[Podfic-TTS] Wolfstar Podfics Composed by BurningAurora

Basilisks, Boggarts and Boyfriends (oh my)

It is 5:30 am on a Tuesday, and Sirius Black is having a stand-off against a baby basilisk in his kitchen.

The basilisk, despite being hindered by a pair of large, round, permanently-stuck-on mirrored purple sunglasses, is winning. Sirius feels this is unfair, considering he is not only several feet taller and a fully qualified wizard, but the rightful owner of 12 Grimmauld Place and everything in it, including the sweets cabinet that the basilisk has broken into.

He takes a step forward.

The basilisk hisses and bares tiny, mildly venomous fangs. There is a mini marshmallow stuck to one of them.

He takes a step back.

“This is my house ,” he says to the basilisk. “You have to obey the house rules. We’ve been over this before, you menace. No sugar before noon!”

The basilisk lowers its head and takes another bite out of the Sugar Mice box. Sirius starts and ducks as a rooster flies overhead and settles next to the basilisk. They eye each other warily, and the basilisk scarpers, Sugar Mice box in its mouth, before the rooster begins to eat the firewhisky chocolates that Sirius was saving for the Weasleys as a thank you for babysitting Harry last weekend.

“Stop that!” Sirius says sharply. The rooster flickers once, twice, and turns into his mother, her haughty, beautiful face sneering back at him, long black hair pinned tightly against her skull. How he can look so like her and yet be so different is a mystery Sirius will never get to solve now that she’s gone and died, leaving him this accursed house. Her glaring is ruined by the smears of chocolate around her mouth. Sirius sighs and shakes his head. The boggart, seeing that he isn’t frightened, flickers and turns back into a rooster, deciding the basilisk is an easier target.

Above him, the pipes in the kitchen rattle as the ghoul who recently moved into the attic awakens. From experience, this means he has about five minutes to get enough water from the sink and put the kettle on before green slime starts oozing through the plumbing.

“Merlin’s saggy underpants, this is a bloody madhouse!”

There’s a small giggle from behind the cabinet. Sirius turns. Ten small brown fingers and bright green eyes peek back at him. One grubby hand is clutching a Sugar Mouse. With a squeak, the Sugar Mouse is dropped and scuttles away.

“Harry James Potter, are you conspiring with a basilisk at 5:30 in the morning to eat Sugar Mice?”

“His name is Paddington!” Harry corrects, crawling out from behind the dark wooden antique (oh if his mother could only see the sugary handprints, she’d be having a conniption). He pads over to Sirius and pets the rooster boggart on the way. “Good morning, Wilbur! That’s enough sweets.”

Paddington and Wilbur both follow the small, messy-haired boy, leaving the sweets to curl up by his side in utter adoration.

“Oh sure, ignore me. Listen to the six year old,” mutters Sirius. He wonders if he would seem more authoritative if he was not wearing fuzzy golden snitch pyjamas (the natural result of allowing Harry to go Christmas shopping with his brother Regulus). He wonders what happened to his life, that he has gone from being the effortlessly cool Sirius Black, reckless motorcycle aficionado, to losing power struggles with basilisks and boggarts and six year olds in his kitchen while wearing said pyjamas.

On a Tuesday.

Has he mentioned it’s 5:30 in the morning?

Like most stories, this one begins with the ending of another.

Harry James Potter was dropped on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, at the tender age of one, and reluctantly taken in by his relatives, the Dursleys, when it became clear that they had no other choice. They were remarkably unkind, unpleasant people, and thankfully the story of Harry’s time with them, which could have (in a different universe) stretched on and on in escalating incidents of child neglect and abuse, was instead cut short when, just past 7:45 pm on a cold, blustery Wednesday, Petunia Dursley, long neck craning to overhear her neighbours’ latest row, glanced out the window overlooking her back garden and screeched.

A large, black dog was sitting on her well manicured lawn, looking for all the world as though it had been watching her for some time.

“Shoo!” she opened the window and flapped her boney arms at him. The dog did not move.

“What’s that?” A small boy, blonde and pink-cheeked, appeared at the window, looking on with interest.

“No, no, Dudley, stay away– no, don’t go outside, it might lunge at you! Or have fleas. It looks very dirty. Stay here, darling, just… shoo! Shoo, I said!” The dog cocked its head, mouth opening into a tongue-lolling pant. It stood up calmly, walked over to her prize-winning flower bed, and began digging it all up with a methodical fury.

“Stop that! Stop that - Harry! HARRY! Where is that blasted boy - ah, there you are. Go outside at once and scare that dog away!”

The dog froze, listening intently, the back door creaked open, and little feet padded down the path. They stopped fairly far away. The dog looked up at a small, nervous child, barely five years old. His round glasses were too large for him, and his messy black hair framed a skinny, underfed face.

“Go ‘way, please, dog,” Harry squeaked, brandishing a broom double his height with tiny, trembling arms.

The dog looked back at the house, where Petunia and Dudley Dursley were watching through the window, noses pressed against the glass. It looked at Harry, sent out like a sacrificial lamb, still clutching his broom.

The dog concentrated for a second, and then turned into Sirius Black, recently released from Azkaban after the death of his mother had finally broken the Unbreakable Vow his brother Regulus was under, trapped in their childhood home, and whose testimony had thoroughly indicted Peter Pettigrew as the traitor in his stead.

“Hello, Harry,” Sirius said gently. Harry stared at him with large, fascinated green eyes. They both ignored the screeching in the house behind them as Petunia began ranting about how anyone could have seen, magic was absolutely forbidden in her house. What was that degenerate doing here…

“Hello,” Harry whispered. “Are you that dog?”

“Yes,” said Sirius.

He turned back into Padfoot and wagged his tail in a friendly sort of way before rolling onto his back, begging for belly scratches. Harry giggled and then immediately stopped, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

Sirius turned back and sat up, smiling encouragingly at him. “Do you like dogs? His name is Padfoot.”

“That’s a funny name,” Harry said. “Why Padfoot?”

“Your father named me Padfoot,” Sirius said. “He could turn into an animal too, you know. A stag, named Prongs. We learned to do it as a dare when we were in school.”

“My father?” Harry’s voice was tinged in awe. “You knew my father?”

“Very well,” said Sirius. “He is - was - my best friend in the whole world.”

“I didn’t…” Harry paused, little face frowning. “I didn’t think he had any friends. Aunt ‘Tunia says he was a fool, and good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Sirius breathed in sharply and clenched his jaw so tight that there was an audible click. Behind him, Petunia Dursley gave a little squeak and slammed the window shut.

After another moment, Sirius’ gaze gentled. He stood and held out his hand. “Your father was the best man I knew, Harry. He was brave, smart, and kind. Would you like to come with me and hear more about him?”

“Yes, please,” Harry said shyly and took his hand.

Later, Sirius would reflect on this and be horrified at how easily Harry was willing to trust a total stranger over the dire warnings of his aunt, still floating through the closed window.

Even farther into the future, deep into his parenting years, he would be haunted by the thought that someone else might have gotten to Harry first, and Harry would have just gone with them.

But at the time, in the back garden of Number Four, Privet Drive, Sirius felt nothing but love and relief as he and Harry walked away from the Dursleys for good.

And that is the story of how Sirius Black technically kidnapped Harry Potter, and became a father.

Harry is so quiet.

Sirius is not sure if this is normal for a five year old boy. His own dusty, long-buried memories of being five largely involve himself and Regulus being constantly told to shut up, which indicates he must have been making noise of some sort at the time. But Harry moves around 12 Grimmauld Place like a shy ghost, staring at him unnervingly around corners with worried green eyes and sucking his thumb (and is that normal for five year olds? Sirius isn’t sure. Merlin, he’s so lost navigating this whole parenting thing).

“What would you like for dinner, Harry?” he tries gamely that first week, trying to get the kid to open up. Harry shrugs. “Well, what’s your favourite food?” Harry thinks for a moment, then shrugs again.

Sirius ends up getting fish and chips takeaway for the two of them five dinners in a row because Harry’s eyes light up the first time when he smells the warm greasy packages wrapped in newspaper, until he reads somewhere that children also need vegetables, and then he panics, transfiguring the chips into carrots mid-bite.

Harry finishes his food politely, but that night Sirius finds tiny pockets stuffed with carrots when he launders Harry’s robes. It becomes a silent battle, as Sirius begins serving a Balanced Nutritious Plate every meal, just like the parenting books say he should. Harry clears his plate every time, but gets more creative with where he’s hiding the food he does not want to eat.

After finding peas smushed into the heels of Harry’s shoes, Sirius calls Regulus in a panic.

“I am so glad you have come to me with this. After all, I have absolutely zero experience in child-rearing or normal childhood experiences. Excellent choice on your part,” Regulus sits in the kitchen, nursing his tea and looking mildly exasperated after being treated to 90 straight minutes of ranting about the nutritional content of fried tomatoes (which Harry will eat) versus fresh tomatoes (most recently found stuffed into the seat cushion of Sirius’ chair).

“Tough,” Sirius slumps against the wall. “I’m still not speaking to Andromeda after she left me to rot in bloody Azkaban, and nobody else I know has children. Except the Weasleys, but I would rather eat my own foot than listen to another one of Molly’s lectures. They’re awful, Reg.”

“Dumbledore…”

“We are NOT talking about that bast- errrrrrrrrrrrr. D. Wow, it is impossible to switch words midway through that one,” Sirius groans as Harry slips into the kitchen. “Hello, Haz. Alright?”

Harry nods. He politely fills a cup with water, avoiding both their eyes, and scurries away.

“Huh.” Regulus looks thoughtful. “He does look a bit scared of everything, doesn’t he?”

“Blasted Dursleys did a number on him,” Sirius growls.

“I’m sure living here can’t help,” Regulus says, tapping one slender finger against the table. “Have you tried clearing the upper levels at all , or are they still infested with Dark magic and creatures? Any child would be on edge, surely, living underneath them. That I do have experience with.” His voice is blank but tense, and Sirius winces, remembering unacknowledged midnights when his younger brother would sneak into his bedroom, shaking, and curl up beside him as dark creatures wailed overhead.

“You know I wouldn’t have left you alone here if -” he starts, and Regulus shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says in a brisk voice that tells Sirius it Absolutely Does Matter. “Just hire a specialist, one of those Dark Creature experts, hm? What is the point of all this bloody money - and I do mean that literally - if we cannot throw it at our problems?”

Sirius hesitates, and a ghoul takes the opportunity to make the pipes rattle. There’s a little squeak outside the door as Harry drops his cup at the noise from where he was eavesdropping. Regulus gives Sirius an I told you so look.

Sirius hates that look.

And that is the story of how Sirius Black hires Lupin & Co, Dark Magic Exterminators.

Sirius isn’t sure what to expect from a Dark Magic Exterminator. Perhaps someone grizzled, a bit like Mad-Eye Moody, with a far-off glint in their eye, as if to say I’ve seen things, kid. Things you would never survive. Perhaps they’d be chomping a cigar at the same time. There is probably a machete strapped to their back. They may not have sleeves on their shirts.

Yes, Sirius had just recently gotten a muggle television, why do you ask?

Regardless, he was not expecting a shabby-looking young man, perhaps his own age, to turn up on his doorstep, brown robes patched and a small hastily-scribbled sticker on his chest that says

HELLO MY NAME IS

Remus Lupin

The sticker is lopsided, much like the man’s slight smile. His eyes are a warm amber, dark circles highlighting their brightness, and his hair is a mess of golden-brown curls shot through with silver.

“Oh, Merlin ,” he blurts out when Sirius opens the door, low voice hoarse, and then flushes. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing lean, scarred forearms that reek of no-nonsense competence. He is not in any possible way similar in build to Arnold Schwartzenegger or Mad-Eye. “I mean. Sorry. Hi there. You called for a Dark Magic exterminator?”

Sirius is instantly in love.

“Thank you, Regulus,” he sighs. The man - Remus Lupin - shoots him a quizzical look. “I mean, yes, er - that’s me. You’re here to exterminate - Sirius Black. I mean, hah - not to exterminate Sirius Black. Just. That’s my name. Sirius Black.”

“Remus Lupin,” says Remus Lupin, and then Sirius watches in utter delight as the tips of his ears go a little red. “I mean, you probably got that. From my name tag.”

“Yes,” Sirius agrees breathlessly. They stare at each other again, helpless. Sirius wonders if it’s too early to ask him on a date.

“So… shall we go…?” Remus murmurs.

“You read my mind!” Sirius beams, and then realises Remus is likely talking about going inside the house, not out to dinner. Pity.

They wind up starting in the attic, and Sirius gets to watch Remus snap into action, slowly and methodically banishing the Cornish pixies that have been tearing apart the roof shingles. He moves to the library and faces down the boggart that has been rattling around the desk drawer with ease, movements fluid and confident. It’s in the midst of changing into a silvery orb when Harry pokes his head around the corner, and it changes into Petunia Dursley, who points at Harry and begins yelling.

Harry squeaks and begins crying silently. Always silently.

Sirius whips around and scoops the small boy up, covering his ears and hugging him close as Remus’ eyes narrow. He waves his wand and cries out Riddikulus!

The boggart cracks, and then Petunia stumbles over the dragging tail of her new Barney-the-purple-muggle-dinosaur costume.

There is a long pause. And then, from the safety of Sirius’ arms, a small giggle.

Sirius looks down in astonishment as Harry’s face creases, looking at the boggart, and begins to laugh out loud. Remus grins at them both and waves his wand. Petunia begins dancing around the room, looking furious and ridiculous all at once. Harry’s laughter gets even louder, until, with a final mighty pop , the boggart disappears.

“Again!” Harry is beaming at the stranger in their library. “Please?”

“Afraid I can’t,” Remus says gently. “But here…” he pulls out a crumbled bit of paper from his robes and concentrates. After a moment, it’s transfigured into a small stuffed purple dinosaur. “Would you like to keep Barney? That way, next time you’re scared, you can remember to laugh instead.”

“Yes, please,” Harry whispers, still smiling. He reaches out and grabs the dinosaur, hugging it tightly to his chest. “Look, Padfoot!”

“Wow,” Sirius murmurs. He thinks he might cry. He thinks he might kiss Remus Lupin on his brilliant, brilliant mouth. “That’s so cool, Harry.” Remus winks at him, and Sirius buries his head into Harry’s hair. He will not cry. He will not cry.

“I can handle this floor, Sirius, if you and Harry want to go play with Barney,” Remus suggests gently, as if he read his mind. Sirius shoots him a grateful look, and they retreat to the garden.

Barney has clearly unlocked something in Harry. Together, they sit out in the watery sunlight, acting out a very serious story about Barney versus the boggart. Sirius is cast as the boggart who cowers in fear every time Harry holds the dinosaur above his head like a talisman. By the end of the afternoon, they’re both laughing, and Harry even tells Sirius he’d like a hot chocolate, which is the first time he’s ever requested anything.

Sirius adamantly does not cry again.

Instead, he makes a huge vat, and throws in so many marshmallows that Harry spends the next hour running up and down the hallways, Barney in his arms, on a sugar-high that eventually collapses into an abrupt nap on the living room sofa. Sirius is aware Molly Weasley would strongly disapprove. He does not give a rats-arse.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he says later, over a mug of tea. Remus looks tired but satisfied - he’s cleared the top two floors, and says the next will likely be a breeze tomorrow, though he’ll have to come back with special gloves for the Cabinet of Curiosities in Sirius’ father’s study. “Harry has … it’s just… been really hard. He’s recently adopted, and his old family… Well. You can imagine, considering his boggart. He’s been so quiet since he got here. Today was the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh like that.”

“I get it,” Remus says sympathetically. “Or rather, I don’t entirely, because I don’t have any children. But… I was a rather lonely child myself. Having imaginary friends, even dinosaurs, is very important when you’re on your own and… and dealing with something scary, you know? They’re good to sleep with too. Keeps the nightmares away to have something to hug.”

They smile at each other, Sirius’ grin wide and Remus’ small half-smile soft.

Sirius’ foot nudges against Remus’ in a tentatively flirty gesture. “You’re absolutely right,” he says. “It does help to have something to hug at night, doesn’t it?”

“Shall I make you a dinosaur too?” Remus is flirting back. Remus is flirting back. Sirius is thrilled by this turn of events.

“I might need something a bit bigger to hug,” he muses very seriously. “Got anything that’s about… say… your size?”

Remus laughs and blushes a little. “I’ll look into it and get back to you.”

“You do that, Remus Lupin.”

They smile at each other again, and take simultaneous sips of tea, eyes dancing and sparking when they meet.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Sirius begins, because this is niggling at him. “I don’t remember you at Hogwarts, though we must be similar in age. Did you go to another school?”

There is a short pause, and then…

“Homeschooled,” Remus replies easily, though his shoulders are now straight and tense. “I was sick a lot. As a child. My parents thought it best I stay where they could keep an eye on me.”

Sirius regrets asking, clearly having pressed on a sore point. Remus drains his tea and flees the kitchen, promising he’ll be back tomorrow with those gloves, and then it’s just Sirius and Harry again, rattling around the giant townhouse.

Without the pixies and boggarts, the house feels a little lighter already, but also somehow lonelier, as if Remus’ absence has already left a hole.

Sirius is so, so screwed.

The sexiest thing about Remus Lupin, Sirius decides, after a couple weeks of Dark Magic extermination, is that he is extremely talented. He cuts through swathes of dark magic as if it were nothing, fighting ghouls and cursed items alike with quiet, determined concentration and confidence.

The worst thing about Remus Lupin, Sirius despairs, is also that he is extremely talented. He’s so talented that the job that was estimated to take a month is going to be done in half the time, and then Sirius will have no more excuses to pop in while he’s working and offer him tea while subtly swooning over his hoarse voice and small half-smile, always lopsided but genuine. He won’t be able to walk in on Remus entertaining Harry with a silvery wolf patronus or blowing bubbles from his wand for the young boy to jump around the room and pop, jumping off the sofa and coffee table to catch the high ones.

He won’t be able to sit with Remus in the evenings once the work is done, chatting in the kitchen and feeling as though 12 Grimmauld Place is almost… dare he say… cozy when it is just the two of them, laughing and swapping tales of Sirius’ school days with James, or Remus’ travels through Asia to study magical creatures for his homeschooled NEWT exams.

Remus has never flirted again, even when Sirius gives him huge hints that he’d be open to something more. And Sirius has tried everything , but Remus seems immune to all of it. He’d barely batted an eye when Sirius wandered in from the garden with a tight white t-shirt and some artfully smeared grease on his arms, spinning a muggle spanner and inviting him to check out his bike. That always worked, in Sirius’ experience. But Remus had just gotten excited about the theory behind making a motorcycle fly, and before Sirius knew it, they’d spent the rest of the evening buried in his old textbooks, discussing the practicalities of muggle mechanics and magic combined.

It was fun. It was fascinating stuff. It was… decidedly not the sexy bike ride he had in mind (followed by other, more fun rides).

“What’s on yer mind, young Black?” A booming voice and large hand claps down on his shoulder where Sirius has buried his face in his arms on the slightly sticky table at the Three Broomsticks. Harry is at the Weasleys’ tonight, and Sirius, in a last-ditch effort to reclaim his identity as a suave young rebel who can still flirt successfully, had a date. A date so dull that he’d made his excuses early and apparated instead to the pub, to drown his despair in as much firewhisky as he could manage.

“Hello, Hagrid,” Sirius mumbles blearily. Hagrid - or possibly two Hagrids - stand before him, large arms crossed. “Howsit?”

“Better’n you, I reckon,” Hagrid replies jovially. “What’s got you down?”

“Oh, just… don’t have enough dark creatures in my house,” Sirius sighs.

“Dark creatures? What do yeh mean?”

“Ahhh, it’s nothing,” Sirius waves his hand vaguely. “Jus… Just need some or else he’s gonna leave, Hagrid, and I didn’t even get a kiss .”

Hagrid looks extremely confused, which is very fair. Sirius is confused, and he’s the one speaking. Together, however, in the course of several more firewhisky shots, they manage to unravel the whole sorry tale, and then there’s some singing at some point - a dirge about lost love, perhaps there’s some dancing, Sirius is never quite sure on that point, and by the end of the night Hagrid is beaming, swaying slightly as they stumble out of the pub together.

“I can help!” he proclaims loudly, and Sirius laughs.

“What, you're gonna just… Poof! More dark creatures into my house?”

Hagrid nods and repeats POOF to himself multiple times, giggling. Sirius stops and looks at him. There are two of him, bushy beards grinning in the darkness of the cobbled streets, and this is maybe a bit left field but Sirius is desperate and also everything is the best idea after several drinks.

“Tell me more,” he says, and Hagrid does.

And that is the story of how Sirius Black ends up with a giant box on his front doorstep several days later that says “Open with Care” in Hagrid’s messy sprawl. Inside is a boggart, a ghoul, several pixies, and a mysterious egg. The minute he opens the box, most of the creatures fly into the house, right past where Harry is standing in the hallway.

Sirius is such a terrible parent. The worst. He can feel Lily Potter’s spirit glaring at him from beyond the grave, arms crossed.

Luckily, Harry has had two weeks of Remus Lupin’s special bravery training, so he just clutches Barney very tightly, and then takes a determined little breath and continues on his way.

Sirius is so, so proud of him. Still, the worst parent in the world, in his own mind, but at least he’s found a Positive Influence for Harry.

Now, he just has to get that Positive Influence to want to stick around.

“I don’t understand,” Remus throws his hands up in bafflement as he surveys the absolute wreckage the new pixies have wrought in the attic. “I cleared this space! I definitely banished all of them!”

“Ah well, pixies,” Sirius says glibly. “Tricky buggers, looks like they found a way back in.”

“I am so sorry, Sirius,” Remus looks at him grimly. “I swear, I’m going to get them all this time. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I believe in you!” Sirius says cheerily. “Fancy some tea after you’re done? We’re having lasagna tonight!”

Remus’ mouth twitches. “Are you cooking it?”

“Oi!” Sirius points a finger at him. “I will have you know that my last lasagna was very nearly edible. Harry only stuffed his pockets with half of it.”

“Mmhmm,” Remus says, rolling up his sleeves. Those forearms are on display again, and Sirius feels a little faint.

“Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Lupin. We’ll do a takeaway. Curry?”

“I’d be delighted.”

Owl Post - November 5th.

Hello Remus,

Sorry to bother you, but it looks like there’s another ghoul that’s taken up residence in the drawing room. Any chance you could come by?

Yours truly,

Sirius Black

*

Hi Sirius,

The drawing room? I checked the drawing room last week and there were only those cursed mirrors. How did they get in?? Never mind, I’ll be there in an hour.

Remus

P.S. Tell Harry I’m bringing a kappa with me - he really liked that bedtime story. Just caught one on my last job and thought he might like to see it before I release it into the wild.

*

Owl Post - November 8th

Remus,

Thanks again for getting rid of the ghoul, and for bringing the kappa over. Harry’s still thrilled. He hasn’t stopped repeating all the fun facts you told him. It’s driving my brother Regulus up the wall tonight, he’s come over, and Harry hasn’t stopped talking, so please feel free to stuff him full of more when next you come.

Which, incidentally, may need to be soon as we appear to have a small infestation of grindylows in the garden pond. Any chance you could pop by…?

Sirius

*

Owl Post - November 8th

Sirius,

Keep Harry out of the garden. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon and will take care of them. I didn’t even think to check the pond, so I apologise. Lupin & Co is incredibly thorough, normally, so I’ll do this one for free.

Remus

P.S. What are your thoughts on pot roast? Only I have made far too much, and was wondering if you and Harry might like some for supper tomorrow?

*

Remus,

Only if you join us for it. I’ll make dessert!

Sirius

P.S. Yes, by make, I mean I will ask Regulus to send more of his cookies, you absolute wanker, I can see your raised eyebrows from here and I do not appreciate it.

*

Owl Post - November 10th

Remus,

Please come as soon as possible - hinkypunk wandering corridors on the third story, we need your expertise.

Sirius

P.S. Bring more pot roast if you have any. Best thing I’ve had in ages.

*

Sirius,

A HINKYPUNK? They live in bogs! How on earth did one get into the house?

I’ll be there this afternoon. No pot roast, but I’ll bring a particularly excellent frittata I made last night, if I do say so myself. Try not to get a fireball thrown at you in the meantime.

Remus

*

Owl Post - November 11

Remus,

Thanks again for getting rid of the hinkypunk. It occurs to me that our owls have been getting quite a lot of exercise recently, so enclosed you’ll find a hand mirror. James and I used to use these to chat during detention at Hogwarts - I have the other one. Say my name and we can talk to each other live. Brilliant, right? I mean, for dark magic extermination purposes, naturally. Though do feel free to call whenever, if you like.

Sirius

In retrospect, Sirius only has himself to blame when Harry gets too comfortable with Dark Creatures. After all, he has been sneakily importing them into the house for several weeks, (very carefully, after the first incident. Harry is always fast asleep and far away from the targeted room in question, because Sirius really does want to be a good parent).

Harry has now essentially become Remus’ apprentice, following the man around like he hung the sun, moon and stars combined (Sirius does not blame him for this. If anything, he’s a little jealous that Harry can follow Remus around so blatantly while he needs to invent excuses to pop in and out as they’re working).

Still, he is not expecting it when one day, he turns up to the kitchen to find Harry sitting and talking to a ghoul.

“And this is Barney, but you can’t touch him, because you’ll make him all slimy,” Harry is explaining. The ghoul looks down at the purple dinosaur in Harry’s arms and lets out a mournful gurgle, rattling the kitchen china.

“Harry?” Sirius steps into the room cautiously. “What… erm… What are you doing?”

“This is John!” Harry chirps, turning to beam at Sirius. He’s recently lost a tooth and it’s so cute that Sirius’ heart squeezes at the sight. “I named him! Can we keep him?”

“Uh…” Sirius looks at the ghoul in bafflement. John rattles his chains, and green slime drips down onto the tiled floor. He has no idea what to do now. None of the parenting books he bought covered what to do when your child wants to adopt a ghoul. “Why John?”

“Cause it’s Remus’ middle name,” Harry says, as if it is obvious. “He told me. And John is nice, just like Remus.”

“Well,” Remus says after he spends about five minutes laughing himself silly in the mirror that Sirius is holding up to his own face, lying in bed. “I can honestly say nobody has ever named anything after me before, so I’m quite flattered, actually. Harry is a very loving child.”

“Oh yes, I’ll be sure to think of you with love whenever John is leaving his sludge all over my nice clean corridors,” Sirius responds grumpily. He shifts and buries his face in his pillow briefly before peeking up, one grey eye visible. “This is all your fault, you know. You’ve made him entirely too brave.”

“I don’t think I can take all the credit there,” Remus’ voice is warm. It feels like sinking into a hot bath after stumbling in from the cold. Sirius is utterly addicted. “He spends a lot of time repeating all the adventure stories you’ve told him about you and James and Lily, you know. He thinks you are the best thing since fish and chips were invented.”

“That would be high praise, coming from Harry,” Sirius laughs softly, trying to deflect from how touched he actually is. Remus sees through him immediately.

“You’re doing a very good job with him, you know. Truly.”

“I feel like I haven’t a clue what I’m doing,” Sirius says softly. “But I love him, and I suppose that has to count for something, right?”

“It’s the thing that counts the most,” says Remus firmly. “Trust me. Your love is so strong, anyone would be… erm… that is to say…” he trails off, turning slightly red. Sirius’ heart is beating double-time. “Lucky,” Remus finishes determinedly, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. “To have it.”

“Well.” Sirius isn’t sure where to go from here. This is the first truly visible sign that Remus might be interested, but he’s all wobbly from the onslaught of heartache and joy the conversation has wrought, and too brimful of feelings to reciprocate properly. “That’s… very lovely of you, Remus. I suppose you do deserve to have a ghoul named after you after all.”

“Oh fuck off,” Remus laughs.

The next week, it’s a boggart. Harry has long since ceased being afraid of them, and promptly names this one Wilbur. Wilbur is offered a space in one of the spare closets, as long as it promises to behave and only scare guests if Harry doesn’t like them.

Remus is baffled at this news, but assures Sirius that if the boggart has truly made an agreement with Harry, it’s unlikely to scare him, especially if it’s being offered space instead of having to fight for it. He goes so far as to gently place an arm around Sirius’ shoulders comfortingly after Wilbur pops out and jump-scares him again that evening in the kitchen.

“You’re alright,” he soothes, squeezing Sirius tightly against his side. He smells of tea, and warmth, and a hint of evergreen. “I’ve got you.” They look each other in the eyes, and Remus sucks in a little breath, looking a little hazy, as if he’s forgotten what he’s meant to be doing.

It’s brilliant.

Sirius supposes Wilbur can stay.

It’s the mysterious egg that is his downfall.

“Sirius,” says Remus, moving away from the garden window. It’s the following week, and he’s here to get rid of an infestation of doxies that Sirius carefully let into the dining room curtains yesterday (he has several bites on his hands that he had to get Regulus to come over and treat, which his loving brother subsequently informed him was not what his healer training was meant to be used for). Still, it’s worth it. This new tension that they’ve been building up, ever since the conversation with the mirror, is finally coming to a head, Sirius can just feel it.

Remus is looking directly into Sirius’ eyes. They’re so close together now. Sirius could count every freckle if he wasn’t entirely distracted by the flecks of gold in Remus’ irises.

“Remus?” he replies, flirtily.

“ Sirius.” Remus repeats urgently, and reaches out to grab his hand.

“Yes, Remus?” murmurs Sirius in his lowest, most seductive tone. Merlin, this was such a good idea. He owes Hagrid a crate of firewhisky. Remus is trembling slightly, clearly overwhelmed by his emotions, and Sirius gives him a gentle, slightly sultry half-smile, the sort that he hopes conveys both I will be the best sex you’ve ever had, and I am a responsible father figure who is an excellent long-term partner.

“Sirius, why is Harry out there talking to a baby basilisk, and more importantly, why is the basilisk wearing sunglasses?”

“But his name is Paddington!” Harry wails, struggling to leave Sirius’ arms and head back outside. “He just hatched, and he’s all alone! I want to keep him!”

“Harry, I do not care,” Sirius snaps. “This isn’t a garden snake, it’s a basilisk! It’s too dangerous!”

“Paddington won’t hurt me,” Harry says stubbornly. “He told me to shut my eyes until I found something to cover his up with.”

“That is beside the poi - wait, what?” Sirius stops and sets Harry down, keeping a firm hold on his shoulders. “What do you mean he told you?”

“He told me!” Harry repeats, as if he doesn’t understand why Sirius is being so dense about this. Sirius looks up and meets Remus’ eyes, both of them equally startled.

“Harry,” Sirius begins, feeling around the edges of the question in the darkness of his frantic mind, “do you understand… Paddington? When he’s hissing?”

“Paddington doesn’t hiss, he talks,” Harry replies, clearly confused.

“A Parselmouth,” murmurs Remus. “He’s a Parselmouth.”

“That’s impossible,” Sirius says blankly. “James and Lily weren’t Parselmouths. I don’t think any of their ancestors were either, and isn’t it inherited?”

“Usually, though not always,” Remus is staring out into the garden now, where the baby basilisk is curled up on a paving stone, purple sunglasses still on. “Sirius, you may think I'm absolutely mad, but… if Harry can actually talk to it, he might be able to convince it to come with me. I can relocate it somewhere safe without harming it.”

“Noooooooo!” Harry wails. “I want him to stay with us!”

“Absolutely not, Harry. I forbid it,” Sirius says firmly, using the deep I Am Your Father And My Decision Is Final tone of voice he’s been practising alone at night for Very Important Parenting Situations.

Remus looks a little taken aback, and the tips of his ears go a bit pink. Interesting. Sirius files this away for another day.

Harry, completely unaffected by his Very Serious Tone, continues to wail. “But he’s my friend! And he’s an orphan! I love him!”

“I said no!” Sirius repeats. The voice is deeper. Final. He puts the full might of his authority into it, and calls the matter settled.

Paddington, newly equipped with a permanent sticking charm to the sunglasses, moves into the house the following day.

Sirius hates Paddington.

Granted, Paddington is very gentle with Harry. The two of them can often be found having incomprehensible, hissing conversations in the middle of the living room, and the basilisk really does seem like he has no intention of eating anyone but the bucket loads of rats Hagrid is now supplying them for free (as an apology, having insisted he meant to give Sirius an Acromantula egg, to which Sirius had replied, “In what world is that BETTER, Hagrid??”).

Still, having a great big snake slithering around Grimmauld Place, looking at home next to all the Slytherin decor and beastly tapestries, is giving Sirius the creeps. Not to mention the fact that between Harry adopting the basilisk, the boggart, and the ghoul, he’s now worried he’s accidentally raising the world’s scariest child.

“It’s not so bad,” Remus says gently, patting Sirius on the head. Sirius is despondent, staring into the fireplace as if the crackling flames can give him the answers he needs.

“I’ve completely lost control of the situation, Remus,” Sirius groans.

“To be fair, did you ever really have control?”

“It was just… I was just… Hagrid assured me it was a harmless egg!”

He realises what he’s said a beat later, and raises his head up so fast that his neck pops a little. Remus is biting his lip, as if trying not to laugh. He fails.

“Alright, when did you figure it out?” Sirius says at last.

“Honestly? Somewhere in between the second pixie infestation and the third ghoul popping up in the exact same spot I had just cleared the week before,” Remus settles on the living room floor next to him. “Immodestly, I know my Dark Magic extermination skills are good - way too good to have left so many creatures and items unnoticed during the first sweep.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Sirius’ face feels hot. He’s an irresponsible parent who just let his child adopt a basilisk, and a terrible liar (apparently), and his face is bright red and he’s probably never felt less sexy in his life, which is why he is absolutely not prepared when cool fingers touch his cheek, turning his face, and -

Oh.

Remus’ lips are gentle and warm against his, and he kisses the same way he does magic - unshowy, but with quiet confidence and utter determination. Sirius barely has a chance to register these facts before Remus is pulling back, his freckled face now also flushed red. His eyes are so, so warm.

“Because I liked seeing you,” Remus whispers. “Terribly unprofessional of me, I know, and I’m sorry, but… mmph!”

Sirius kisses back the way he does magic - fiercely, full of passion and singular, overwhelming concentration on the task at hand. He feels more than hears Remus moan, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and deepen the kiss.

Several minutes later, Remus breaks them apart again.

“Wait,” he pants. “Wait.”

“For what?” Sirius asks hazily.

“I have to confess something,” Remus swallows. “I… you know the illness I had as a child? It’s… erm… well. I’m a werewolf.” He closes his eyes, braced against the sofa as if expecting Sirius to throw him out of the house.

Sirius stares for a moment, then begins to giggle. Remus cracks one eye open, baffled.

“S-sorry,” Sirius gasps. “It’s just… it’s just…”

“Sirius, I just told you I’m a werewolf. A Dark Creature. You’ve been kissing a Dark Creature who could tear your throat out every full moon,” Remus says, frowning. “Most people would - er - react differently to that.”

“I know,” says Sirius, taking in a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s just… Remus. I’ve literally adopted a basilisk. I’ve invited a boggart to live with me. You really thought being a werewolf would scare me off?”

Remus’ brow un-creases, just a little. “You don’t mind? Truly? What about Harry?”

Sirius gives him a Look.

“Yes, alright, Harry will probably be fine with it,” Remus concedes. He smiles, big and wide and unfettered for the very first time. Merlin, Sirius loves him. “Just my luck I found the one family that seems to be incredibly fond of Dark Creatures, I suppose.”

“You’re not a Dark Creature, you’re a Remus Lupin. Though yes, we are both incredibly fond of you,” Sirius says firmly, curling his hand around Remus’ neck and pulling him in for another kiss.

“I bet you say that to all the werewolves.”

“Only the ones who make frittatas and save my son from hinkypunks that I let into the house on purpose to seduce them.”

“True. Your seduction techniques need work, Black.”

“I don’t know,” Sirius beams as Remus pushes him down onto the floor, hands buried in his hair. “I think the results speak for themselves here, Lupin.”

They smile at each other, sparks flying, and then for quite a long time there is no more conversation at all.

“Sirius, did you know it’s 5:30 in the morning? Why are you up?”

Sirius, pyjama-clad and exasperated, turns to face his fiancé, who has exited the pantry with a guilty expression, wrapped in a dark blue bathrobe with partying doxies stamped all over them - a fellow victim of Harry and Regulus’ Christmas shopping extravaganza.

“Yes, Remus, I do in fact know the time, thank you. More importantly, why are you up?”

Remus looks down at his arms full of chocolate, caught red-handed. “Harry had a nightmare?”

“Yes,” Harry pipes up quickly. “And Moony said chocolate would help because it always helps! And Paddington agreed!”

“Mmhmm,” Sirius narrows his eyes, and Remus smiles sheepishly. “I should have known you’d be behind this, you chocolate fiend. Using Harry as an excuse, have you sunk so low? Remus, I made you read that book about children and vegetables for a reason!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Remus replies with dignity. The effect is rather spoiled by the smears of chocolate on his lips, which smudge as he speaks. Sirius feels an overwhelming wave of fondness. He steps forward and tugs the blue bathrobe lapels until Remus is in his arms and he’s kissing the chocolate off of his face. In the distance, he hears Harry and Paddington hissing as they scarper, clearly taking the opportunity to run while the adults are distracted.

“Chocolate is a plant too, I’ll have you know,” Remus murmurs when at last they break apart.

“If you're trying to convince me that chocolate is a vegetable…”

“Vegetables are plants. Cocoa beans are plants -”

“You are ridiculous,” Sirius says fondly, and then winces as Wilbur squawks in protest. “Ridiculous, not Ridikkulous, Wilbur. Get out of here!”

He turns back to face his new fiancé, who is laughing. “I’d like to make a complaint to Lupin & Co,” Sirius says gravely.

“What?”

“I appear to have a great number of Dark Creatures in my house that Lupin & Co were meant to get rid of, and they’ve all moved in and gotten names instead!”

“Lupin & Co is extremely sorry for your dissatisfaction, sir,” Remus replies, still snickering. “But we have this bit in the contract called the ‘You Did This To Yourself’ clause that indemnifies us against all possible recourse when the Dark Creatures in question are part of one’s nefarious wooing of innocent werewolves.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius grins, “though I think an argument could be made that contracts signed when one is distracted by the werewolf in question should be legally void. It’s an unfair -” he kisses Remus again - “business” - kiss - “practice.”

In the attic, John moans. Paddington slithers past in the hall, scales scraping ominously against the oak floors. Wilbur turns into a banshee, inexplicably, begins a screaming contest with Harry in the nursery. In the kitchen, a former convict and a werewolf make out against an ancient heirloom cabinet filled with sweets.

Harry may grow up in the world’s scariest house. But it will also be the happiest home he’ll ever have.