Sirius
Sirius has Remus apparate them to Hope’s place first; he doesn’t want to go home to that cold empty flat just yet—doesn’t know if he ever wants to go back. Remus, although he’s spent the past few meetings hedging and making polite refusals and generally keeping Sirius as far from his mother and home as he can, takes one look at Sirius and invites him in instead of the cold dismissal Sirius had been steeling himself for.
Inside, Hope Lupin, who Sirius has not seen since the Christmas of 1979, before she moved to this cottage along the Welsh coast, puts the kettle on before they’ve properly entered the house. She orders Remus to stoke the fire and get some chocolate out, then while Remus is doing so, she wraps Sirius into a motherly hug he has not gotten since before Euphemia Potter passed away. Sirius is only slightly embarrassed by the way he breaks down onto her shoulder, feeling safe and warm in a way he can’t remember ever feeling—and then he does, suddenly, remembering a time when his bruises were finally healed and he had stepped sheepishly into the Potter living room, apologising for his intrusion into their perfect lives and happy family. He had told them, haltingly, how grateful he was for their help, and that he would find a place to stay soon, and he was terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but could he stay until then? And James’ parents had looked at him and told him he could stay as long as he wanted, “longer than James, even, if that’s what you need,” Dad had joked, and then Mum had wrapped him in a hug that was filled with warmth and safety and told him, “you’re home now.”
“That’s it,” Hope is murmuring into his ear as he sobs, “let it all out, there’s a good lad. You’re safe. It’s okay to cry.”
Somewhere, distantly, Sirius hears the kettle whistle, then stop. The crackling of the fire can barely be heard over his heaving breaths, but soon he calms enough to match his gasps to the slow, rhythmic circles Hope is rubbing on his back, and soon after that, the tears finally pause.
“Feel better, love?” Hope asks when Sirius pulls away. He nods.
“Sorry for crying all over you; haven’t even seen you in years and first thing I do is ruin your jumper,” Sirius says, sniffling.
“It’s alright. I have the feeling you needed that cry, and jumpers can be washed.” Hope smiles at him kindly, then turns to accept the mug of tea that Remus is holding out patiently. Remus hands one to Sirius as well, who takes it automatically.
“I already cried at the grave,” Sirius murmured, “I’ve been crying every day, honestly.”
“You have years of grief to catch up on,” Hope replies, “I cry for my husband during the most random times. Sometimes I go weeks without thinking about him, then days when all I can think about is his absence. And I cry for James and Lily too, sometimes.” Hope and Lily had been especially close, Sirius remembers, both connecting over the culture shock of living in the wizarding world. When Lily had Harry, she had even written to Hope about ways to balance a muggle and magical childhood, not wanting her son to lose such an important part of his roots just because Lily could perform magic.
If they found Harry, the thought came, unbidden, Hope would be a good person to ask about raising him as a muggle without hiding magic from him. Hope would be a good person to have close by regardless, being the only living person Sirius was friendly with who had successfully raised a child to adulthood.
For a while, Sirius sits in their living room and drinks his tea as Remus and his mum talk quietly about their visit to Godric’s Hollow. Remus cries, a bit, and Sirius mutters angrily about the insensitive hero-worshipers, and Hope Lupin leans against Sirius and holds Remus’ hand, offering her strength.
“I remember first meeting James,” she says, “eleven years old and so self-assured and well-mannered. His parents, too, were such wonderful people. I remember being so afraid, for Remus, and then watching him with his first real friend and realising that James could get my boy to open up in a way no one else could. He got Remus to smile like he had no worries, got him to run around and skin his knee at the park, got him to play pranks on the adults. And as you all grew up, I saw how much James loved you—both of you, once you started hanging out over the summer as well, Sirius—and I knew James would do anything for his friends.”
“And we would do anything for him,” Sirius replies.
“And Lily! That girl was a character straight off the bat. I saw her for the first time after your second year, was it, Remus?” Remus smiles sadly and nods. “We went to muggle London to meet up, and you both wanted to go visit the British museum. You two soaked up knowledge and tried to guess how magic might be involved, and got into a whole conversation about some war or another with goblins, I believe?”
“Goblin rebellion, probably.” Remus shrugs, “there have been many.”
“Lily was such a no-nonsense girl. The stories of James’ attempts to woo her were quite amusing, I will admit. I was always on Lily’s side; when she came to visit with the lot of you after you graduated I pulled her aside, you know, and asked if she were sure about James. ‘As sure as anything’, she’d said. ‘I love him, and he’s a good man. Maybe the best man ever.’” Yes, James was probably the best man Sirius has ever known. Loads better than himself, anyway. “And then she admitted that she would have chosen Remus, but unfortunately you both were better off friends, so she wouldn’t be able to become my daughter-in-law.”
Sirius sputters at that, while Remus laughs quietly.
“We talked about that a lot,” Remus says fondly, “about running away together. When the boys were being idiots, she’d look at me and say, ‘if only I’d fallen in love with you instead.’ We joked that I would be the best househusband for her, and I could take care of Harry while she went off saving the world.” The smile fades from his face. “And now…”
And now she’s saved the world , Sirius completes in his head, and we have to take care of Harry .
“Does your mum know?” Sirius asks Remus, “about Harry?” Remus shakes his head. “I’d like to tell her, if that’s alright with you.”
“Remus is my son, not my caretaker. I would like to know about Harry, whether or not Remus approves of this.” Hope sends Remus a disapproving look, which Remus rolls his eyes to.
“Of course, I’m sorry,” Sirius apologies, “I just wasn’t sure there was some important reason Remus hasn’t told you already.”
Hope tuts at her son, who frowns at Sirius. “I just didn’t know where to start is all,” Remus says, “it’s a long story, and I didn’t think she would need to know.”
“Why wouldn’t she need to know?”
“Why would she need to know? Harry’s not related to her, and I’m only helping because I was friends with James and Lily, I’ll be gone once he’s found—“
“— found ? Like he’s lost?” Hope interrupts, but Sirius springs up and starts pacing, speaking over her, “aha, I knew it! I knew you were going to run!”
“Run?” Remus scoffs, “what are you—“
“You were going to help me find him and then bugger off back to France or somewhere remote, weren’t you, and never see Harry again for no good reason, even though you’re practically his godfather too and you care about him too, and I know you do because you wouldn’t be here helping if you didn’t, and you are only helping and talking to me because of him but you’re going to leave as soon as he’s safe because of me, you haven’t forgiven me, you don’t want to be around me—“
“Oh fuck off, not everything’s about you—“
“No? What’s this about then, if not me?”
“Boys!” Hope Lupin’s shout silences them both. “Now, I do believe there is a lot to talk about, here. Yelling at each other will not get us anywhere. Remus, why don’t you go get some air; Sirius, come help me with dinner—you like to cook, don’t you?—and explain to me this situation about Harry needing to be found .” Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, Sirius nods and follows Hope into the kitchen. Remus slams the door, undoubtedly going out for a smoke.
Sirius tells Hope about Harry, then tells her more. Well, he tells the potatoes he peels and the carrots he chops by hand—as if he were still underage learning how to cook in the Potter’s kitchen—all about speaking (yelling) with Petunia Dursley, and the meetings he and Remus have been having. He cries a bit while telling her about the nightmares he’s been having about the Potters and abandoning Harry, but he does this while cutting onions, so no one can call him out on that. Then, sautéing the vegetables aggressively (and with only the fraction of skill he used to have, unfortunately), he tells her about the frustrating cold shoulder he’s been getting from her son, and how he’s convinced Remus is planning on vanishing on him once he has custody of Harry, which is absurd because Sirius doesn’t even know how to survive as an adult in this new post-war world, much less how to raise a child in it.
Hope Lupin sighs and exclaims and murmurs pleasantries as he speaks, but for the most part lets him talk as she directs him around the kitchen. The repetitive and familiar movements of cooking—something which Sirius has only done twice or thrice since Azkaban, too upset or forgetful to do things like plan meals or prep ingredients or do anything more complicated than making a sandwich or putting on a warming charm. The knife lets Sirius’ frustration become productive, and the fire and crackling oil turns his anger into creation. It is impossible for Sirius to cook without love, Sirius has long since learned, because he loves to cook and is still inexperienced enough that every movement—especially muggle ones—reminds him of a better time, fumbling and laughing with his family and friends. Cooking is free from the Blacks, and always would be; but cooking doesn’t just represent Sirius’ independence and freedom, it represents the Potters, and the new family Sirius chose—a family Sirius thought was gone with James, but is now thinking it might still be here, with the Lupins.
Or maybe , Sirius muses as Hope takes over the pan, expertly adding herbs and spices that cluttered the counter in an awfully mundane way, maybe this is a new family. One that Harry can join, once we’ve found him .
“I want you to be there,” Sirius finds himself saying as Hope takes a taste of their meal, “for Harry, I mean. I want… Well, I want Remus there too, but even if he isn’t, you knew James and Lily and you’re an awful good mum, and you’ll know what you’re doing far more than I do. Even if you don’t see him much, I want him to have a family outside of just me.”
“Are you offering me a grandson, Sirius?” Hope smiles comfortingly and holds out a spoon, “try this, tell me if anything is missing.”
“I think only Remus can give you a grandchild, Hope,” Sirius replies after he obeys, “but I’m offering as close to that as I can give.”
“Well, if Lily and Remus had fallen in love with each other Harry would’ve been my grandson,” Hope muses, and Sirius tries to hide the way the words settle strangely in his stomach, “and I suppose I can still hold out that you’ll be my son-in-law.”
“I—“ Sirius stammers, mind whirling, “no—that’s—I mean—“
Hope Lupin laughs and pats him on the cheek before turning the stove off. “I’m only teasing; you and Remus take all the time you need to become whatever you want to be for each other. And I’ll be Harry’s honorary grandmother, no matter what your relationship may be with my son.”
She leaves him gaping after her with instructions to set the table, then bustles out to collect her son from his exile.
By the time the Lupins re-enter their house, murmuring to one another, Sirius has (with the aid of magic) set a tablecloth, placemats, and full serving sets for three people on the dining table, along with the food he and Hope had made.
“Oh, where did you get those candles?” Hope asks as they approach.
“Conjured them; hope you don’t mind,” Sirius replied, lighting the last of the three, “I know you’ve got your eclectic lights—“
“Electric,” Remus corrects under his breath.
“Electric,” Sirius repeats dutifully, “but I’ve always been partial to candlelight, especially when it’s gotten dark.”
“It’s beautiful,” Hope says, “thank you.”
Sirius shrugs uncomfortably. In truth, it had taken a while to get the type of candles he’d been going for; the first few were too short or thick or potentially explosive (just the one; he’s a bit embarrassed by how many more sparklers he must’ve conjured in his youth for it to be easier than regular candles). But he’d finally accomplished it, even though it had been more difficult than it should have been. Of course, Hope, being a muggle, has no inkling how easy or hard conjuring anything is supposed to be, and as such the compliment does not mean much toward his accomplishments or lack thereof.
“Well, I suppose dinner is served, then!” Hope exclaims as they move to sit, Sirius and Remus across from one another.
“Thank you both for dinner,” Remus says in that soft way he does when he’s trying to be polite and unassuming.
Sirius hates polite and unassuming Remus, not least because of how fake it is, but for the sake of dinner and Hope Lupin’s happiness, he decides not to instigate.
“Thank you for letting me help, Hope,” he says instead, “I missed cooking with someone. Reminded me of learning how to cook with the Potters.”
“James’ parents taught you?” Hope asks, and Sirius nods.
Sirius explains to Hope how, lost and broken after leaving home, Sirius had taken to wandering around and watching the Potters as they interacted together. He had noticed Euphemia had cooked for the family every day, something his mother would never have been caught dead doing—he was barely certain Walburga Black knew what a kitchen was, much less where it was in her house—and, curious, Sirius had asked Mum to teach him. She had, gladly, and then when James complained that he was bored and that cooking was women’s work, she had roped her son into learning as well, somehow managing to teach both how to make a meal and not to be a sexist pig. James had never been a brilliant cook, and Lily had, but he made sure to prepare food for them as often as she did after they married. As two men who were each respectively as good (or not) at cooking as Lily and James, this arrangement had amused Sirius and Remus to no end, because Remus had rarely turned on the stove except to make eggs, while Sirius had regularly turned out multi-course meals.
“I can cook now,” Remus insists at Hope’s laughter, “I’m just not very good at it. It’s not fun, when you’re hungry and have no food and have to go through the hassle of cooking something edible.” Hope tuts at her son.
“I’m still getting back into cooking,” Sirius reassures, “I think I’ve only cooked a few times so far, and they haven’t always been great.”
“Your cooking is still loads better than mine.” Remus takes a bite of potatoes as if to prove a point.
“Well then, Sirius, you’re welcome to come and cook for my son whenever you want,” Hope says, grinning at Remus smugly, “maybe then he’ll actually eat three decent meals a day.”
Sirius barks out a laugh as Remus scowls. “I won’t be living with you forever, Mum, don’t worry,” Remus says.
“I don’t worry about that, I worry about you eating. Moving out won’t stop that worry.”
“I’ll come drop off food when I cook, Hope,” Sirius assures, “I always make too much for one person, anyway.”
“We can trade recipes,” Hope agrees, “Remus has told me about Euphemia’s curry? I’d love to try it.”
“Might be a bit spicy for you,” Remus murmurs into his cup.
“I haven’t—ah…” Sirius hesitates. “I haven’t exactly tried that one yet. It’s… a complicated recipe, and I’ve never been able to make it quite like Mum’s, and I’m… well, I’m a bit scared I won’t remember how to make it, or how it’s supposed to taste. Don’t have a written recipe or anything.” And although he had plenty of memories of the curry, made by her or James or even himself, the memory of learning the recipe for the first time eludes him; he’s not entirely sure if it’s a memory lost to the dementors, or if there simply hadn’t been a single instance where he had been taught the entire dish.
“Just make it taste good, Padfoot. Your curry is always good.”
“And that’s the trick to family recipes, Sirius. Every woman just makes what tastes good, what reminds them of childhood, and feeds it to her children, who grow up to make dishes that taste similar but not quite the same, until each dish in each generation is completely different save for that one specific taste, that one thing that reminds them of home.”
“Yeah, only… I only got a few years of eating Mum’s curry. And now James isn’t here to tell me if I’ve got it wrong.”
Hope lays her hand reassuringly on his forearm, and Remus smiles at him sadly from across the table.
“I know I’m not James, and it’s not quite the same, but… I’ve had Mrs. Potter’s curry, and yours, and your curry has always reminded me of home in a way; those years of living together.” There’s an awkward way in which Remus talks around it, as if he wants to offer but is scared to, like he regrets even the suggestion that he had called their flat home, like he wants Sirius to hear that he’s willing to try Sirius’ curry and nothing else. “I could…” Remus shrugs noncommittally, trying for casual but failing.
“Thanks,” Sirius says, afraid to say more lest Remus close off even further—or worse, rescind the half-assed offer.
“And speaking of,” Hope says after a brief pause, “Sirius, you’re still staying at your flat in London, correct?”
“Yes, although I’m thinking of moving. Somewhere more muggle, where I’m less likely to run into anyone wizarding, where I can raise Harry.”
“Sirius is going to try to adopt Harry,” Remus explains, “which requires him having all the requirements, including housing and finances—all above-board muggle, of course, and he has to use the Ministry as little as possible for all of it.”
“Right, so bank account and financial stability, house you’ve bought, those such?” Hope clarifies.
“Exactly, though I might have to forge a job for the financial stability part—I can’t very well transfer my entire inheritance into muggle money.”
“The real problem we have, honestly, is finding Harry himself.”
“And where to start looking for the house—“
“—Right, yeah, but that won’t be too difficult, if we’re open to all of Britain.”
“Harry is at an orphanage or home or perhaps in foster care, is he not?”
“Well yes, but we don’t know how to legally have Sirius adopt him and not, say, some other random child they think would fit Sirius.”
“Sirius is Harry’s godfather! Surely you can search the system to adopt your own godchild!”
“James and Lily’s will was registered through the Ministry; Dumbledore came by himself to tell me the contents of their will.”
“And we’re hoping to keep Dumbledore as far away from this as possible. Plus, I promised I wouldn’t try to take Harry from the Dursleys—“
“No—yes, but I mean, what about Lily’s muggle will?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Lily’s… what?” Remus manages, looking awfully confused.
“Her will. She registered Harry’s birth through the muggle system as well as the magical one because she wanted to cover her bases in case she wanted him in muggle public school or they had to hide in the muggle world, and as such made a will for what to do with him in the event of her death. Her friend Mary and I were witnesses.”
Remus makes a wounded noise, but Sirius can barely hear it over the swirling thoughts in his head. Lily… so scared for her and her son’s life she made contingency plans within her contingency plans, so ingrained into wizarding society yet so willing to leave it at the drop of a hat. What a wonderful, brilliant, magical muggleborn! And yet, despite Mary living—likely she had prepared similar contingencies as Lily—she would not be able to help them find Harry. But Lily had not only asked a fellow muggleborn—fighting the same war as them—to bear witness to her plans, but had also asked a fully-fledged muggle , who knew of their existence because of her husband and son but could not join their world without their help, who was living entirely muggle by then, her husband gone and her son avoiding contact for her safety.
“You…” Sirius finally starts, “you witnessed Lily’s muggle will?” Hope nods. “Where I’m named Harry’s godfather?”
“Yes, along with an Alice Longbottom as godmother. If neither of you were able to take Harry, a… Marlene Mckinnon and Dorcas Meadows were to, then Mary and Remus were next in line. When… everything happened, Mary told me Harry had been sent somewhere safe, and that she didn’t feel she was in the right place to take care of him anyway. Remus…”
Remus makes a sort of whimpering sound, and Sirius turns from Hope to see him crying quietly. Sirius has seen Remus crying quite a bit, today, but it hurts just the same as all the times before.
“Well, Remus didn’t know, and I… I didn’t think he was in the right place to take care of Harry at the time either. Mary seemed confident in Harry’s placement—which I now know was a mistake, but. Everyone was so broken at the time. And besides, I knew the wizarding will included James’ wishes as well, not only Lily’s. I let it be.”
Remus, not saying a word, gets up from the table, hand against his mouth, and rushes off. Sirius and Hope watch him go, although Sirius has to fight every instinct to follow him.
They finish the rest of their meal quietly, and then clear the table, leaving Remus’ plate where it is. After, Hope requests they go on a walk; Sirius, with another glance toward the hall Remus went down, acquiesces. Hope goes briefly to get a coat and tell Remus they’re going, then she reappears soon after with a small smile, and they head out.
It’s Halloween, and as such children and families are still milling about. Sirius knows nothing about muggle Welsh Halloween—Remus, having moved around so much, is barely Welsh, and certainly not muggle—but thankfully Hope steers them away from where everyone appears to be going, and he is spared the awkwardness of being an outsider during possibly important rituals.
“If there’s a muggle will,” Sirius starts as they walk away from the house, “do you know where to find it?”
“Of course; Lily had a solicitor. I can get in touch with the office, see if they still have the documentation.” Hope slips her arm around Sirius, who jumps a bit at the contact, then relaxes. Hope pats his arm with her free hand a few times, and they keep walking.
“Thank you so much for you help,” Sirius says sincerely.
“Anything for our children, right?” Hope sighs. “What do you think of this town? You’ve been by a few times now, right?”
Sirius looks around, at the pretty houses and the children running and laughing.
“It’s a nice place,” Sirius admits, “a bit small for what I’m used to, but I’m starting to appreciate small.”
“It’s small enough that we’re protective of our own, but not too small that newcomers have trouble assimilating. I’ve only been here about seven years, but it’s home. The people are kind and have welcomed me in, and they’re very accepting.”
“I’m glad you’ve found a place to settle down. I know Remus grew tired of the constant moving, and mentioned wanting you to have a place you could call home.”
“Yes. It took me a while to find it, but I have. There’s a wizarding community a few hours drive from here, close enough that I don’t need to go too far if I want to mail something by owl, but far enough away that no one would think to look for me.”
“You keep owl post?” Sirius is surprised; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard of a muggle using owl post, although of course there would be no reason they couldn’t, Statute of Secrecy aside.
“Dumbledore performed all these spells on me when he offered a place for Remus, so that I would never be fooled by muggle-specific charms and wards—I needed it to see what protections were in place for Remus. Now, I have a subscription to the Daily Prophet, and occasionally use owl post when contacting wizarding folk.”
Sirius pauses to process that. “You are quite remarkable, Hope Lupin,” he finally says quietly.
“I did raise the only werewolf to ever attend Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Hope responds, “and I’m very proud of him and all he has achieved, despite the obstacles his illness brings.”
There’s something about the way she talks about it, the casualness of “werewolf”, the understanding way she calls it an “illness”, that hits Sirius differently. Here is a woman who has raised a boy who occasionally transformed into a werewolf—a creature she grew up thinking fictional—and faced the stigma surrounding lycanthropy as his mother. Here is a woman who could have left, or failed to keep her son hidden and safe (from himself or others), but who instead learned how to help Remus and make his life worth living. Here is a woman who understands what it means to love someone who is often reduced to his condition—both by himself and by others—and who sees it not as something shameful or all-encompassing of his identity, but merely a part of his life to understand and treasure and love like all the others.
Sirius had often thought himself and James (and, to a lesser extent, him ) to be the only ones supporting Remus through his illness. Lily helped, too, but James and Sirius took the brunt of it, especially once they left Hogwarts. They transformed with him all night, healed him while he slept after dawn, carried (or levitated) him to bed with pain potions on the side table, then waited on his hand and feet (subtly, of course) while he recovered. The first tattoo Sirius had gotten was of a moon, charmed to match the current phase, to ensure that they would not perform anything detention-worthy in the week upcoming the moon, to know when to stock up on chocolates and potions and when to tread more carefully around Remus instead of aggravate him like he usually did. And sometimes, when Remus had an especially hard moon or he was refusing help or disappeared to who-knows-where and ditched them for the moon, Sirius had thought that no one could understand what this was like, to love someone with an illness like this, to care for them so much your entire life revolved around the phases of the moon, to work so hard on making your friend-boyfriend-whatever supported and comfortable that he doesn’t even notice what you do for him anymore, that you don’t get a single thank you for it. When he was younger, that had made Sirius bitter and angry and lonely. But now, hearing Hope say how proud she is of her son, Sirius realises he is—and was—not alone, but also that he had no fucking clue what he was on about.
“Remus will come around,” Hope says when Sirius doesn’t reply to her, “he’s just scared. You know him. Doesn’t think he deserves anything, doesn’t think he even deserves to want.”
“He deserves everything,” Sirius responds truthfully, “after everything he’s been through, he deserves it all.”
Hope hums and nods to two women walking out their door. They nod back.
“Where are you headed, Hope?” one asks. “You’re going the wrong way!”
“I’ve got my son’s friend here, visiting,” Hope responds, “just showing him the area.” It’s a bit fascinating, Sirius notes, how Hope’s Welsh accent gets stronger talking to her neighbours.
“Well, there’s nothing down that way but forest and Y Bwthyn Pentigili . Best take him down to the sea.”
“I wanted to show him the house, actually. Sirius has been looking for a place to buy, and I’m trying to convince him to move here. More likely to keep my son in the area that way.”
At the rate we’re going, more likely to run Remus out of town, actually , Sirius thinks dryly as the women chuckle.
“Well no one has been wanting that cottage, too far from the rest of town; surely there are some places closer in on sale?”
“I’ve got a rather large dog, actually,” Sirius cuts in, “well-behaved and all, but the extra space to run would be appreciated; big dogs do need quite a bit of exercise.” Remus had made jokes like that a lot, when they lived at the flat together; “oh dear, guess you haven’t gotten enough walks today”, or “you’re getting restless, let’s go to the park and I’ll toss a stick around”, or “I should’ve known a big dog would require this much exercise.” He had even gotten a book (from… someone) about how to care for big dogs, which he enjoyed reading aloud from when Sirius was exhibiting certain “doglike” traits.
The women make their understanding noises and wish him luck, then go on their way. Sirius asks Hope if she had meant it about wanting him to move here.
“Well, you’re looking for a place muggle enough Harry will stay anonymous; that was a requirement for me coming here as well, what with the war. The school here is good—I’m a year one teacher and I assure you my colleagues are great—and I’m here, so Harry will have good support. The house I’m showing you is isolated enough people won’t see things they’re not supposed to, and you can put up adequate wards—I hope the big dog you’re referring to doesn’t actually exist, and isn’t Remus?”
“The big dog does exist, but it isn’t Moony. Remus and I can tell you about him some other time, I think.”
Hope side-eyes him but doesn’t press, which Sirius is grateful for. He doesn’t know how many more secrets he wants to divulge to Hope, despite how helpful she’s been so far. Plus, Minerva knowing was already enough of a heart attack; he’s been living in fear of her letters, all of which contain at least one question about the transformation and subtle mentions about registering, although thankfully she had not mentioned it when they met last weekend.
“Well, then I suppose the space will be good for the dog. Besides that, you’ll have the forest near you and the sea on the other side of town, and a wizarding community a few hours away by car, if you drive.”
“What is this community’s view on motorcycles?”
“Motor—ah, yes, you have a bike, right?”
“Charmed it myself,” Sirius replies, “to fly, I mean. I got it back from Hagrid a few days ago, re-learning how to ride it, but I’d rather not give it up.”
“Well, you’re young enough, most will probably think you cool. Some of the older folk might not approve of the noise, but as long as you’re mindful about that and don’t take Harry around on it—“
“I would never!” Well, he would never now . When he was younger, that had definitely been in the plans, but that was when he was the cool godfather, and now he’s going to be the primary guardian, and those are two very different roles.
“Most people bicycle or drive—or walk, of course. Ah, here it is.”
The building itself is two-storeys, a stone cottage with big windows. The lawn in front of the house is overgrown, and although there is a low fence, the gate wide open—Sirius supposes in the daylight it could be pretty and inviting, but in the evening, with only a streetlight a few paces away on the road, the effect is slightly eerie. It reminds Sirius, inexplicably, of the Shack at night, although it does not look anything like the Shrieking Shack—and somehow, the reminder fills him with a strange sort of comfort.
“It’s better in the sunlight, of course,” Hope says, rummaging through her pockets for something. Sirius takes a surreptitious glance around them, then takes out his wand and casts a quiet lumos . “Oh.” Hope looks at the light, blinking slightly, looking surprised and confused.
“Er, I am a wizard,” Sirius reminds her lightly.
“Nono, yes—I mean, I know that, it’s just… I haven’t seen that spell in quite a while—I’d sort of forgotten that you could create this kind of light.” Hope gestures towards the tip of his wand, “Remus always goes for this strange green fire.”
“Ah,” Sirius tries to hide his smile and fails. “Yes, well, Remus was always a bit of a show-off, and loved being dramatic. We figured out how to conjure fire and hold it in our hands without burning ourselves fairly easily—it’s not the hardest thing to do, although lumos is a basic spell so no one really tries much except egotistical schoolboys—anyway, Remus learned how to turn his fire green, and would do it constantly to hold it over our heads that we couldn’t figure it out. Thought it made him look cool, I wager, or maybe he just enjoyed being better than Prongs and I at something.”
Sirius eyes Hope and grins, “can you keep a secret?” He asks, and Hope raises her eyebrow at him, which he takes as a yes. He holds his other hand out and conjures the green flames, ignoring the tug of nostalgia at the familiar flickering. “I figured it out about half a month after he did,” he admits, “but let him think I’d given up. He was so proud of himself, and I figured if he ever got insufferable about it I could always show him up and put him in his place.” Sirius extinguishes the fire. “He deserved the win.” He adds quietly.
“You’ve been a very good friend to my son,” Hope says, just as quiet. Sirius feels something like his heart breaking.
“No,” he says, looking back at the abandoned house. In the increased light, the house no longer seems like the Shack, which Sirius is now grateful for. “I’ve been a terrible friend, actually. I am a terrible friend. Or was one, when I had friends.” Sirius shakes his head. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him. To them.”
“I’m sure they didn’t think you were a bad friend, Sirius,” Hope reassures, “I know they didn’t. Because you are kind and loyal and attentive to those you care about.”
“I hurt everyone I care about.”
“You do not.”
“I’m dark. I’m a Black, it’s in my bones. I was raised this way, and everyone knows it.” Sirius turns his eyes—glistening with unshed tears—to meet Hope’s. “Why do you think Remus never once doubted I’d killed them all?”
“Who said Remus never doubted your charges?”
“I—“ Sirius blinks rapidly, feeling like he’d stepped off a cliff. “Did he—I mean, he—“
“I don’t know, Sirius. He didn’t… he didn’t really talk to me about it. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t doubt—and it definitely doesn’t mean he—or anyone else—thinks that you’re dark, or that you’re anything like the Blacks.”
Sirius exhales harshly. The uncertainty—the hope—swirls in his chest.
“And besides, Remus is a so-called ‘Dark creature’, I highly doubt you being a ‘Dark’ wizard is something he takes any stock in.”
Sirius allows himself to feel reassured by Hope, although he is certain now that—despite her seemingly knowing much more about his relationship with her son than Sirius had initially thought—there is much Hope still does not know or understand about Sirius’ history with Remus. He hopes it stays that way.
“Well, let’s see this house you think I should buy.” Sirius raises his wand higher and increases the brightness.
The house, now that there is proper light on it, appears to have a yellow door, with overgrown bushes on either side of the stairs leading up to the front door.
Hope begins walking along the overgrown path, and Sirius follows.
“Imagine a small swing from that tree, there,” Hope says, and Sirius looks. There’s a tree standing proud on the right, branches long and strong, though losing leaves. “You could hang a rope swing there for Harry to play on.”
“Lily said some of the first magic she learned to perform was jumping really high off swings. Harry’ll be trying to fly off the tree, I’ll bet.” Sirius smiles.
“As long as he doesn’t get hurt too bad.” Hope pats his arm and leads him around the house. “We can’t go in right now, but the house has two floors, two bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a study. Perfect for a family of two or three, plus you’ve got magic to solve whatever other problems you might have.” Sirius chuckles at that. “I think we may be able to see in from the back door to see the kitchen.” Rounding to the back of the house, they move to step onto a porch and peer into the darkness beyond.
Inside is the kitchen. Even in the dark, Sirius can see himself at the stove, cooking his family breakfast. He can see Harry, seated on the countertop, or standing on a stool, learning to cut vegetables or mix pancake batter, or leaning over to try a taste of curry. He can imagine casual family dinners right in the kitchen, like at the London flat or when he’d stay over at James and Lily’s, serving food right off the stove and sitting at the island with Remus, Harry in between—no, Sirius corrects, just Harry. Just him and Harry, their family of two.
A deep sigh starts to build, and Sirius looks away, forcing his attention to his surroundings instead.
“The porch can hold a nice rocking chair or bench over there,” Hope offers, pointing, “which is great when you want to watch over an energetic child but are too tired to chase after him yourself.”
That’s more Remus than me , Sirius doesn’t say, I would always run with Harry. Remus would sit there and pretend to read .
“And then the back yard.” Hope spreads her arms out, and Sirius sends his orb of light higher, brighter, to see more into the wood. The area is quite spacious, even more so because some of the forest has overtaken the fence; Sirius would need wards over the property line, and has no problem with letting the fence fall.
“It’s enough space for Quidditch training, and the trees back there are tall enough, I think,” Sirius says thoughtfully, squinting slightly.
“And you could have a garden somewhere too, a magic one since it’s far from muggle eyes.”
“That would be good for household brews,” Sirius murmurs.
“And the best part—turn off your light, please.” Sirius looks at Hope, surprised, but obeys. They are plunged into darkness, and Sirius tightens his grip on his wand. “Look up, dear.”
Sirius looks, and his breath catches in his throat.
The sky looks like it did at Hogwarts.
“Remus says you like stargazing.”
“Only good thing my family taught me,” he manages. Sirius points. “I’m there. Sirius. The Dog Star.” Immediately, out of habit, his eyes wander to find Regulus. He doesn’t point it out. He hasn’t pointed Regulus out since fourth year, when he decided on a foolish impulse that ignoring the star meant ignoring his brother—a move that only served to lower his Astronomy grade and convince himself further that Regulus could not and did not want to be saved by him. He’s still not entirely sure what happened to Reg, in the end.
“Well, with a sky like this, you could teach Harry the stars,” Hope says, looking at Sirius kindly. “That’s not something you’ll get in London, for sure.”
“Well,” Sirius says after a pause, finally dragging his eyes off the sky and memories of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. “I think you’ve found my home for me, Hope.”