. * . * .
Cleaning House
The breakfast dishes carefully washed themselves. A broom whisked a few motes of dust from an otherwise spotless floor. Supervising the proceedings with a flick of his wand now and then, Remus Lupin smiled contentedly. It had taken some time, after his abrupt departure from Hogwarts the year before, but he had finally found a flat that was absolutely perfect.
Well, all right, maybe it was a little small. And a bit dark — being a basement flat, it only had two tiny windows high up in one wall, further obscured by heavy iron grilles on account of the Muggle neighbourhood's high crime rate. He would even concede, if pressed, that the decor was somewhat uninspired. The flat had come furnished with a Murphy bed, three rickety folding chairs around a scarred metal table, and not much else, except for a handy set of cupboards built into one wall. The other walls and the floor were all dark grey stone, so they were drab and rather chilly. Admittedly.
But still, the flat was perfect. The landlady was a shrewd witch with mostly Muggle tenants who didn't mind renting to a werewolf — at least, not in this run-down neighbourhood. With the bed folded up and his few possessions locked safely away in the cupboards, there was nothing to be damaged at the full moon. Not even a trapped and furious werewolf could do much to a metal table or stone walls. And, best of all, the rent was ridiculously cheap. (Perhaps, a voice in the back of his mind acknowledged, that was because not many tenants would find this particular flat to be quite as perfect as he did.)
The low rent was a godsend, to be honest. Lupin had always had some difficulty finding steady work, but it had gotten much worse since last spring's media frenzy. (Hogwarts Teacher Exposed as Werewolf! Dark Creature Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts! Are Our Children Safe at School?) If not for the occasional research assignments commissioned by the Wizengamot — presumably sent his way by Dumbledore — he'd no longer have any income at all.
But he was managing perfectly well. He had his flat. He had his Wizengamot research, his eternal job hunt, and towering piles of library books to keep him busy. He even got letters. Owls occasionally came from Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall. And Sirius kept in touch, frequently at first, his short cheerful scribbles delivered by great gaudy tropical birds. ("Sunny here. Seafood and coconuts are excellent! Missed you at full moon last night. Hope you're feeling all right. —P.") Lately, though, the notes had become cryptic and much more sporadic, and they were carried by owls that seemed to have been...diverted...from the post office at Hogsmeade. Sirius was probably back up north watching out for Harry. Lupin could only hope that his friend was watching out for himself as well.
With a clatter, the broom returned to its cupboard. The dishes finished rinsing themselves and settled down on a clean tea towel. The tidying-up was done: time to go for groceries.
Lupin locked his flat, climbed a narrow staircase, and opened the building's front door to a sunny June morning. His eyes were dazzled by the sudden brightness, so he heard the gruff bark before he saw the huge, shaggy black dog bounding toward him from behind a row of dustbins.
He froze — but only for an instant. Then he pulled the heavy door wide open. "Inside!" he hissed. The dog obliged, thumping eagerly down the stairs, sniffing as it went. Lupin followed more slowly. Silently, he let the dog into his flat and paused to lock the door behind them. When he turned around, the dog had transformed into a gaunt but roguishly grinning Sirius Black.
"What on earth are you doing here?" Lupin's voice was sharp. "It's not safe! Someone could have recognized you!"
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Sirius shook his head in mock disappointment. "Aren't you glad to see me, Moony?"
Lupin sighed, the anger and worry fading from his eyes. "Of course I'm glad to see you. You know that." To his surprise, Sirius found himself briefly engulfed in a bear hug. "But it isn't worth the risk!"
Sirius nodded slowly, his expression suddenly sombre. "Actually, I'm afraid it is." He spun one of the rickety chairs around and straddled it backward, leaning his elbows on the backrest. "Dumbledore sent me to find you."
Lupin went rigid. "What's happened?"
"Voldemort's back."
Staring in disbelief, Lupin dropped into another chair.
"He's got himself some kind of human-like body again, and he managed to summon about a dozen old Death Eaters to join him."
"Harry — is he —?" Lupin's face was white.
Sirius squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Harry's all right. It was a close call, though. There was a Portkey — long story — anyway, it sent Harry to a graveyard where Voldemort was waiting for him." His face darkened. "Peter was there."
Lupin muttered something under his breath; it was not an expression he often used.
"Peter's been looking after Voldemort all year, it seems. He was the one who brewed the potion that made the new body." Sirius grimaced. "They needed a bit of Harry's blood for it. Then the little rat cut off his own hand into the potion — that's how devoted he is to his master." He spat into the fireplace. "Peter even killed a student."
"Who?" Lupin was horrified.
Sirius blinked, dismayed. "I forgot, you must have taught him last year! It was the other Hogwarts Triwizard champion — the Portkey swept him up, too, and Voldemort told Peter to get rid of him. I can't remember the boy's name..."
"The other champion was Cedric Diggory," Lupin whispered. "A fine young man."
They sat without speaking for a moment, each trying to understand how little Peter Pettigrew, who had been their friend, could possibly have turned into a craven traitor and cold-blooded murderer.
Lupin shuddered as he thought about just how much danger James' son had been in. "How on earth did Harry escape? Why didn't Voldemort kill him?"
Sirius looked away, his voice distant. "Another long story." He forced himself to meet Lupin's gaze again. "I promise I'll tell you, just not right now." He took a deep breath. "Dumbledore wants us to recall the Order of the Phoenix right away. Discreetly. Fudge is being difficult...it looks like official Ministry policy is to deny that anything is happening at all. So Dumbledore told me to come stay with you, and get in touch with Dung, and old Mrs. Figg, and the rest of the crowd. We need to contact everyone in person. No owls, no Floo."
But now Lupin was appraising Sirius through narrowed eyes. "So an escaped convict with a ten-thousand Galleon price on his head is going to wander around the country making contact with a dozen experts in Defensive magic?"
Sirius shrugged. "They're fellow Order members, aren't they? I'll just tell them Dumbledore sent me..."
Lupin was unimpressed. "I believed you were guilty until I saw Peter on the Map that night, Sirius, and I was one of your best mates. Even Sturgis, or Emmeline, or Dung might stun you and have the Aurors on their way to pick you up before you had a chance to open your mouth." He reconsidered, with a faint grin. "Well, maybe not Dung." The grin faded. "Anyway, you need to stay here. I'll contact the others and convince them you're innocent before they meet up with you."
Sirius glowered. Inaction didn't suit him.
Lupin sighed in affectionate exasperation. "And besides, when was the last time you had any sleep?"
Sirius shrugged. "Couple of nights ago, I guess. I ran straight down here from Hogwarts."
"I thought as much. Look, let me make you some breakfast. Then I'll go try to find everyone, while you get some rest."
Lupin poured Sirius a cup of tea and busied himself at the stove. "The Order will need somewhere safe to meet," he mused. "This flat won't really do; it's too small to hold the old crowd, let alone any new recruits we might come up with."
"I've been thinking about that," Sirius said tightly. "You know, my dear departed parents put all kinds of secrecy spells on the family house. And it's mine now that they're all dead, whether they've blasted me off that horrible tapestry or not. I'm planning to tell Dumbledore he can have the place for headquarters if he wants it."
Lupin turned away from the eggs he was frying and stared. Sirius hadn't spoken of his family's home since the day he ran away at age sixteen.
"I should probably move back into the house, actually," Sirius went on, even more stiffly. "An Unplottable hideout would be useful for a wanted man." He shuddered. "I'm sure it's absolutely filthy in there, after standing empty for ten years. There's a house elf, but he's never been much good for anything, and by now he'd be really old..."
Lupin set a steaming plate of eggs and toast on the table, but Sirius was gazing off into the distance and didn't notice. "I never thought I'd go back there," he muttered. "Hateful old place." He shook his head irritably and sighed. "Look, Moony, I could use a hand cleaning out the house. Do you think... Would you come along with me and help me get it straightened up?" He gave a deliberately casual shrug. "You could move in there, if you wanted. There's plenty of bedrooms, all unused. It would give you a lot more space than you've got here, that's for sure."
A house abandoned for ten years, and inhabited by some rather Dark wizards before that... The prospect of cleaning it out sounded rather daunting. Lupin knew better than most how many doxies, ghouls, spiders, and boggarts they were likely to encounter, let alone cursed and dangerous objects and furniture.
But he also knew, better than most, how to read sophisticated, cynical Sirius Black.
And it meant more to him than he could possibly express to have this friendship restored after so many years of misplaced blame.
Congenial company was better than letters and library books, hands down.
So Lupin grinned. "Absolutely, Padfoot," he said lightly. "If there are cobwebs that need clearing out, I'm the one for the job."
His flat would still be perfect — for full moons, anyway.
. * . * .