Chapter Text
When Harry woke up at eight or so the next morning, he felt so happy that he needed to be sure it wasn’t a dream. And the best way to do so was to get up, to pull on the red and gold dressing gown he had found in his cupboard and to softly knock at Sirius and Remus’ door.
“Please come in, Harry,” Lupin’s soft, raspy voice came to him from the other side, and so the boy did.
His godfather was still sleeping curled up in the bedsheets, but Remus was fully dressed, adjusting his collar in front of the mirror inside the cupboard. The clothes seemed as new as Harry’s, not the old, shaggy robes he wore at Hogwarts the whole schoolyear. It looked like Sirius's notion of emergency was including clothes for both of them, even if he may have forget to buy some for himself, considering the rock-bands rags he had worn the day before.
“Good morning,” Remus almost whispered. “Fancy some breakfast?”
“I’d like to,” Harry answered the same tone. “Shall we wake him up?”
“I don’t think so, he… he doesn’t sleep well that night.”
“Nightmares?”
“He may have to deal with for a while, yes. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
A moment later they both were drinking tea and enjoying toast and eggs in front of a huge window giving onto the garden and the lake. It was beautiful, with the sun shining over the water on the summer morning. They stayed silent for a while, watching out and enjoying the peace.
“Do you get an answer about the Dementor?” Harry asked, noticing that the silver wolf was still wandering all over the house.
“No, but I guess we will have news from Dumbledore as soon as possible.”
“Yesterday, did your Patronus… kill the Dementor?”
“I don’t know. I never heard anything about killing a Dementor, but I may admit that my Patronus was quite… pissed off. So, it may be. I found the rag on the bathroom’s floor yesterday night. But please enjoy your holidays and don’t worry about it any longer. I heard Sirius speaking about going shopping today, to find whatever you may need, a few more furniture for your bedroom, clothes or whatever…”
“He already bought me some clothes,” Harry smiled. “They were on my cupboard.”
“But you didn’t choose them,” a still hoarse voice said behind him. “And I intend to spoil both of you something like… an awful lot.”
“Good morning, Pads,” Lupin said as Harry stood up to hug his godfather.
He never was fond of hugs before, having nobody to share them, but Sirius was that kind of people able to make anyone tactile, even a very-reserved Remus Lupin. Sirius held his godson and greeted him with a forehead-kiss before cupping Moony’s jaw and pecking him on the cheek. He was wearing his dressing gown open on pajama bottoms with a boyish, stupidly natural elegance. Those ones were new too, and the same fabric than Remus’, but a dark, deep red instead of sweet clear blue. However, no matter how careless he looked at first sight, he still had dark-ringed eyes and bony shoulders and gaunt-pale skin. Azkaban's brands will need time to fade.
He sat near his lover and the three of them began to plan their day. Even if Remus insisted that Sirius should rest, they managed to compromise with a morning-shopping on Diagon Alley and Muggle London and a lazy afternoon at home. They were still debating about going or not in the punk-rock shop Sirius loved as a teen, when a beautiful grey owl knocked at the window. Remus opened it to let the bird in.
“That’s for you,” he said reading the address and passing it to Sirius.
“I’d almost forgot it…” he said opening the letter.
He grabbed a handful of small parchments from it and held one out to Harry and one out to Remus.
“Yours, and yours,” he said. “The others are for Hermione, the young Longbottom and McGonagall. Arthur said he already had one for Ron... And this one’s mine.”
They were tickets for the Quidditch World Cup finale, and Harry couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“When for Merlin’s sake did you find the time to buy that?” Remus asked in astonished surprise.
“McGonagall,” Sirius answered with a huge smile. “She was allowed to visit me once before the trial, and she was kind enough to accept my request and buy them for me. She’s still a huge fan of Quidditch, and she wouldn’t have miss it. Harry, would you mind if I borrow Hedwig to send her her ticket?”
“Of course not!”
Then godfather-and-son got dressed the time Lupin needed to wash the dishes and, after sending Hedwig to McGonagall, they flooed to Diagon Alley. It was still quite early and that was a good thing, because the handsome newly-cleared heir of House Black AND the Boy-who-Lived AND the werewolf-teacher were the biggest title of the Daily Prophet since a week now. The whole Wizarding World now knew about Sirius being cleared of everything, even if the fact that he was an Animagus, even newly registered, hadn't been made public. McGonagall had ensured that, not willing his students to try such a risky Transfiguration just because Sirius Black did it. He himself was glad about that, hating that newly regrowth of popularity, craving for an impossible anonymity, but there was no way that the heir and new master of one of the most famous Pureblood family, still officialy bachelor and obviously gorgeous, didn't draw a lot of interest, and even more if he happened to be the godfather and re-appointed guardian of a boy that defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever when he was one year old. That, no matter what, may have been quite good if a bit embarassing.
The biggest problem was for Remus. He now was the most notorious werewolf in Great Brittain, supplanting unwillingly Fenrir Greyback, and whatever may have happened at Hogwarts with the students, most grown-up witches and wizards moved aside of them as they walked in the streets, looking at him with disgust, and at the two others with surprise. They heard whispers about Sirius being a daredevil or that was no smoke without fire, and that maybe he wasn't as innocent as he claimed to be. A young woman eventually dithered about telling the poor Mr Black that was imprisoned unfairly for twelve years that, Sir, you may not know but this one's a – No one ever ended this sentence after Remus stopped Sirius's already flying fist.
“Calm down, Padfoot,” he softly, quietly said while the young witche looked, frozen, at both of them. “It's fine. I'm sorry, Miss,” he added, and she gasped and almost ran away, Harry trying hard not to laugh at her outraged face.
When they first entered in Madam Malkin’s shop, she glared at them with a despised eye.
“I don’t sell to werewolves,” she icily-cold said. “Please get out of my shop now.”
Harry felt more than he saw Sirius’ fist tense once more, and Remus’ hand grab it to calm him down.
“Come on, Harry, Padfoot,” he said. “Let’s go to your punk-rock shop.”
And so they did, for the better: the new that the convict Sirius Black had surrender to ask for a fair trial and was cleared had come to the Muggle World too, to prevent the Muggle police to be overbooked by phone calls, and he was welcomed as a hero in that punk-rock shop he had loved as a teen, which was still there and still owned by the same punk and joyful lass, now forty-something. She perfectly recognized him, of course. She even gave him a peck on the cheek, ruffled Harry's hairs and grinned wide at Remus. Sirius bought two guitars, a folk one and an electric one, several new outfits, jeans and rock band T-shirts and hoodies for him and Harry (Remus declined the offer) and a handful of little things as the last Police and U2 CDs and two posters, since his had been taken by the landlord when Remus had failed to paid the rent of their first flat. They went in a far more conventional shop for Remus to found some tweeds he was so found of and a bunch of new shirts and jumpers, and then back to Diagon Alley, hoping that every shop won’t welcome them as Madam Malkin had.
It happened that reactions were as numerous as people. Flourish & Blotts didn’t seemed to notice, and greeted them as usual (at least, usual for Harry and Remus) and even provide a few books they had put aside for Lupin. They asked Sirius if he had a library in his new home and when the answer was yes, they give him three free books about very advanced Defence against Dark Arts.
“Remembering you as an Auror, you may find them useful,” they said. “Oh, and this one may be helpful too,” they added another book called A decade of Healing Potions, “considering Professor Lupin's... situation.”
“I, erm – ” Sirius hesitated, “thank you. I can pay, you know, I've got money.”
“We are aware,” Blott smiled and discreetly interlaced his fingers and Flourish's ones. “But it's a gift.”
Harry, Remus and Sirius had three huge bags of books when they left the library.
“We're not careful enough,” Lupin whispered, half-happy, half bothered. “There's far too much gossip about us already. Being on the Daily Prophet's front page because I'm a werewolf is hard enough. I don't want to handle a whole column about my depraved unnatural sexuality as well.”
“Guess what?” Sirius answered. “I don't fucking care, but if it can make you more comfortable, I'll be careful.”
At the Quidditch Shop, the reception was quite colder at first, but when Sirius loudly asked Remus if he’d rather order their new brooms by catalogue, they suddenly became warmer. However, Remus never had a thing for brooms and if Sirius allowed himself a Nimbus 2001, his lover though that a Cleansweep was more than enough.
They still needed wizard robes, and Sirius practically dragged a very cowed Remus in Twilfitt and Tattings, and Harry though it was rather comical for his very best DADA teacher to be afraid by a shop. Shop where they were received as if it was perfectly normal for a werewolf to stand, as long as he was in the company of a notoriously incredibly rich bachelor. They glared a little at first, unsure about taking the measures, but they did their job.
Three hours later, Sirius was exhausted, Harry was hungry and Remus had an urgent need of peace and tea, and they Flooed back home. Home. That word alone was dancing in Harry’s mind like a merry tinkerbell, endeared and how much welcome. Lupin forced a paling Black into resting on the couch, ‘with a book if you want but you’re only allowed to get up if you need to go to the loo, Pads,’ and Harry helped his teacher to make some sandwiches they ate in the garden in a kind of cool home-pick-nick way. Despite of his morning’s joyful attitude, Sirius was worn out, and he took a nap on the grass as Padfoot since Remus filled their library with the new books and Harry tidied his new supplies in his bedroom. It seemed almost unnatural to behave so much clothes at the right size, especially the Muggle ones, the so cool rock-band T-shirts and jeans they had found at the punk shop. He felt loved, and welcomed, and wanted, and home. And that home wasn’t a huge castle-college with hundreds of people in, but a little comfy house somewhere in Scotland, only filled by a stupidly rich rock-fan Animagus, an old-fashioned werewolf, a white owl and the happiest teen ever.
And Merlin, that was good.