"Hurry up, Padfoot!"
"I need to finish reading Harry Potter as soon as possible. I've got an interview with the acolytes, and the deadline's the day after tomorrow!"
An odd sight played out on Privet Drive. A gaunt man in ragged clothes barked at the shaggy black dog trotting behind him. The dog panted heavily, tongue dangling, its eyes flashing with unmistakable human irritation.
They ducked into a quiet alley, scanning for onlookers before easing up. Lupin drew his wand, pausing briefly before murmuring the Disillusionment Charm over them both. It was meant to shield them from Harry and any prying Muggle eyes nearby. But he worried the Ministry might spot them lingering too close to the Dursleys' door—under an illusion, no less. Explaining that away would be tricky.
The Ministry knew little of the bond between Harry and Sirius, thankfully. No Aurors had shadowed their path here.
Peering through the Dursleys' window, Sirius and Lupin caught sight of Harry scrubbing away at the counter.
"Look, Padfoot! That's Harry!"
"She looks just like James did."
"But those eyes—pure Lily."
It was Lupin's first real glimpse of Harry beyond photos and stories. Seeing her stirred ghosts of Hogwarts days, the four Marauders thick as thieves. Even the drumming rain couldn't dampen the fire in his gaze.
"Woof! Woof woof!"
Sirius barked wildly, straining against his canine form, desperate for a proper reunion. Of the old crew, he'd been closest to James—close enough to become godfather. Harry's face, so like his father's in youth, hit him like a Bludger to the chest. He nipped at Lupin's frayed sleeve, tugging insistently: "
Open the door. Let me in."
A car rumbled up then, pulling to the curb. Harry dropped his chore and dashed to answer it.
The door swung open. A stout middle-aged woman flung her sodden umbrella at Harry without a word, drenching him further. Uncle Vernon bulldozed past, nearly toppling the boy.
"Out of the way!"
From their vantage, Lupin and Sirius seethed. The Daily Prophet had painted a grim picture of Harry's Muggle life, but reading about it was one thing—witnessing the disdain firsthand was another.
Lupin clamped down on Sirius's scruff, steadying the growling dog. "Easy, Padfoot. We can't risk drawing attention to Harry."
Inside, Harry brushed himself off, unfazed. He fished a crumpled form from his pocket. "Uncle Vernon, could you sign this?"
Vernon shrugged off his coat, barely glancing over. "What's this rubbish?"
"It's for school. Nothing major."
"Later—if you earn it." Vernon stomped inside, ignoring the request entirely.
The woman—Aunt Marge—rose from her chair, eyeing Harry with thinly veiled contempt. "Still underfoot here, are you?"
"Yes," Harry muttered, staring at the floor.
Her pinched face soured further. "Don't you dare give me that attitude. My brother's a saint for putting up with you. If you'd shown up on my step, I'd have hauled you to the nearest orphanage myself."
Her tone flipped at the sight of Dudley. "My sweet boy! Come here, give Auntie a kiss!"
Harry stayed silent, head bowed, as the room filled with coos and laughter. Mere feet away, but it felt like another world.
"Get Marge's bags upstairs—now!" Vernon snapped, treating Harry like hired help.
Lupin and Sirius watched, helpless, as Harry lugged trunks without a break. The family's spaniel got scraps from the table; Harry, meanwhile, was left scrubbing pots till they gleamed.
"Don't blame yourself for the brat, Vernon," Marge slurred over her brandy. "It's in the blood. Lowborn trash always ends up this way."
"What's the boy's father do, anyway?" she pressed.
Petunia shot Harry a sidelong glance. "Not much. Jobless, the pair of them."
"Figures. Probably a drunk."
Harry's fists clenched, but Marge plowed on, oblivious. "Or it's the mother's fault. Bad stock breeds bad pups—you know how it is with dogs..."
Crash!
Sirius had had enough. He shifted from Animagus to man in a heartbeat, snatching a stolen wand and hurling a spell through the window. Marge's glass shattered in her hand.
Screams erupted from the Dursleys.
"Padfoot! Have you lost your mind?!" Lupin lunged, tackling Sirius to the wet pavement. He wrenched the wand free and pinned him down.
Sirius's eyes blazed. "Moony, let me up! You saw how they treat her—smearing James and Lily like that! They need a real lesson!"
"Steady on!" Lupin was the calm anchor of their old quartet, the one who'd tracked Harry's grim years from afar. He knew the Dursleys' resentment stemmed partly from that hasty drop-off on their doorstep all those years ago. Anger was fair, but violence? Never his way.
Sirius was cut from rougher cloth. If he'd shared Lupin's restraint, he wouldn't have rotted in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. He thrashed free, jaw set, glaring back inside.
The Dursleys reeled from the blast. Marge, clueless to magic, blamed her buzzed grip. But Vernon and Petunia knew better—their eyes locked on Harry with venom.
He stared back, utterly confused. "What did I do?"
Sure, Marge's barbs had tempted him to hex her, but that glass? Not his doing.
---
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