapable of forming Pensievable memories during the full moon.

Sunday evening had arrived with tears from Dora, and warm embraces for everyone. Harry’s tears followed the Tonkses’ departure. He cried again when none of them answered him Monday morning.

Dumbledore’s Patronus distracted Harry entirely from shouting for his new family, much to his guardians’ relief. “Bir! Bir!” was a welcome change from cycling through his names for the Tonkses. The Headmaster’s arrival an hour later served as a further diversion.

They offered him tea, but Dumbledore informed them they had “much to do – a busy day ahead.” With a flurry of wand-waving, he shrunk and loaded all of their packed belongings into a single trunk. He instructed them to “say their farewells to Lupin Cottage” as he led them out the front door, casting Stasis Wards behind them. Harry waved obligingly over his godfather’s shoulder.

They Apparated to Whychcote, Harry on Sirius’s hip, whose other hand clasped Remus’s, whose remaining hand in turn clasped the Headmaster’s elbow, who held the trunk in both his hands.

The estate was even more beautiful in person. Dumbledore finalised the Fidelius Charm as they entered the property, telling them it would extend about five miles in every direction to protect their identities. He would inform the Tonks family of the new Secret when next they met.

Their first stop inside was the Wardstone. Dumbledore dropped the trunk with their belongings in the entryway and took them to the cellar to help them access its hidden room. The massive crystal was what connected all the property’s permanent magic: the buried Druid stones that powered it, Merlin’s blessings which channelled the power, and all the many wards, runes, and other sundry enchantments which kept Whychcote secure.

Each of the new residents, even little Harry on his godfather’s hip, placed their hands on the Whychcote Wardstone. Dumbledore waved his wand over them, speaking ritual words in multiple tongues. To Remus, the process felt more like persuading the house to accept them, than instructing it. He almost thought he could feel a sentient presence examining his conscience before the spells would take.

With the protections now under their control, Dumbledore took them back upstairs. He expanded and floated their boxes around the house behind Sirius and Remus as they explored with Harry.

The Gothic Revival décor and eclectic furnishings gave the home a character that Remus loved instantly. Sirius’s matching grin and Harry’s excited chatter said they felt likewise. They could see the Village Green through the front-facing windows, appearing to the Wixen in all its true dormant glory. Three massive, ancient oaks obscured the grey glimmer of the English Channel to the South. The rearward view of the gardens was wintry and entrancing.

Boxes levitated into the kitchen, dining room, family room, ground-floor cottage flat, and even down to the cellar. Remus had been sure to label them all carefully, even the ones Sirius packed, so the Headmaster just charmed them to follow his notes.

Remus and Sirius’s personal belongings went to the master bedroom on the first floor, Harry’s boxes and cot to the adjacent bedroom. Dumbledore toddler-proofed the stairs, doors, cupboards... Security and Monitoring Charms went up everywhere, linked to Sirius and Remus’s cores through the Wardstone. He enchanted a wall between the en-suite and Harry’s room into a hidden doorway, which allowed easy passage for of-age Wixen only.

Remus’s books went to the office next to Harry’s room, organising themselves into polished, artistically carved mahogany bookcases that bracketed bay windows with views of the neighbouring St Nicolas Church. He stopped a moment to admire the view from his new study, as well as its handsome furnishings.

The family explored the second floor and its attic before returning to the ground-floor sitting room off the spacious chef’s kitchen. Dumbledore joined them after finishing his charm work. The sounds of all their boxes unpacking themselves filled the air.

“Despite the obvious and copious magic surrounding you,” the Headmaster said, “I must warn you against careless wandwork as Harry grows. You must understand that, in order to truly raise a child of Harry's age in the Muggle community, inconspicuously, you must raise him as a Muggle," Dumbledore added gravely.

"He must have no knowledge of the magical world, not until he is old enough to keep the secret. Preferably, also once he has little opportunity to do so. May I suggest waiting until after primary school?" he concluded with his customary twinkle.

The new parents nodded. They’d give Harry enough time before Hogwarts to learn about his heritage, but they’d be full Muggle – for the most part – until then.

30 November 1981

Sirius

Today marked two weeks to the day since Dumbledore moved them to Whychcote, and one month since Hallowe’en.

Very little felt easy right now. Parenting was hard. Grief was suffocating. Harry was still having a hard time with the absence of his parents. He no longer screamed for them as he had at first, but he would ask for them quietly, then cry or sulk at the answer of “Uncle’s here” or “Remy’s here” instead of being comforted.

Remus seemed to vacillate between hating himself for being a werewolf and thinking he should leave them, and feeling guilty for being poor and thinking he should leave them. “If you went to Hogwarts as a werewolf, you can be around kids,” as well as “Just take the damn money, Remus,” were becoming catchphrases.

Sirius felt like he was barely holding himself together, yet was somehow expected to keep all of them from falling apart. Yes, having Remus around was a godsend most of the time, but he wished Moony would let go of his damn issues and just commit instead of making things harder as well as easier. It didn’t do any good for him to help parent Harry and support Sirius if it didn’t feel permanent.

He was trying to just take everything a day at a time right now, and learn as much as he could from Remus in case he did run off. As much as he claimed “werewolves aren’t supposed to raise children,” the man was born to be a parent. He changed diapers, wiped up spills and bodily fluids, and handled all manner of messes without complaint. Sirius envied his endless patience in dealing with both Harry’s tantrums and his energetic moods.

Playtime was easily Sirius’s favourite part of parenting. He could forget about the real world for a while and take a mental vacation to the world of imagination. Harry missed his magical toys, but they’d managed to keep his favourites by draining the charms. His toy broom and Quidditch set no longer flew, but that didn’t stop Harry from toddling around with the broom between his legs, chasing “Unca” as he ran around with the stuffed Snitch or tossed Bludgers at Harry.

These were the little things that Sirius’s childhood had distinctly lacked. He was determined that Harry would grow up spoiled with love and laughter, not just physical wealth. Orion Black would have seen draining the magic to keep a favourite toy as “excessively sentimental” and sneered, even without considering they were Muggle-ifying those toys.

Actually, come to think of it, acting like a Muggle might be the hardest part of this for Sirius. He was a proud Blood Traitor and had absolutely no problem with Muggles themselves, let alone mixed-blood Wixen. That didn’t mean he had any bloody clue how to function without magic.

After growing up with House Elves at home and Hogwarts, and then spending his post-school, pre-parenthood years at war, owl-ordering supplies from safe houses, “grocery shopping” had been a revelation. Muggles had the strangest foods and things. Using a trolley to collect things around the store instead of Levitation or Summoning Charms was tedious. At least he got to chat to the locals when he went.

They hadn’t had the courage to venture out of Whychcote as a family yet. One of them would always stay with Harry, while the other went out for supplies. Remus preferred going during the week when it was quiet. Sirius personally enjoyed the crowds of tourists at weekends.

At the moment, Remus was out to the grocer’s, picking up supplies for the meals he had planned this week. The cooking had been largely left up to him – Sirius was a poor cook even with magic. Remus was actually pretty talented either way. Sirius had told him – as he shoved him out the door with a wad of pounds – “I should be paying you to be my private chef anyway, just take the damn money and buy your ingredients.”

Harry was playing with his cloth dragon that no longer moved. He looked up – and Sirius could see the question in his eyes before he even asked it. “Mum?” Yep. It’d been a few days.

Sirius sighed and said gently, “Mum’s gone. She’s not coming back.” The usual platitudes had stopped working anyway.

Harry’s face took on a frankly adorable look of confusion, a little wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Gone?” It was a new word for him, but Sirius didn’t feel like celebrating this one.

“Yes, gone,” said Sirius. “She protected you, because she loved you, and she’s gone now.” Tears pooled in his eyes, pricking the corners.

Harry seemed to sense his sadness. He crawled into his godfather’s lap, at least. “Da?” he asked quietly, like he already knew the answer.

Sirius gave in to the tears. He wrapped his arms around the baby and buried his face in his hair, muffling the answer. “Da’s gone too. He loved you too, and protected you just like Mum, so they’re both gone.” I miss you, James , he thought to the heavens for the thousandth time. I wish you were here.

Harry cried with him, the string of “Mum” and “Da” and “gone” becoming unintelligible.

4 December 1981

Remus

Sirius was cradled in Remus’s arms in their massive bed, in the early hours before Harry woke, when they could talk and curse without worrying about the toddler. Nearly three weeks had passed since they’d moved into Whychcote. Currently, it was Sirius’s turn to have a breakdown.

"I don't know how to be a bloody Muggle, Moony!" Sirius's hands gripped his hair like he was trying to pull it out. "I can barely fucking feed myself without magic! How in the name of Merlin's saggy left bollock am I supposed to take care of Harry without magic, to protect him and bloody well raise him like this?"

His hands dragged back down his face as his breath turned ragged. "What if Voldemort returns, and I'm so out of shape and out of practice, that I fail to protect Harry? Like I failed to protect–"

"Don't." Remus took a shuddering breath himself, eyes downcast, glaring at the bedclothes covering them and willing the image not to blur with tears. "You didn't fail them. Peter failed them… and I failed you." He shoved his shaking hands beneath his partner’s body with the admission.

The words kept spilling out, thoughts from the dark of night eager to consume the morning light. "If I hadn't… hadn't let you think I would… if I'd only…" Somehow, his mouth wouldn't let the horrible late-night ruminations and nightmares fully out into the physical world. But Sirius didn't really need him to finish the sentences.

"Moony… Remus, no. You mustn't play the 'what if' game. I– yes, alright, I realise I was playing that game, but I'm talking about the future, not the past, it's… well… it's… ergh, I guess I have to admit, it's not really different at all, is it?"

By this point in Sirius's rant, Remus had lifted his (somewhat damp and red) eyes, staring at his rambling partner and letting a grin tug at the corner of his lips.

“We’ll just have to find a way to keep practising magic,” he reassured his partner. “On the sly, Marauders-style.”

He spent the day reading about Age Wards. Sirius helped him place them around the long attic above the eaves on the second floor, creating a perfect duelling range. They also placed similar wards, combined with the Anti-Werewolf Charms, on the cellar and its cage as a backup-backup to the approaching moon.

The back garden and Village Green had been protected with lunar ward runes, carved by Dumbledore himself, who had returned twice since he relocated them last month. Once to finalise the paperwork, the other to cast his additional protections.

The Tonkses had yet to make their first appearance. Andi informed them by owl that they’d heard the Secret and would “spend the weekend with them for the moon.” Sirius had replied with their acceptance and Muggle telephone number. Ted knew how the phone worked; Andi did not, but she “let” her husband put one in the house anyway.

A familiar tabby cat often prowled their front garden. Both of them were just waiting for Professor McGonagall to give in and knock on their door.

Sirius was now making use of the warded and silenced duelling range while Remus read in his office and Harry napped. Andi will be able to pull Sirius out of this funk, Remus told himself.

He was more worried about the approaching moon. This could make or break them – as much as everyone kept trying to tell him he could help with Harry even with his lycanthropy, Remus felt like his very presence in the vicinity during the full moon put the most important person in his whole world in danger, which was unacceptable.

Really, he wanted to spend the moon far, far away from Whychcote, no matter how many wards were on the place. If anything happened to Harry, he’d never forgive himself. Neither would Sirius, probably.

An owl tapping at the bay window interrupted his reading (and ruminating) in the sitting area of his spacious office. He stood and opened a window for Andi’s massive and distinguished fish owl, Mercury.

He traded the owl a handful of treats for its paper-wrapped parcel, leaving the window open behind him. The parcel was addressed to “Remus Lupin” in Andi’s flowing penmanship. Inside the paper was a folded parchment, on top of a flat box, which contained seven sealed, Stasis-Charmed, purplish-blue potions flasks. Underneath was a stack of research.

He unfolded the parchment to find more of Andi’s elegant script:

Remus finished the post-script with a death grip on the precious package. “SIRIUS!!!” he screamed.

The house, reading his panic mingled with elation, carried his voice through the Silencing Charms to his partner, bypassing Harry where he napped.