Chapter Text
Filius Flitwick was not one to concern himself with petty drama and squabbles, he was loathe to get involved in the opera of his coworker's composition, and even more so despised the machinations of Dumbledore, the meddlesome goat would do well to remember that Filius had twenty years on him!
Seeing Severus and Minerva at each other's throats each year had its moments. But the one thing he wouldn’t turn an eye to was the well-being of the students. While he was somewhat detached from the whims of youth he always made an effort to look over his pupils with the respect they deserved, never one to let bias swindle him. He liked to think he was fair to the student body at large and that in turn the young ones felt comfortable around him, especially the eagles he cared for. But every now and then a student came to him that he knew he would break his teaching contract for, and even a few war treaties.
One such example was Harry Potter. The boy was thinner than some of the first years despite being 16, he was most obviously abused and neglected despite Minerva and Albus’s placations and Severus’s snarling. Of course, he didn’t think their words had any merit and he had cornered the boy first year under the pretense of reviewing his Charms work. One short conversation was enough to know that the boy should never return to his muggle relatives again without the direct issue ever having been brought up. The boy had relished any small praise he offered and had recoiled at several key phrases, namely the word ‘boy’ which no matter the context seemed to have the young child flinch to the point that he had almost hit his head against the backrest of the chair.
Though saddened and beaten down Filius had worked on endearing himself to the boy and had progressed well. All that changed in the young one’s third year when he had unfortunately made the wrong call. The situation with the centaurs was still a blemish on his records, being half goblin himself he should have been more conscious of their plight. That year a centaur fowl had been kidnapped by the Defense Professor, Filius had incorrectly backed Professor Whitlegrove thinking that her genius was surely proof enough that she would not do something so foolish. He had been wrong and clouded by the intellectual prowess of his colleague. The two students to have ultimately rectified the situation were none other than Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood, both students he had managed to fail. Harry for breaking the boy's trust, and Luna for not having seen the bullying in his own house that she experienced.
All of the child's fourth year he had tried to make amends and slowly a tumultuous relationship was rekindled. No longer would the young man come over for tea and cookies, but Filius could make do hoping that he would be allowed to continue to nurture the young one's talent and offer him what support he could. He had tried broaching the subject of Harry’s living situation each month for the last few years, making inquiries at the Ministry, asking Poppy if she had done a proper physical on the boy as should be expected of any student coming in from the muggle world, and yes, he had even resorted to trying to contact several of his brethren. But it was all in vain. When the topic was broached with young Harry himself Filius was never able to get a word from the closed lips. So he resigned himself to continuing in his shadowy efforts to free the young man, and made sure to never address him as ‘boy’.
Now, here he was, star pupil tentatively back under his wing. There was no doubt that the boy’s grades left something to be desired, while his practical work was brilliant his commitment was lackluster. But Filius had to be pragmatic, the boy had a death trap of a tournament to compete in. And he wasn’t even able to detect Filius’s honey-jar spell…The sweet aroma in the air should have been indicator enough, but a bad day for the nostrils could be looked over if one was to notice the slight yellow tinge in the air signifying this particular trap spell used to capture bears, giant ants, and underprepared students.
Looking at the boy slowly sinking through the noeyed air Filius couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. This was going to be brutal fun, the determination radiating out of the emerald green eyes had the air tensing. Fun indeed.
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Bill Weasley had not been back to Hogwarts since his own graduating year. While it was nice to see the castle it would have been more rewarding under nearly any other pretenses. Fred and George had used one of the tablets he had gifted the duo several years ago and he had not been pleased to see the story that was unfolding before him.
Harry seemed like a good kid, he had finally met the famous boy during the summer and overall he could easily see why his younger brother was so smitten. Fred had not exactly been subtle when he had ogled the sweaty teen after their pick-up quidditch match. Harry was completely oblivious to the drooling maniac, and Bill was only just barely vindictive enough to not aid his fumbling brother.
But things were different now. For one, somebody had some bloody explaining to do.
Just in their brief correspondence, Bill was made aware of potential line theft, illegal mail wards, and fraudulent banking activity. Not even including the stern talk he was planning for Ronald, Bill was furious just on the grounds of his brothers being buffoons!
What was even more mind-boggling was the complete lack of knowledge on the topic from the twins. Bill was the eldest child but his father was not. Arthur was the third son of Septimus Weasley and Cedrella Weasley nee Black; both of Arthur’s older brothers had multiple children, and as such none of Arthur’s children had ever had to put much emphasis on learning the expected protocols regarding heirship. Bill himself should have been put under some training but Arthur had refused stating a disconnect with the Weasley family magic. Bill hated the decision but he was ultimately not able to go against it. He had never been close to his grandparents, what with his more blase attitude towards the politics of Britain, and so the decision was set. The twins, on the other hand, were a different story.
The Weasley family was strictly patriarchal, with the title going down the bloodline from father to eldest son and in the case of death or otherwise being ill-suited, the next son, and the next. The Weasleys had no lack of brood, Ginny was still the only Weasley girl born in the last hundred years. The Prewitts however were different with the head of the house passing from magical twins to magical twins. The last Prewitt Lords had been Bill’s uncles, Fabian and Gideon who had died in the last war when Bill had been a kid. Shortly after Fred and George were born. Despite their last name Fred and George were next in line by the magic of House Prewitt, and upon their inheritance, it was expected for them to take the name.
Bill still remembered when Aunt Muriel had insisted the twins take over the lordship but Molly and Arthur had refused. Fred and George had still been in nappies when the falling out had occured but Bill remembered the venom Muriel had spewed at his parents. Bill could see why his fearful parents chose to shelter the twins while they were still at war, but over the years they had still held firm on their opinion and made sure to forbid him or Muriel from clueing in the twins to their status. Charlie and Percy had both been too young to really know what had happened. But all that changed when the twins turned 17 last year, now as legal adults with OWLs under their belt they could do as they please. Bill had sent them several letters and had assumed they had received them, he knew that Muriel had done the same. Clearly, he should have looked deeper into why they had never sent any replies.
Arriving at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade as expected Bill was unpleasantly surprised when he felt hands creep up behind his chair gagging and manhandling him into a dark corner of the room. Luckily for the little devils, Bill was able to recognize their clammy hands instantly. He still bit one of their fingers for their insolence. He was a curse breaker who had managed to be snuck up on, he felt justified in his indignation and though he wouldn’t admit it, his own pettiness crept through.
“Ouch!” George hissed as he shook the injured hand in the air.
Fred for his part stifled his laughter as the twins made shushing noises at each other and Bill while they slowly crept into the cellar. It was evident that the twins had been working on their notice-me-not charms. Each creak of the floorboard shot through Bill’s body reminding him of the days he used to sneak out of the Burrow. He needn’t have worried as the occupants of the bar and restaurant seemed utterly unaware of the commotion.
Hauling himself down a hole in the ground Bill worried his hands about hoping that once the trapdoor was closed they could get some lights on. His only solace was that he couldn’t detect any malicious magical intent coming from the hole and his intent-based ward had yet to be triggered. He had enough experience in tombs to be cautious of walking into any room period without seeing ahead. While he trusted the twins to be serious when it mattered he couldn’t help but feel his hackles rise.
Luckily as the door closed three lumos-tipped wands went up and Bill found himself staring at his two lanky brothers, faces planted with shit-eating grins. The dorks.
Catching up while going down the shaft Bill appreciated the lightheartedness for what it was. A distraction from the shit that was about to go down. Each step in the earthen tunnel seemed to reverberate back through Bill’s body as the tension grew in his temples. Soon his muscles would be as stiff as the solid beams holding up the ceiling of this mysterious entrance to the school.
Bill tried to keep track of the many forks and turns but he knew he would be lost getting back without the twins.
Finally, the ground turned from trodden dirt to crumbling gravel and then slowly gradiated into brick, they were in the castle. Bill was barely saved from walking head-first into a wall by Fred’s quick grasp, a wag of his finger had Bill sighing in good nature used to the twins' theatrics.
“If our little duckling is feeling more cuckoo, I wonder how he will react to…” Letting his words trail off George looked disturbed as he exited into the main corridor from the tunnel.
Now in familiar territory, Bill felt more sure of his step. That didn’t stop him from casting several more silent spells to make sure that his presence remained undetected in the castle. Hogwarts wards were old, but Dumbledore was never good at reading them as far as Bill could remember from his school days. Of course, the twins had to take that small composure away from him as they quickly went down a long abandoned corridor into parts unknown. Rats.
Staring at his brothers now as he waited in their strange tower workshop Bill wondered where to start. His stomach felt like it was churning gravel as he chewed over his words trying to think of any other plausible reason for their ignorance.
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Harry was thoroughly exhausted after his training session. Flitwick had shown him the back side of his eyelids on more than one occasion as he had needed to be resuscitated no less than three times.
His body was achy, his joints felt like they had been picked apart and then glued together using tar, and his shirt felt like it had been welded to his skin by his own sweat. But the reality check was worth it, now he could go into this tournament fully knowing he was incompetent having all hope squashed from his feeble body.
And of course, he had a conversation/interrogation to look forward to with none other than William Weasley, rugged curse breaker and intimidating older brother of his kind-of-crush (it was definitely a crush).
Hopefully, he would be allowed a shower before things really got heated. Walking through the misty door of the Chaos Forge Harry felt like he had already jinxed himself as immediately a wave of cursing washed over him.
Standing in the back of the room pacing in a circle was an angry Bill Weasley practically foaming at the mouth while George stirred a cup of tea and Fred rubbed at his own temples sprawled out over a couch that hadn’t been there just earlier this morning.
Groaning Harry prepared himself for what was sure to be a grueling battle of a different nature than what he had experienced earlier in the day.
“Harry,” Fred let out a short breath as he sat up. His feet not willing to budge from their spot tucked under the cushion had Fred rolling from the couch.
“Oh thank fuck-” George muttered as he leaned back in his ‘office’ chair, kicking his feet up to rest, somehow managing to look just as undignified as his twin groaning on the ground.
Bill for his part looked like he was barely holding it together as he foamed at the mouth only barely acknowledging Harry’s presence. Well, this is going to be a blast…
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Thankfully Fred hadn’t had to stun his older brother. He honestly wasn’t sure if he was even capable of taking on the older wizard. He was handy with a wand (in more ways than one) but unfortunately, he was vastly outmatched by his curse-breaking, goblin-trained, badass, brooding brother.
Bill settled down after he saw a sweaty Harry. Bill’s thoughts had probably been a noble worry. Fred’s thoughts had been less… pure. But come on! Harry’s WHITE undershirt was sticking to his body and the top couple of buttons were popped open in just the right way. He silently cursed himself once again for promising George that he would wait until Harry turned 17 before making any true advances on him. George thought it the chivalrous path but Fred was ready to through pious thoughts to the wind and propose right now to the younger teen in front of him.
Snapping himself out of his internal ramblings Fred tried to pay attention to whatever it was Bill was ranting about. Harry for his part looked like he had all the lights on in the house but none of them were pointed at anything of use. What he remembered from this little rant would be established tomorrow because there was no doubt now that Bill would have to spend the night.
Fred and George had expected some new information pertaining to Harry’s precarious position. But of course, Bill had to pull the rug out from under them and dump an extra large bucket of dung over their heads.
They were Lords with a bloody capital ‘L’! They were supposed to be the heads of an entire family… Granted the Prewitts weren’t nearly as prolific as the Weasley clan when it came to populating the tree. Small mercies Fred supposed.
Just off the top of his head the few Prewitt’s Fred knew of weren’t exactly the friendliest of sorts, but now that he knew the full story Fred could piece together that it was because the Prewitt’s were apparently angry and bitter at his mum and dad. Bugger.
That was another sore spot. His mum especially had always been a bit… controlling. She seemed to have a plan for each of their lives, and was damned to ignore their wishes and ‘free will’. Fred knew she meant the best but the overbearing hold she had on them all sometimes felt like a strangulation and less of a guiding push. It was at the very least a hindrance to his and George’s goals of opening their shop. They had lost half their stock this last summer in one of their mom’s raids when she had seized their products as contraband and burned the lot of it. It had hurt more than Fred would care to admit but he had to live with it. His dad wasn’t really much better. Occasionally he would stick up for them but at the end of the day, he seemed to agree that all Fred and George’s dreams were fanciful wishes.
Fred always assumed that it was a way that his parents tried to look out for them. Money was tight, and with a family as large as theirs everything seemed to always boil down to finances. Fred had widdled the thoughts out from a young age, his parents’ vested interest in all of their future careers stemmed from their own money insecurities and wanting to make sure that they lived decent lives without worrying about pinching knuts or scrounging up galleons.
But then why would his mother continue to funnel all her efforts into pushing for ministerial positions? Arthur had a job as a department head and his paycheck certainly wasn’t anything special.
Was it a fear of something else or another deep-seated prejudice? Fred didn’t know. Just like Fred didn’t know how his parents could possibly justify a mail ward on him and George now that he was a legal adult. He knew that it had to have been them. The Burrow was not a very attractive home to most people, but it was an ancient house lived in for generations by various off-branch Weasleys. It was Arthur’s graduation gift from his parents. While the wards were nothing compared to the official Weasley seat of power they were still nothing to snuff at. Any undesirable personal affix spells cast on someone with Weasley blood would have been picked up by the wards. So either Fred and George had been spelled by their parents, or their parents had neglected to do anything about it. Either option felt like a punch to the gut.
On top of Bill’s own drama-filled approach (he had most definitely lost some of his social graces hanging around with his rowdy bunch of deranged witches, wizards, and other magical practitioners), Harry had of course released several bombshells about the INNOCENT Black family fugitive and an off the leash werewolf Remus Lupin who were apparently the original Marauders and both on the run. Bloody hell, this was going to be a rough night.
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“Sirius. We have to,” Remus was done listening to the canine animagus’s whining - they were not safe in the Wolf Lodge anymore.
After Remus’s early end at Hogwarts the previous school year he had managed to track down Sirius in a cave structure they had once used as a hideout back during the last war. It was situated on a small rocky island north of Scotland and barely one step above Azkaban, but it was an unknown to the ministry. Just a regular muggle island protected by its own natural landscape and a shit load of explosives Sirius had rigged up when he was fresh out of the Auror training camp. Luckily Sirius was still lacking a wand and unable to completely hide himself from Remus’s keen senses, he had Sirius’s scent ingrained in his olfactory bulb at this point.
Remus had vetoed a continued stay on the weather-torn island after Sirius's health continued at its stagnant recovery even with July being the peak of warmth for the coastal island. Remus knew that Sirius needed much more than rest and relaxation, his body had suffered greatly over his stint in the British Ministry’s twisted version of prison. Both his mind and body had been shattered and had yet to rebound. Passing Harry’s birthday by as a convicted man had devastated the withered animagus, Remus couldn’t help but reciprocate the pain. All those years he had wondered and hoped for Harry, his pup, to be okay. Every birthday and holiday card he sent he wished for some sort of sign or if he was bold, even a small letter in return, but none had ever come.
The teaching position at Hogwarts had been wonderful, save for Dumbledore’s contractual clause prohibiting Remus from developing any personal relationship with Harry whilst a member of staff. Not that he hadn’t tried to pick up on things despite the old man’s machinations. The complete lack of acknowledgment from the young boy had at first been painful, his wolf had wrecked his mind when he hid on the train and finally got a glimpse of his long-lost pack mate. The wolf had been denied its fill of familial affection that day as Remus kept his distance and he had suffered for it the night of the full moon when, despite the Wolf’s Bane potion, Moony decided to make Remus’s transformation the worst of his life.
It didn’t take long for Remus to realize that Harry’s life was not what he had been led to believe. The rags he wore, his scrawny figure, the way he flinched at certain phrases, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He had of course confronted both Minerva and Albus but they had brushed his concerns away as if he was some overzealous Boy-Who-Lived fanatic and not Harry’s gods damn family in all but blood! Though through with the establishment, Remus was left to play by their rules and so he did his best to drop small hints to the boy who never knew of the care Remus had desperately tried to show him. A mail ward was the most likely culprit, but if his cards were never returned to him that meant that someone had been collecting them for quite some time. Either that or his apparently awful ‘relatives’ had kept Harry ignorant of more than just magic.
Either way now that he knew of Harry’s situation it only brought more pain as his birthday passed by and yet again, he was unable to be there for his precious pup. Not even a lousy letter could be allowed as now he knew that one, the letter wouldn’t reach the boy, and two the owl might be tracked back to them. He had to promise Sirius that they would do everything in their power for his precious godson, but it was difficult to get any meaningful conversation out of the man when his theatrics started to come out. Finally, as the unusual August’s heat bloomed, watered by the tears of two old men morning what should have been, they left the island intent on getting anywhere moderately less miserable.
They had to forsake their usual haunts, avoiding any places that would be too obviously associated with Sirius. A quick detour was taken on the outskirts of a magical forest in a small pocket of Yorkshire to release Buckbeak back into the wild where the hippogriff would hopefully flourish. Afterward they had flown through a series of small muggle sheds, a barn, and even at one point a half sunken boat that offered just enough protection from the elements for them to justify its use as a shelter, if it could even be considered that.
With autumn creeping up as August turned to September they knew they were running out of options. Remus had finally succumbed to his less-than-stellar good consciousness and brought them to his family’s ancestral home. The Wolf Lodge had never been grand, it had in fact been reduced to rubble on multiple occasions just in Remus’s short life - the Lupin’s made enemies like the Malfoy’s made bribes. But the lodge was warm, and with a roof over their heads the last of the marauders couldn’t possibly complain.
The wards of the Wolf Lodge left something to be desired, once more Remus cursed himself for not having the foresight to bolster the defenses of his own home. While the location was now impossible for a werewolf to penetrate (except for himself) it was still very open to the ever-prying Ministerial eyes. They had already been in the lumber cottage for three weeks and Remus was growing antsy, each day that passed had more of his hackles on the rise.
With Sirius his transformations had been some of the best he had had in years, Padfoot at his side Remus’s wolf had been skipping in glee. Remus' struggle with the beast had only been amplified during the school year as it howled in his mind for him to spend even more time with their pup outside of the Patronus lessons. Harry, Harry, Harry… The young man kept creeping into the duos' thoughts. He was the ever-present sore spot. Remus was never going to be able to forgive himself for what he had allowed to happen to his pup… or his packmate. Now that Remus was letting the wolf roam unhindered it was repaying him in kind by not being such a moody little deviant trying to chew his brain to bits in-between full moons.
Convincing Sirius of his plan had been like trying to instruct a toddler to eat a particularly fowl plate of their least favorite vegetable. Finally, he had broken through Sirius's thick skull; they spotted a wizard in the area around the cabin and they both knew it was time to go. The Wolf Lodge was compromised and it was now October, they needed a base of operations and a permanent roof over their heads.
Grimwauld Place was never Sirius’s home, only his parent’s house. He had made that abundantly clear ever since Remus had met him in their first year at Hogwarts. But it was old, several hundred years old, with magic woven into the structure's foundations that took great glee in dispatching any enemies to the Black townhouse. The location was borderline sentient and had picked up on the Black family's bloodthirstiness. With both of Sirius’s parents dead, it was uninhabited and a safe location for them to finally hunker down in.
Luckily the wards had still accepted Sirius, the animagus had never known whether he had been disowned, disinherited, or truly smacked from the Black’s lineage altogether. It seems that Walburga had more bark than bite - although her bite had never been something to ignore. Or perhaps Orion had finally grown a spine and defended his eldest son from his shrewd wife? Maybe Regulus’s death had struck a chord in the cold man’s shriveled heart. Whatever the case Remus now stood with Sirius inside of the entryway of the of the London house staring at the most wrinkled and disgusting house elf he had ever seen.
“Kreacher?!”
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Remus hated playing mediator between children, he was laid back, empathetic, and tried to be insightful and pragmatic when handling disputes. So far he had broken up five fights between Sirius and Kreacher this week! (it was only Tuesday). He was going to mount both their heads to the gaudy stairwell wall at this rate. A temporary truce had so far been the only thing saving him from an incredible migraine.
They had managed to clean up Sirius’s old room and a guest room, thankfully Kreacher was prideful enough for Remus to goad him into cleaning the kitchen and attached dining room, but other than that the house was filthy. Walburga had apparently developed a dirt-mongering habit in her insanity because even if the place had been uninhabited since her death there was no way this much debris should have been able to build up.
The screaming portrait of the banshee women chose that moment to set off and Remus was ready to take it all back and see if they could room with Buckbeak in the forest.
He had tried convincing Sirius several times now to take up control of Grimmauld’s wards to no avail, the animagus was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with his childhood home. But unfortunately, the townhouse wasn’t offering up much of a choice. Their first few days had been alright, minus Kreacher trying to poison both of them. The pesky elf had even taken a liking to polishing the black family silverware and setting the table with it. The only thing he had cleaned willingly without coercion.
After the initial settling period, the house had grown… antsy. It had been some time since Remus had managed to complete his Defense and Battle Magics Mastery program but he still remembered enough about wards to know that the ancient home was in the process of rejecting them. The place had opened up to Sirius with open arms and must not have seen Remus as much of a threat seeing as the Black heir was bringing him along. But each day that the house went without someone keyed to it was an insult.
Yesterday morning Remus had been walking down the stairs only for his next step to disappear. Luckily he was near the bottom of the staircase - without his morning chocolate milk no amount of werewolf instincts would have saved him from a higher fall.
Sirius had taken a shower only for the water to turn scalding hot no matter which direction he tried to turn the water (thankfully the Blacks had updated the plumbing of the building in the fifties when the neighborhood became increasingly surrounded by muggles). No cooling charm seemed to work on the enchanted water and Sirius had even gone through the effort to get Orion’s wand from the master bedroom. The Black heir came from the ordeal singed and raw all at once.
There were other small things as well that Remus knew weren’t just Kreacher’s doing such as the drawers rearranging themselves or his slippers always flying under the bed when he tried to put them on in the morning. The house wanted its master to claim it, unfortunately, Sirius was not ready to play into the murderous house’s hands.
Remus had tried, he really had, but Sirius was adamant that it was fine. It was in fact not fine.
Remus saw the aches in his friend's body. Despite the abundance of food in the Black house that had been kept under stasis neither man ate much, Remus knew his own issues with food with the wolf constantly battling his appetite and his previously meager pay, but Sirius seemed physically unable to keep anything over a few small bites down. Each glance in the mirror was a reminder of what Remus had become, a waifish decrepit caricature of what he should have been. His cheeks had become hollow once more, Hogwarts had managed to put some additional meat on his bones but all that work unraveled as anxiety gnarled away at his body. His blonde hair was flecked with more silver than gold at this point and his eyes…
When he had still thought he might have a chance at love he had been told by several of his potential suitors that he had gorgeous eyes. Their unique amber color was thanks to Moony, Remus knew that before the bite he had soft hazel-green irises. But he wasn’t about to complain about the one good thing the wolf provided him. Now each visit to the bathroom showed what his eyes looked like now. The orbs were full of desperation, paranoia, and a completely unhealthy smattering of existential dread. That morning he had the same reminder as he shaved his face, luckily it wasn’t an enchanted mirror, a small mercy granted to him.
Sirius was somehow worse. Even wearing his old clothes his bony figure poked through in the oddest of ways. His once gorgeous black hair now flowed into a matted dull mop. His face was sunken as if the clay used to sculpt his once aristocratic features had hardened and moistened only to slowly melt and crack apart.
This morning didn’t prove to be any different from the mornings before. Remus was in the kitchen which was already dangerous, thankfully he knew it was hard to screw up beans and toast. He knew that Sirius would complain about the lack of bacon but Remus didn’t give a flying fuck at this point. He was high-strung and feeling a fair bit vindictive. Kreacher must have been rubbing off on him. That or the house was actually emanating with darkness and it was infecting his soul. Either possibility was plausible.
As Sirius moodily stalked in from the parlor Remus wondered if things could change at this rate. He wasn’t getting through to Sirius, and with the current trajectory, the pair wouldn’t be making it to Samhain let alone Yule.
Sitting down to eat the usual argument started up slower than usual.
“I don’t see why we can’t write him Moony-” Sirius whining had taken on a raspy note. Remus would have to remind him to drink some water.
“Sirius. How many times do I have to tell you to get the message into that thick skull of yours?!” Slamming his hand into the table even Remus was startled by how harsh his tone came across.
“Well maybe if you actually bothered to give more than your bloody cryptic bull shite I would be inclined to believe you!” Sirius snapped back as he shoved his plate to the side, beans and toast forgotten.
“And for the last time. You won't even bother to listen to me so why should I waste my breath?!” Remus near hissed at his friend. Sirius for his part was doing his best imitation of Snape’s glare, and what was worse was that he was rather good at the snarling expression.
“I’m not a child!” Sirius words were laced with a venom consistent with words he had voiced in this house on multiple occasions previously.
“Then stop fucking acting like it!” Remus was breathing hard, and with the way his blood was pumping, he knew he needed to get control of himself before things escalated.
But it was for naught as Remus felt a slap across his face.
The fight finally stopped once both men were too battered to continue. Remus had the advantage of being marginally healthier than his companion, but Moony was on Sirius's side and of course jumped at the chance to put Remus down.
So now they lay on the ground, dining room destroyed, bloodied, and beaten. Remus felt an odd satisfaction as he reworked his knuckles which were an interesting combination of blue bruises and red flaky blood.
Something was wrong. Remus knew it and judging by the look on his face Sirius knew it as well. Remus had never been so quick to temper with his pack, and Sirius for all his faults was not as rage-filled as his hot-headed tendencies implied.
But without any knowledge of the workings of Grimwauld Place Remus had no idea what could be the cause outside of stir craziness and depression.
“Dumbledore,” Remus said out loud as he cast episky at Sirius's very crooked nose, feeling a small amount of satisfaction at the Black’s hissed pain.
“What are you on about?”
“Dumbledore,” Remus had a choice to make. He hadn’t trusted Sirius enough the first time and that had been his mistake. He might as well trust him now, “I believe that Albus has had some hand in keeping Harry ignorant.”
The narrowing of Sirius's eyes was not an easy sign to read. Remus continued despite the assessment, “I tried to keep in touch with him. Letters, attempts to visit, even offered to send any money I could come up with. I never got word back from him, I was flat out refused visitation rights, and Dumbledore made it clear I was not to continue my efforts.”
Remus leaned his head back and tried to ignore the way it made the throbbing in his back worse. “I took the teaching gig out of desperation. Fourteen years with no contact, not a whiff of my pup save for what they put in the papers. But the bloody Prophet-”
Sirius snorted which Remus took as a good sign. He wouldn’t dare look his friend in the eye, not as he tried his best to not seem like a loon pointing fingers at an authority figure.
“I wanted to see my pup! But Dumbledore, he-” finger quoting his words Remus continued, “No contact with Harry outside of an academic setting or in any way not befitting of the typical teacher-student relationship,” words coming out as gravel now, “Bloodquill binding.”
The small inhale of air was satisfying to hear. Maybe Sirius wasn’t as thick-skulled as he let on. Bloodquills were used for official documents that required a small sample of blood to carry a person's magic and hold them liable. Sirius was a pureblood and would have been raised knowing the seriousness (no pun intended) that a bloodquill called for. In no way should they be taken lightly, but it was highly questionable to use one for something like a teaching contract.
“The first time I spoke to Harry I realized he had no idea who I was. Throughout the year it became obvious he didn’t know anything about us or James and Lils-”
Remus knew he was working himself into a rant but he couldn’t stop. The lid on the metaphorical cookie jar had been knocked off, and the jar was full of chocolate chip cookies (Remus’s weakness).
He kept going letting his internal anguish flow out of him only to finally break down as he realized that he had trusted Dumbledore for so long. The man had let him into school, gave him accommodations he couldn’t have dreamed of. When Sirius had been taken into captivity the only person who he would listen to was Dumbledore. But now… Remus didn’t know anymore.
Finished with his oration Remus wondered why he had even bothered to hide his concerns. Laying out all the evidence it felt more and more likely that Dumbledore was weaponizing incompetence and holding information as leverage. Remus needn’t have worried about Sirius’s reaction, the animagus was apparently swayed in the first few sentences. But it was nice to have someone to rant to and Sirius had been a good sport about listening to Remus’s hysterics.
Sitting down in the doxie-infested parlor Sirius popped open a ridiculously expensive bottle of bourbon and finally the duo allowed their mental walls to crumble. It was only noon, but Remus wasn’t about to let propriety stop him from bonding with his pack. The afternoon ticked by easily as the last of the original marauders (the ones that counted) voiced their grievances and remorse. Remus didn’t realize how on edge he had been with Sirius. It was weird to be on the mend. But even weirder to be absolutely sloshed.
Remus was having the time of his life.
“Its- its- its-”
Sirius gigled aloud but Remus kept going anyway.
“This fucking house right?” Now Remus couldn’t contain his own laughter as they stumbled through the dank hallway on one of the upper floors, Remus hadn’t kept track of the stair flights.
Oddly the house seemed easier to navigate. Usually, Remus found himself confused by the odd layout after the first two floors but now it almost seemed like they were following a straight path.
“Oh my god. Father’s study,” Sirius chuckled maniacally as he wonkily skipped through the hall to the looming door. So that's where they were going, Remus hadn't realized.
Remus’ vision swirled as he followed along staring at the Black family insignia. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk so much, the birds almost looked like they were staring at him. And wow he was tired. Who put the floor there?
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Waking up was a chore as Remus tried to loosen his stiff muscles and shake the fog from his brain.
“Five more minutes-”
What the hell? Peaking one eye open Remus realized that he was in fact. Sleeping in the hall, what kind of foolishness had he let himself get up to? Beside him was a small pile of vomit that smelt of the liquor from the day prior. Looking for the source of the sound Remus noticed the only open door in the hallway. Sprawled on a couch was a half-naked Sirius covered in bruises and a small bit of blood.
Once more Remus couldn’t help but ask himself: what the hell happened?
Half walking half crawling Remus came to a halt as he stared at the rearranged office. Apparently Sirius had some fun redecorating his father’s study, which entailed trashing the place. But, sitting in the middle of the large ornate desk, was an unmistakable sight.
Sirius as a boy had lamented the crows and ravens that seemed to mark every aspect of his life, the Black townhouse was full of feathers all the way down to the foundations. Remus hadn’t realized this meant the wards. But sure enough, sitting on the table was a metal bird, similar to an animatronic an enchanter might turn into a stymphalian. The large difference was the bird's eyes which appeared to be some kind of black stone, possibly onyx or jet. And radiating off the bird was the unmistakable aura of Grimmauld Place. Smeared along the bird’s sharp tail feathers and beak was blood, Sirius’s blood. The house had gotten its wish. Sirius in all his rage at his family had managed to accept the wards of Grimmauld place.
This should have been a cause for celebration. With the wards in his control, Sirius would be able to prevent the house from ejecting them. But a strange foreboding filled Remus’s mind as he gazed into the black eyes of the metal raven that seemed to be looking back with a great level of intelligence. Fuck.
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So the dog star is back under the Black wings- and he brought a commoner to play with. But what to do...
The House of Black was at a precipice, he had been too lenient in the last war, and that had cost the family greatly. He had given leeway to his fool of a son and his meddlesome wife, he had approved marriage contracts that spelled doom and emptied multiple vaults for dowries, and had nearly lost the bloodline. But if the stars were anything to go by the crossroads was still not too long back to turn around and revisit past decisions.
An heir and a spare was the first step back in reassessing events and plans. But if there was one thing Arcturus wasn't about to do is let this tantalizing opportunity go to waist.