Verus

1996, 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London

“Kreacher!”

Harry called out for the House elf as loudly as he possibly could. It was a desperate attempt to drown out the treacherous wailing he’d accidentally started and had been unable to since stop. He only hoped that the elf knew someway around it.

It wasn’t as though he’d actually gone out of his way to cause the unpleasant shrieking. He had simply awoken from his long, and very much needed, slumber a little while ago, and had wanted to get a feel for the house he’d somewhat taken over. He’d scolded himself for not having done so the night before, it seemed that his body had just been far too exhausted.

So once he’d gotten dressed for the day, he’d wandered and perused the lengthy halls, letting the portraits which lined the high walls watch him as he did them, making note of who followed along and who met his eye. He explored the second and third floors, but had wanted to discover the majority of the downstairs before he tried climbing his way up any higher.

For an unornamented town house, Harry was surprised to find that the building had been buried under years upon years of magic. All sorts, in fact. It held layers of wards and charms that rivalled even some of the most ancient magic he’d known and read about. It had moulded itself in thick layers within the place’s walls and floors, in its stairs and a lot of its furniture. It seemed to expand the house, making the uncomplicated two-story home it feigned to be into something else entirely, whilst also doing its very best to continue preserving what it could.

It truly was incredible, but as he’d wandered down the entry hall, fingers jumping from pulse point to pulse point, trying to reach out towards the entangled wards, Harry had unknowingly disturbed a large curtained frame.

Which had turned out to be a very grave mistake on his part.

“Krea-ture!” He howled out again, before continuing with his task of scowling up at the infuriating portrait in utter annoyance.

It was of a woman, a positively evil looking figment, though he supposed during her glory days she could have disguised it quite effortlessly. She had to have done to now have her portrait displayed so openly in a Noble House.

From what Harry could see, the older lady wore only black garments with accents of white lace, as well as a fine veil most purebloods tended to use during times of grievance. Her face was plump with a narrow hooked nose and wide eyes, and her jet black hair was slicked back against her head, accentuating the large jewels which rested on either one of her ears. Her lips were pursed in displeasure and rather thin, as well as deeply wrinkled around the edges.

Perhaps from a slight distance, you could imagine her to have come from a long line of royalty- what with all the grand jewellery and expensive clothing. But up close, you could see the slow decay that crept across the paint, that tinged her very image.

Harry went to call the elf again, but was met with the slitted eyes of Kreacher himself, who was now stood between his person and the offending wall.

The lady in the portrait seemed not to care, nor take even the smidge of interest in the elf’s sudden appearance, just continued on with her constant complaining, using the most uncouth of language that Harry had ever had the pleasure of hearing. If he wasn’t so infuriated he might have laughed, or even joined in on the heckling. But as it was, he felt almost deafened by the sheer noise the woman was creating and wasn’t too fond of the terminology she was using to describe him.

“How do we get her to stop?” Harry questioned the elf, a finger plugged in one ear whilst he used the other to jab towards the harrowing portrait.

“Stupid half-breed! Making Mistress mad.” Kreacher sniped as he clicked his fingers to have the curtains cover the portrait once more. Though the noise did not stop, it did appear to diminish somewhat. Now, all the squawking sounded like was a bird trapped behind a cage of thick glass.

Harry sighed, relieved, before his attention was then recaptured. He straightened, turning back to the House elf at hand. “Hang on a moment, what right do you have to call me that term and use it as an insult?” He demanded, then frowned in bewilderment, “And, did you just call that insane woman Mistress? As in, the last Lady Black?”

Kreacher growled at the slight Harry had used against the woman he so idolised and stepped forward lurchingly. “The young master should be careful of the words he spits out.”

Through gritted teeth, Harry cocked his brow down at the dwarfed creature. “Is that a threat?”

Wisely, Kreacher did not answer him.

Harry rolled his eyes at the elf’s avoidance and kicked back to lean against the papered wall with his arms crossed. He released a heavy breath. “Listen, if we’re to be living here together, I think we should first set a few rules.”

The elf scowled at him and gave only a grimace in retort.

“Come on, Kreacher.” Harry cajoled somewhat, feeling a headache coming on, “Don’t you think we ought to get along? You know, if not for my sanity, then yours?”

“The Black magic might like the young master, but the young master has no respect for Kreacher’s Mistress! He won’t be welcome long.”

Harry bit back another sigh before he decided to drop down into a crouch, so that he was now almost eye level with the ballsy little thing.

“Kreacher.” He said with a little weight, making the beings name sound somewhat like a warning.

The House elf bared his teeth, pale hollow eyes baring into Harry’s own as he said nothing. But Harry could work with that.

“I apologise for calling Lady Black… insane.” Kreacher went to snarl at him again and so Harry hurried his little speech along, not wanting to make an actual enemy out of the elf like his godfather had done. “It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me, and for that I am shameful. But it wasn’t my intention to hurt, nor offend The Lady Black. Or you, for that matter. So for that, I am sorry.”

Kreacher looked a little calmed by the apology, but Harry wasn’t quite done with the elf.

“Upon saying that, I do feel as though I, too, am owed an apology.” The elf went to argue against him, furious, but the teen raised a polite finger which silenced Kreacher. Thank you, Sirius, Harry thought blessedly.

“I am half-blooded, that much is true, and from what I have been told, my mother was raised by muggles, meaning that she herself was in fact a muggleborn. But she was also one of the most incredible witches of her generation. So hearing you use my blood status like an insult, as though it is something that I should be ashamed of, is not something I am, or will ever be, too fond of. So in future, I must ask you to bite your tongue.”

The House elf stared blankly back at Harry, and so the teen gifted the creature his best version of one of Sal’s most ‘prettiest’ smiles. Then in a low tone, he spoke once more.

“Or I might just have to cut it out for you.”

In a momentary lapse of judgment, Kreacher blanched up at him, outwardly shocked, before he then hurried to school his features back into its usual drooping scowl.

“Do we understand each other?”

Harry was surprised when the elf grinned back at him, flashing a row of sharp teeth.

“Kreacher understands the little Heir.”

The elf then popped away, leaving Harry alone with the muffled portrait. He stood slowly and allowed his eyes to fall close, easing the little pounding in his head.

“Here’s to day two.” He murmured.

—

Diagon Alley, London

Harry didn’t know how it had happened- or rather he did, his godfather could be extremely pushy when prompted, and it seemed as though Harry’s ‘wardrobe crisis’ was a necessary cause to enact that certain trait. But somehow, Harry had managed to let himself be cajoled into flooing alongside Sirius and Remus into Diagon Alley, then prodded into its very own tailor shop.

The boutique had seemed nice enough at first, though it differed greatly from the sellers back home. There were far too many fabrics here, all of them made of the same simple blend and colour, and the displayed robes all appeared to be cut in the same two fashions, a or b.

Harry couldn’t quite seem to hide his disfavour at the lack of choice and it only seemed to heighten when he was introduced to Mrs. Twilfitt herself. The woman was rather all over the place, and when Harry had merely brought up the idea of having some more traditional robes tailored, she’d immediately shot the idea down and hadn’t given him another chance to voice his opinion or taste on any of the cloths she then continued to shove his way.

Harry had just nearly missed a measuring tape to the eye when he’d finally had enough and stormed out of the shop in a flustered state, ignoring the calls of Sirius and a few of Mrs. Twilfitt’s vexatious mutterings.

He was done. It had been an hour. An entire hour spent within the shop’s confines, only to appease Sirius, as well as Remus who had silently skulked about, looking like he too would have rather been anywhere else. But enough was enough. Any longer and Harry was sure that the batty old woman would have driven him to extreme lengths just to end the torture. He could only imagine the mayhem which would’ve ensued if she had known that it was indeed Harry Potter she was fitting.

Instead, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose just as a frowning Sirius followed him out of the building, Remus just behind, sending a muffled halfhearted apology towards the narrow eyed seamstress.

“I’m not going back in there.” Harry immediately stated, holding out an arm to distance himself from the older man, “I’d rather drink an entire basin of basilisk venom than see the likes of that woman again.”

“Harry…” Sirius drawled in reproach, but thankfully Remus stepped in before he could say much else on the matter, squeezing the other wizard’s shoulder as he did so.

“You know I never really thought much of Twillfit and Tattings myself, even when gathering my old school robes. Always complained about the neck of them, used to itch beyond belief. Actually, it was only fifth year when I clocked on to the fact that James had never once mentioned the inconvenience.” The werewolf recounted almost fondly, “Turns out that your grandmother had been owl-ordering his robes since the Halloween of our first year. Got them from somewhere in France, if I recall correctly. And it was only because your dad had done nothing but write home to her to continuously whine about the problem.” Remus laughed lightly at the memory.

Sirius looked a little surprised, and Harry could only assume that the man hadn’t known about the little detail beforehand. Still, his godfather hummed, “I always thought it was strange how that had stopped happening after I’d moved in with the Potter’s, figured Effie just had a way with those kind of things.”

Harry smiled, it was nice to hear of the things that most would consider minor. It made him ponder. Question if his mother preferred tea or coffee, or if his father used to tap his fingers nervously. He’d also wondered, from time to time, if he still had any distant relatives that were puttering about, like an old aunt, or third cousin. Hearing about his grandmother was a much welcomed change.

“What was she like?” Harry found himself asking.

“Who, Effie?” Sirius said and then pursed his lips before a grin broke through, “She was the most incredible woman. Headstrong. Determined. And cared greatly for those she favoured.”

“Made a great Shepard’s pie, too.” Remus added, smiling softly as Sirius leant into his side almost unconsciously.

Harry watched both men as they continued to recount a few more old memories together, mentioning Fleamont, his grandfather, and the relationship he had shared with Harry’s grandmother, Euphemia- as well as the few pleasant recollections they had of James and the older couple.

The two sounded like they’d been very much in love, and as Harry observed Sirius and Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of relationship they shared. If it was one much like his grandparents or something other. They were close, that much was obvious, but there was an underlying current of devotion there, in the way Remus craned his neck downwards to meet Sirius’ steady gaze, and how Harry’s godfather let the werewolf hold him up as though he believed wholeheartedly that there was no way that Remus would ever let him fall.

“So I guess Twillfit and Tattings is off the cards then.” Sirius tittered, casting a glance over his shoulder to find both of the shop’s owners now stood at the window, looking entirely unhappy.

“We’d best get a move on.” Remus snickered as he slowly steered a childish Sirius away, who’d chosen to stick out his tongue in retort. “Perhaps we can look around the rest of the Alley and let Harry decide on what to do.”

“But what about his wardrobe?” Sirius piped up, looking dismayed at the very thought from where Harry could see his head peering out from Remus’ right side. “He needs clothes, Moony!”

Harry laughed lightly at the grown man. “I have clothing, Sirius. They’re just a tad bit… dated.”

He shook his head at his godfather’s indignant squawk but kept on smiling as they moved languidly through Diagon’s crowds. The Alley wasn’t as crowded as it had been the day prior but no one tended to linger too long on him. In fact, it was Sirius who garnered the most looks, but his godfather paid them no attention, as though he didn’t even notice the lingering stares. Remus on the other hand looked a little more tense, eyes surveying, senses on high alert.

“A tad!Harry, how can you call yourself my godson?” Sirius demanded, mouthing the last word as well as Harry’s given name theatrically. The teen in question found the exaggerated caution to be somewhat amusing as well as a little dramatic, but that was just Sirius, Harry supposed. The act had also been thoughtful, none the less, and so he appreciated it.

“You mentioned mail order, Remus. Think there would be any available services like that around?” Harry asked the taller man as he strode alongside the duo.

Remus nodded at him in return, “Oh yes, The Daily Prophet do a spread on things like that. From exotic pets to feather boas, I suspect. It tends to sell for a few sickles at most.”

Harry blinked back at the wizard, “Hold on, you can order animals through the post? Isn’t that- I don’t know- extremely traumatising?”

“Magic, Harry. Magic.” Was the response he garnered from Sirius before the wizard’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh look, Moons! Fortescue’s have got cauldron cake ice-cream back in stock! We’ve got to grab a tub before we leave!”

With that, Remus was promptly dragged away over towards a brightly coloured shop that sat on the next corner, leaving Harry to laugh to himself as he trailed after.

—

It wasn’t too long before Harry heard yet another long suffering sigh, one just like the many others he’d heard within the last half an hour.

After Sirius had engorged himself on a variety of ice-creams- as well as a few handfuls of caramel fizzers, which had been perfectly presented on the shop’s countertop- Remus had suggested that they head to the nearest bookshop, Flourish and Blotts, and Harry had been all too eager to nod along. He’d planned to read and research as much as he possibly could about the world and it’s current affairs before his first term at Hogwarts began, and the local bookseller seemed like the best place to start.

“Are you hoping to start up a draft there, Sirius?” Harry chuckled, he pulled another book off the shelf and let his eyes flit through the first few pages before he replaced it.

“Of all the places in Diagon, you two choose a bloody bookshop and then wonder why I’m bored out of my mind.”

Harry shared a look with Remus.

“I like reading.” Harry shrugged as he wandered over to the next shelf, the duo trailing behind.

“If you’re like this around all these hardbacks I wonder how you’d take to the Black Family Library.” Sirius snorted, letting his hand trail over the many academic textbooks. “The grimoires in there are practically as old as the isles themselves and some of the scrolls haven’t been touched in centuries.”

He must have seen the unsubtle intrigue which crossed Harry’s face because suddenly Sirius’ own expression morphed into something akin to horror.

“Oh no. Oh no, no no no, no no, no. Nu-Uh. Don’t even think about it, Harry.” He all but hissed, hands flailing about the place. “That place is warded to the nines with the most intricate blood magic you can think of, and the books alone would have even the most levelheaded of wizards diving headfirst into the dark arts!”

Harry noted how quiet his godfather’s voice had grown by the time his little rant had come to an end, and how the man’s eyes were now shifting about the place as though he was fearful someone might have overheard, even though they had since wandered into a somewhat enclosed section of the bookshop.

“Blood magic?” Harry queried with a hum.

Sirius rolled his eyes with a huff, “Of course that would be the part you’d focus on! Tell him, Remus, tell him that kind of knowledge shouldn’t be entertained by a kid his age."

Harry felt a little affronted by that.

Remus though, just shrugged, and Sirius turned to where the man was currently stood peering through the bookshelves with a sudden reverent interest.

“What do you mean-” Sirius mimicked the werewolf’s casual shrug with a lot more dramatic flare and it seemed that Remus couldn’t help the airy chuckle that escaped him.

“Just,” The latter tried with a slight smile, “It’s just that I find it all a little much, the stigma in which surrounds the darker types of magicks. They can be rather useful when practiced in the right hands. Britain is actually one of the only countries in all of Europe to have made them illegal.”

Sirius’ forehead furrowed, “I never knew you felt that way.”

Remus’ almond eyes darted between Harry and then Sirius himself, aware of where they were, before he shrugged a single shoulder. “You never asked, besides it’s not something we’ve ever really spoken about before.”

“Remus,” Sirius groaned, looking quite disheartened. “I spent almost all of my teenage years, and then some, complaining and utterly demeaning the entire subject! I don’t think you can claim that we’ve never spoken about it.”

“Well, yes. But, they’re two entirely different conversations, Pads. Listening to your struggles with your family, and then having an actual discussion about it.”

A momentary lapse of silence passed between the three of them.

Then Remus sighed then twirled a finger in the air, “This probably isn’t the best setting to be talking about any of this.”

Sirius appeared to swallow before he cleared his throat and turned away, “Right, yeah. I’ll just be outside waiting then. You two, take your time.”

His godfather managed to muster up a slight smile for Harry, but was gone before the teen could react. Harry looked over to Remus who was staring after Sirius’ retreating figure, and chewed at his lower lip.

“He’ll come around, Remus.” Harry assured softly, pressing a comforting hand to the were’s shoulder.

Remus nodded at him and then gave a quirked smile. Although his expression was far too solemn to look genuine, Harry returned it all the same. “Come on, I believe they’ve got a modest section on current politics near the back."