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May 2^nd-3^rd, 1998 – 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione Granger had always been a planner. For as long as she could remember, she had planned to excel in school and have a successful and fulfilling career. On a more personal level, perhaps once she’d established herself in her field of choice, she planned for a family with an equal partner and fellow intellectual with a strong work ethic and a love of animals and literary discourse.

On top of being a planner, Hermione Granger had always valued her levelheadedness and ability to adapt under pressure. In fact, when she’d been informed by a complete stranger that the odd things that had been happening to her since earliest memory – a trick of the light here, déjà vu there – had a perfectly logical explanation, she’d been relieved. And then she’d taken hold of her destiny once more at the tender age of 11 and added ‘witch-in-training' to her carefully laid plans.

She managed to integrate herself into a completely new world with a steep learning curve. She overcame social obstacles such as being ostracized by some of her peers and bullied by others. She made the most loyal and steadfast friends. And she had gone on to aid them in defeating one of the darkest wizards of the last few generations.

When the dust cleared and the Second Wizarding War was over, the three of them were heralded ‘the Golden Trio’. But Hermione, ever the planner, was exhausted. She had been fighting since she was 11, and frankly thought she deserved a break. She had never been able to enjoy her youth like her peers, having to be the brains of the operation as it were. Hermione Granger had unwittingly become a non-entity as far as boys were concerned. She was known to the wizarding world as Harry Potter’s brainy best friend, or ‘the Golden Girl’ by the media. And while she valued the time spent fighting for a good cause, she found herself at the end of her mental tether and in need of some R&R.

It never would’ve occurred to any of the others that Hermione Granger was ‘lonely’ given her integral role in the defeat of Voldemort or her close friendship with Harry or Ron, or any of the others. And yet, there she stood on a bloody battlefield at the age of 18, taking stock of her life. She’d been to two whole parties – both school-sponsored events. She’d had three kisses, one of which was in the heat of battle when she believed she might not survive. And she’d never had a single boyfriend. She’d perhaps had an admirer in Victor during Fourth Year, but the war had made keeping up with pen pals impossible. Hermione Granger had never even been asked on a proper date.

And now that the pressing concerns of the war were over, and she finally had time and space to breathe… she found herself bereft. Hermione had been planning her life a decade ahead at a time, and suddenly someone had hit the brakes, and the young witch didn’t quite know what to do with all the free time ahead of her. She was sure she didn’t want to dive right in to applying to jobs. Part of her wanted to return to Hogwarts to finish out her last year properly and take her NEWTs. But after seeing the castle crumble around her and so many of her friends, peers, and teachers perish in the battle, she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to come back just yet.

The one thing she was sure of was that she needed a breather. After getting themselves seen to by the school mediwitch, the Golden Trio had elected to retire ‘home’ and recuperate. Ron was thrilled to be going back to the Burrow after so long spent on the run hunting horcruxes, breaking into impenetrable banks, stealing captive dragons, and being captured by snatchers and the like. She, too, would’ve desired all the comfort of ‘home’ if she still had one to return to. But after having wiped her parents’ memories and sending them off to Australia, she had none to speak of.

Mrs. Weasley had offered both her and Harry safe shelter, and while Harry had been tempted by her mothering ways, he had decided to stick with Hermione, and they returned to Grimmauld Place alongside Sirius, Remus, and Tonks. The irreverent heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Harry’s godfather, was boisterous, joyous, and more than a little sloshed as the night went on. But Remus and Tonks were content to celebrate with him. Harry looked younger than Hermione had ever seen him.

She sat back on the periphery of the makeshift ‘party’ and nursed a single drink throughout most of the night until the Lupins had retired upstairs to one of the many spare bedrooms to sleep it off, too tired and inebriated to apparate or use the floo. Harry had fallen asleep at the scarred, oak table still holding his sixth glass of firewhiskey. Hermione rose from her seat and went to carefully remove his glasses so he wouldn’t roll over and crush them in the night, and she transfigured a serviette into a blanket to drape over his prone form.

Meanwhile, she felt the sensation of being watched and looked over near the hearth where the embers were barely glowing. In the shadows sat Sirius Black. He had long been a curiosity to her, then a boogeyman in the shadows during their Third Year when all they’d known about the man was that he had betrayed his friends and killed more than a dozen people. After the truth about Pettigrew had come to light, and she’d seen the way he’d supported Harry, Remus, and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix even at the cost of his own comfort and sanity, at times, she’d grown fond of the wizard.

Yes, he had a flair for the dramatic, and a temper. The pendulum of his mercurial moods swung wildly between mania and depression. He was often impulsive, reckless, and impetuous. He could be vulgar, loud, and opinionated. His tendency towards obstinance was well-known throughout their circle of… well, she wondered if he would consider her a ‘friend’. Given their history, it seemed appropriate. But given their age gap, perhaps not.

Yet she found herself curious about the man beneath all the swagger and overconfidence which she believed he often wore like armor. She had no concept of what Azkaban must’ve been like, even without dementors, but to have survived it for more than a decade by sheer will alone was an incredible feat in itself. And to escape and remain free for several more years only to risk his life in defense of his godson, friends, and the ‘light’, spoke to his determination, loyalty, and bravery. She had nursed a bit of a schoolgirl crush on him, it was true. And even on Remus back during Third Year when he’d only been ‘Professor Lupin’ to them. But that was long-past now, she told herself.

Remus was happily married and a father now. And Dora Tonks was a lovely complement to his often introverted, bookish, and gentlemanly ways. However, Sirius… he still managed to intrigue her. And she wondered briefly as she cleaned up after their ‘party’ what he would do with himself now that he was free for the first time in almost two decades. She found herself wondering the same about her. Did he have a plan? Part of her thought that he didn’t much seem like a planner so much as a ‘fly-by-the-seat-of-his-trousers’ type of man. But maybe he’d want to chat about it. Perhaps he’d like a sounding board so he could plan out his –

“I can hear the gears turning in that big brain of yours, Kitten,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly as he sipped his firewhiskey right from the bottle. She had been trying to keep a mental tally of how many Harry’d had, but she couldn't very well chastise Sirius Black for indulging. Not after all he’d endured. Not in his own house. Not when he was finally free.

Hermione cleared her throat and cast a wordless muffliato over her sleeping friend so as not to disturb him. Then she closed the distance between herself and Sirius and took the seat opposite him by the hearth. When she gave a slight shiver, he waved his wand to stoke the fire in the grate and levitated over a fresh log. “Thank you,” she said softly and tucked her legs up underneath her.

“What has you firing on all cylinders after the day we’ve had?” he asked, his gunmetal-grey eyes lingering on the growing flames.

“I suppose I’m just thinking of what comes next.”

“Mm,” he hummed his agreement.

“Do you have any idea what you’d like to do now?” she asked, watching his profile and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swigged from the bottle once more.

“It’s been so many years since I had a say, I’m not sure.” His confession was raw and vulnerable.

She felt that familiar fire of righteous indignation stirring in her gut over what had been done to this man – what had been taken from him. “Well, I think once your name is cleared, you can do whatever you want.” Hermione turned what she hoped was a cheerful smile towards him.

“Perhaps,” he mused. “And what about you, Kitten? What will you do now that the world no longer needs saving?” He turned those smoky eyes on her and she had to swallow past the lump forming in her throat. His stare was intense, and it stirred something else up within her. Something warm, wicked, and… dangerous.

She looked into the fire and tried to clear her mind and focused on answering his question. “Once upon a time, I had it all planned out. School, a career, someday marriage and maybe a family if I was lucky enough to find someone who I didn’t want to smother in their sleep.”

He chuckled at this. “You’re funny. I don’t think I knew that about you.”

She looked at him sideways and arched a brow at him. “Now, why would you? For most of our acquaintance I’ve either been an anxious, uptight know-it-all with a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong or your godson’s best friend.”

“Mm, quite right,” he hummed to himself again, but this time his eyes remained locked on her as he brought his lips to the rim of the firewhiskey bottle and took a large swallow.

“There was that one time I saved your arse from being Kissed in Third Year,” she added in and in catching him off-guard, he snorted some whiskey and end up coughing up the rest. She chortled in her seat, one arm wrapped around her midsection, as she doubled over with laughter.

“Merlin, witch! You could warn a bloke!” he wheezed, his eyes watering.

“Where’s the fun in that?” came her cheeky retort. “Must keep you on your toes, Mr. Black. What was she doing? She asked herself. Was she… flirting with him? Hermione Granger didn’t flirt! She didn’t know how to flirt. She’d never flirted a day in her life. And yet here she was flirting, she supposed with no small amount of dismay and mortification, with a reputed ladies’ man like Sirius Black. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound. “How else will you know you’re alive?” she tacked on at the end.

She didn’t know how it happened, really. One moment they were making idle chatter, which typically bored her to tears, by the fire, and the next they’d retired to the parlor and turned on some soft music. Then they were dancing. She was in his arms and swaying on bare feet. The music swelled and they leaned into one another. She laid her cheek against his chest and murmured softly, “I’m so glad that we both made it out. Harry –” She hadn’t been permitted to finish her sentence because he was lifting her face with a knuckle under her chin, and then his eyes were searching her face. He must’ve found whatever he was looking for because the next thing she knew his lips were claiming hers.

His stubble was rough and his hold around her tightened. Everywhere he touched, it was like he traced a blazing path over her nerve endings. But she felt more alive in his arms than she had in years. Losing friends, losing her parents, losing her childish innocence when choice and circumstance had forced her to become a child soldier, living in survival mode for the last year, being captured, tortured, and having to fight in an actual battle, it had all taken its toll. And until that moment, Hermione Granger hadn’t realized how hollow she’d felt.

One dance turned into a caress which turned into a kiss. One kiss turned into a snog which turned into heavy petting. Eventually they lost their clothes, their inhibitions, and their minds. He had been her first and taken on the role admirably. He had checked in with her throughout, fetched himself a large sober-up potion, and been patient with her. Every look and touch had been for her benefit, to make sure she enjoyed the experience.

And by the end of it, she had turned into a whimpering, satiated puddle of a witch, melting in his arms and crying out his name until her throat went hoarse. After that, he had bathed her tenderly in his massive clawfoot tub, dumping pain relief potions into the warm water so she could soak, massaging her shoulders and washing her long curls which had likely been matted with debris from the Final Battle, come to think of it. She must’ve looked affright, and yet he hadn’t said a word. She hadn’t noticed the state of him either if she was being honest with herself, which she always tried to be.

They had finally collapsed in exhaustion in his king-sized bed draped in Gryffindor-crimson satin absolutely starkers. Sirius had curled himself around her nude form, one arm banded around her waist to pull her back against his chest, and they’d dozed for hours until the sounds of the house stirring around them woke them. It had been the most restful sleep Hermione had had in over a year. She had felt safe in his arms. And with the dawn came the clarity that this had been a one-off and couldn’t be allowed to happen again.

It must’ve been the adrenaline, the alcohol, or the high of victory, she told herself. Just like the kiss with Ron. But as Sirius stirred, she felt him stiffen behind her, and not in a suggestive way. He removed his arm, swung his legs off the side of the bed, went to his wardrobe to dress in complete silence, and left the room altogether.

The previous warmth she’d felt in his embrace all but vanished. Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to will herself not to cry even as her sinuses burned, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. It was a one-off. Just to get it out of their systems. That was all. The man had been celibate for more than a decade in Azkaban and she’d been the first familiar, willing witch to fall into his arms. She felt cheap now just thinking about it. Hermione went into his ensuite bathroom to set her hair to rights and cast a breath-freshening charm on herself. She splashed cold water on her face and tried to muster the moxie to go downstairs to breakfast and face the others while pretending that nothing had happened.

She was still Hermione Granger, after all. And the Brightest Witch of the Age did not engage in one-night stands or flings with notorious rakes and ex-convicts. She squared her shoulders, held her chin high, collected her clothes from the night before, and scampered noiselessly – she hoped – down towards the room she’d shared with Ginny back in Fifth Year. Luckily, she found an old Holyhead Harpies jersey and a pair of dark-washed denims of Ginny’s that she was able to transfigure to fit her smaller stature. She scourgified her undergarments and hoped that one morning without deodorant wouldn’t offend those with heightened olfactory senses.

Where was her beaded bag? Had she left it in the kitchen last night, or the parlor while they got swept up in dancing and all the rest of it? A knock at the door interrupted her spiral and she went to answer it. “Yes?”

Harry was standing there with her beaded bag and a fond smile, his characteristically messy hair in more disarray this morning than usual. “I think you must’ve left this downstairs when you went up to bed last night,” he said, holding it out for her to take.

She blushed from the roots of her hair to her toes and snatched the bag from him. “Y-Yes. Where is my head at this morning?” Her voice came out much higher than normal, and Harry made an odd face like he could tell something was wrong.

“Mione, what’s the matter?”

“N-Nothing. I’m just… jittery, you know. We were on the go for so long and now it’s just –” she clung to that old chestnut.

He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“Exactly.” She sincerely hoped he would drop it. She ducked into the room for a moment to apply some deodorant she summoned from her bag, and set it down on the dresser, twisting her vinewood wand up into her messy curls atop her head.

“Well, Remus is cooking up a storm now that Kreacher’s been to the market. He had to relieve Tonks of breakfast duty before she burned the house down,” Harry joked. “Not that Sirius would’ve cared, mind you. But Kreacher might’ve had a stroke.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing and stepped out into the hall to swat him. “Harry, be nice.”

“I’ll be nice after I’ve been fed. I reckon I’ve earned a little goodwill having taken down old Snake Face and all,” he teased.

Hermione thought he seemed lighter. Younger. More carefree. And she was so happy for him. He deserved all this and more. Now they just had to get through a potentially awkward breakfast and then she could make plans for what to do next. Her mind raced as they walked down to the sublevel kitchen side-by-side. She couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Not after the events of last night, she told herself. Hermione would have to find herself a flat, or perhaps she could see if her childhood home was still standing and reside there if she could bear it. If not, she could probably sell it for a pretty penny –

“You’re leaving?” Her thoughts were interrupted by the exclamation of one Nymphadora Tonks.

“Yes, Dora. I’ve been cooped up in one prison or another for decades. It’s time to finally spread my wings and get out there,” came Sirius’ explanation just as she and Harry reached the top of the kitchen stairs. “I just need to get my bike back from Hagrid and get my name cleared.”

Harry turned to look at her and she could see the sadness well up in his eyes. His only family in the world and now his godfather wanted to leave him too.

Breakfast was awkward, of course. But not because of their fling, it turned out. It was awkward because in all of Sirius Black’s excitement to ‘spread his wings’, he seemed to have forgotten Harry. They finally had all the time in the world to get to really know each other, and Sirius wanted to leave Britain altogether. Viewed objectively, Hermione couldn’t blame him. But being Harry’s best friend, she could only see Sirius’ decision as selfish. He could at least offer Harry the chance to come with him!

In the end, Harry was too kind to rain on his godfather’s parade and after two weeks of the wizard practically climbing the bars of his ‘enclosure’ (read: childhood home/ancestral seat), the Ministry had his name cleared and even awarded him an Order of Merlin, Second Class alongside several members of the Order of the Phoenix. The Golden Trio had received an OoM, First Class, along with many of their classmates. The three of them had even received several offers of employment, and it appealed most to Harry and Ron to join the Aurors in hunting down any remaining pockets of dark wizards that had fled the Final Battle and evaded capture.

Hermione had opted for a gap year herself and then wanted to return to Hogwarts after she’d taken some time to process and grieve, so she could finish her Seventh Year and take her NEWTs. She might be taking a break, but she still had a plan. It was the one constant in her life. And yet the universe seemed to laugh at her hubris in this because a month after the Final Battle, and two weeks after Sirius Black had departed Britain altogether, Hermione Granger found out she was carrying his child.

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July 18^th, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

The sound of the floo fireplace going off jarred Hermione out of the daze she’d been in while preparing morning coffee – tea just wasn’t strong enough anymore – and packing lunches. It was her turn, blast it all. “Mione!” Harry’s familiar voice echoed through the house calling for her.

She cleared her throat and called back, “In the kitchen!” She was busy dancing around while simultaneously trying to balance packing lunches and snacks for the Chimaeras and cooking up a well-balanced and nutritious breakfast for her boy.

“You come on with the "come on",
You don't fight fair, that's OK, see if I care.
Knock me down, it's all in vain,
I get right back up on my feet again.”

Kreacher appeared with a crack of apparition and took over her Hermione in preparing lunches for the team. While she preferred to do most, if not all, of her cooking the muggle way, Kreacher refused to budge on that except on special occasions. Namely Yule, the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and the ‘Young Master’s Birthday’. The fact that the crotchety old house elf even acknowledged her illegitimate son was a surprise in and of itself. But, as Kreacher always liked to remind anyone that would listen, he lived to serve the Noble House of Black. And regardless of Rigel’s surname, he was still a Black by blood, to her everlasting regret.

The curly-haired witch retreated to the table and sat down with a heavy sigh to the dulcet sounds of multiple sets of feet tromping down the Precarious and Most Ancient Set of Stairs. Hermione waved her wand at the old wireless to turn down the volume.

  “You're a real tough cookie with a long history,
Of breaking little hearts like the one in me.
Before I put another notch in my lipstick case,
You better make sure you put me in my place!”

“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!” her son called out and she couldn’t help but smile at his exuberance even as she sipped at her coffee.

Bill and Fleur had brought it back on their latest trip to South America. But even the stories, postcards, and photos couldn’t do it justice. And part of Hermione envied their ability to just pick up and go. Not that she would ever resent her son or their time together, but part of her yearned for the plan she’d had for her life once upon a time. Part of her yearned for the freedom she might’ve had if she hadn’t been so foolish.

Harry grunted as he lifted her son into his arms and tossed him over his shoulder before descending the stairs into the sublevel kitchen. “Got some washing, Mione. A big, stinky load of Sunday washing for you!” Harry teased and jostled the still pajama-clad lump that was her son.

“Morning, Harry,” she said with a sleepy smile. As a single, working mother, sleep was hard to come by. And if not for the rallying support of her friends and extended magical family, Hermione knew she’d never have reached this level of equilibrium in her life.

Her best friend leaned down to press a kiss to her brow in greeting and then turned so she could receive one from Rigel from his place still draped over his godfather’s shoulder. “Morning, Mione.” Harry took a seat and set Rigel on his knee. “You’re getting too big, boy. Soon I won’t be able to lift you over my head.”

“Aww, don’t say that, Uncle Harry,” Rigel pouted, and his grey eyes widened almost comically.

He looked so much like his father that it was jarring, at times. Yes, all the help she’d received from her found family throughout her pregnancy and the intervening years had been immeasurable and appreciated beyond belief. But the fact of the matter was that they had their own families, spouses, and children now. And she was just Hermione. After the war, it had felt like she was the last Granger left standing after having sent her parents, newly christened as Monica and Wendell Wilkins, to the other side of the globe with no idea they even had a daughter. For a long time, Hermione had felt like it was her against the world.

And then her son had come squalling into her life and suddenly she wasn’t quite so alone anymore. Giving him her name hadn’t even been a question. Of course, he would be a ‘Granger’. There were so few now. Now it was the two of them against the world. She was determined to excel at parenthood like she did everything else, giving it 110% of her time and effort. Even at the cost of her own sanity from time to time.

If he were simply the spitting image of his father, that would’ve been enough. But that they were so alike in personality despite never having met or even spoken in their lives, well, it stung. Like Sirius, Rigel was energetic, vivacious, and enthusiastic about each new experience. He was intelligent, cunning, and possessed natural charisma that was all ‘Sirius’. The boy was a natural athlete, unlike her, and was always, always getting into mischief with his cousins Teddy Lupin and James Sirius Potter. The boys had started referring to themselves as the Mini Marauders, at Remus’ insistence. How Sirius didn’t know, despite all the letters the two remaining original Marauders had exchanged in the decade he’d been gone, boggled the mind. But she refused to look a gift thestral in the mouth.

Hermione didn’t want Sirius to know or to be involved. She’d been doing admirably all this time and she neither needed nor wanted his input or interference now. She just wanted to successfully see her son off to Hogwarts in a year and count her blessings that she had made it this far. Realistically, she knew she couldn’t avoid Sirius forever and he would probably return to England at some point. But she would worry about crossing that bridge when she got there. She just wanted to spare herself, her son, and their ragtag family the discomfort and grief of finally facing up to the truth.

“So, are you excited for the match today?” Harry asked, looking down at his nephew.

“Yes!” Rigel bounced in his seat with his black, shoulder-length curls still tangled from sleep.

“Well, the match starts in an hour, Peanut, so you’d best get up those stairs, wash, and dress. I’ve got your game bag packed,” Hermione began issuing instructions. “And Kreacher has been lovely enough to finish making the lunches and snacks for the team.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Rigel turned on his bottom to say to the old house elf.

Kreacher just sputtered and mumbled to himself while setting the last of the individually packed sandwich lunches in the magically extended cooler for Hermione to transport to the pitch. When he was done, he retired to the space she’d refurbished for him in the boiler room. He might still be a surly old coot, but Rigel was perhaps one of the sole people who could get a reaction from the elf.

Kreacher doted on her son, and it was this fact coupled with how he’d cared for her throughout her pregnancy that had endeared him to Hermione and the others. The house elf had even gone so far as to procure potions for nausea, insomnia, and anemia, as well as preparing all her meals and catering to her odd cravings at all hours. He’d put up with her gutting and renovating Grimmauld Place and removing several of the more abrasive magical portraits who liked to spew hate at her and her son. Thankfully, Rigel had been only a few months old and didn’t remember his Grandmother Walburga swearing at him and calling him a ‘stain on her father’s house’. Though Hermione would never say it aloud, she could never have done it without Kreacher.

Hermione accioed three plates of the breakfast she’d been making – scrambled eggs, sausage links, beans, and toast – for Rigel, Harry, and herself, and tucked in.

Rigel, thankfully, had better table manners than most of the wizards in her circle, with the exception of Remus and darling Teddy. Another thing she’d never admit to, but with the exception of her own son, Teddy was her favorite – taking after his father in most things, with his quiet, bookish personality and his well-mannered ways. It had been a surprise when Tonks and Remus had picked her and Harry as their only son’s godparents. But a pleasant one, nonetheless. And she adored the boy.

Once Rigel finished, he took his own plate to the sink and Hermione waved her wand to cast a cleansing charm. Then her son scampered up the stairs to wash and dress for the day.

Hermione sighed heavily. “Curse whoever thought up a Youth Quidditch League that meets bright and early every blooming Sunday. When are the mums supposed to get a lie-in?”

Harry chuckled and held a hand up in front of his mouth so at least she wouldn’t be treated to the sight of his half-chewed breakfast. He was thoughtful that way. “Come on, Mione. It’s good for them.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes fondly and spread a healthy helping of raspberry preserves on her toast.

“They get to make friends and socialize with others their own age before they go off to school,” he began, counting his points on his fingers. “And they get plenty of fresh air and exercise. How is this a bad thing?”

“I’m just pissing and moaning about it,” she said. Ever since becoming a single mother, she’d also become laxer in terms of ‘decorum’. She tried not to swear in front of the children, but sometimes it slipped out. And she was past guilt-tripping herself for it. Truthfully, if the worst that happened was that Rigel, Teddy, James, or even Albie heard her swear, then they should count themselves lucky.

She was proud of herself, in all honesty. And while the dirty looks and gossip columns had ebbed with Rita Skeeter’s retirement from the Daily Prophet, single motherhood had been difficult. At one time she had been heralded as ‘the Golden Girl’, ‘One-Third of the Golden Trio’, and ‘the Brightest Witch of the Age’ with the world as her oyster. But once news had broken of her status as an unwed mother-to-be halfway through her second trimester, it had all gone downhill from there.

Hermione hadn’t had the stomach to return to her childhood home, so she’d contracted a realtor and agreed to sublet it until such time as she was prepared to take on the space for her personal use. She had chosen to remain in Sirius’ childhood home. And while she’d worried that it might be difficult being constantly surrounded by the ‘scene of the crime’, once she’d begun working on her personal goals again, she had tuned it all out. Having confided in Headmistress McGonagall about her situation, she’d been completing her Seventh Year by correspondence. Missing out on being Head Girl had been a mighty blow, but she’d congratulated Neville and Ginny on the honor nonetheless and sent a present ahead for each of them to mark the occasion.

All seemed to be going according to plan. That was until the news made headlines about her pregnancy. As a petite witch, she’d been able to conceal things with overlarge, hand-me-down Weasley jumpers and slimming maternity outfits she’d ordered via owl catalogue. But then the nesting period had started in earnest, and she’d felt so cooped up that she needed to get out from under the oppressive aura of Grimmauld Place while cleaning out the remaining bedrooms on the third floor. Hermione had thought she was clever sneaking into Muggle London to do some shopping for the nursery, and Rita had somehow caught her and photographed her obvious baby-bump.

Once the others had found out the truth about her pregnancy, they had rallied around her and offered her the space to stay when it looked like Sirius might not return any time soon. Hermione had been overwhelmed by their support when it seemed like the rest of the wizarding world was content to judge her choices. No one was judging the mystery father of said ‘unfortunate offspring’, as Rigel had been referred to more than once in letters and even a few howlers.

Gossip columns in Witch Weekly even started up polls about the father’s identity and she laughed it off. They would never have guessed in a million years that Hermione Granger had gotten herself up the duff by the infamous ex-con and escapee of Azkaban, the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the notorious Sirius Black. Some of the old gems climbed the polls though – Harry, of course, and Ron; Victor Krum, much to his new wife’s amusement; and even Kingsley Shacklebolt. But it was all farcical and she preferred to pay it no mind.

Molly, Ginny, Fleur, Luna, Angelina, Penelope, Katie, and Tonks – all the witches of her close and personal circle – had taken her shopping for maternity clothes and thrown her a baby shower at the Burrow. Molly had taken to the role of ‘grandmother’ with gusto and threatened to feed Hermione till she popped.

Harry, Ron, Remus, and many of the Weasley men had escorted her to her pre-natal appointments at St. Mungo’s, confusing the mediwitches each time a new wizard showed up with her. Fred and George had gotten a kick out of taking her together once and making lewd jokes about who might be the father until the young healer had fled the room blushing furiously. And while they all asked in the beginning, curious as they were, they had grown accustomed to the fact that Hermione was playing her hand close to the vest. She hoped and even prayed that her child wouldn’t come out resembling their father so that she could take the secret to her grave.

Then one evening at the beginning of her third trimester, Kreacher had popped into the kitchen while she was nursing a cup of ginger tea and surprised her by asking her to accompany him. After all he’d done to make her stay and her pregnancy more comfortable, she couldn’t very well refuse him. So, Hermione had followed the house elf up to the tapestry room and her stomach was in her throat the whole time when he shuffled over to the previously scorched portrait that had once been Sirius’. From there, a golden thread had sprouted like the faintest branch of a tree leading to a nebulous, ghostly while oval that had yet to be formed. “Mistress Hermione Granger, savior of the scion of the House of Black. Kreacher has been unsure how to tell you this, but Kreacher believes you are carrying the next heir to the House of Black. Master Sirius’ child.”

She had dropped her teacup and leapt out of the path of the shattering glass on instinct, being barefooted and all. Kreacher had vanished the mess with a snap of his finger and wrung his hands in his tea towel toga. She had known it was a boy by that time and had even been going back and forth with names, but to hear her failure spelled out before her devastated her. How could she have been so careless – so foolish – as to let this happen? And Sirius! It was her first time, but surely, he should’ve been more prepared if she wasn’t! Why was everything always on her shoulders? Hermione had wrapped her arms around her swollen belly and fell to her knees while Kreacher hovered over her.

“Oh, please, Mistress, get up! Kreacher didn’t mean to upset you,” the house elf wailed, tugging at his large, bat-like ears. “Mistress, don’t be sad. It is bad for the baby.” Kreacher had been overjoyed at the promise of a new member of the House of Black to dote upon and despite her insistence that any child of hers would be a ‘Granger’, the house elf reminded her that blood was blood. As if she didn’t know. Hadn’t they just fought a whole war about that?

And then her son had been born, and his peach fuzz curls had been black as pitch.

Bollocks.

His pale eyes, which the mediwitches and midwives had all assured her would darken in time, cleared up into a startling and rare silver-grey.

Great, big, bloody, buggering fuck!

There had been no hiding it, and the older he got, the more he resembled his father and after two months of St. Mungo’s and the Ministry’s Department of Vital Records badgering her to officially name her son, she’d gone with ‘Rigel Alphard Granger’. Tonks and her mother Andromeda, who’d been born a Black, were shocked to say the least, that she would choose to go along with Black family naming traditions. But at that point, no one else needed to ask who the father was because now they knew.

“Well, I can take him myself if you need some alone time,” Harry offered, getting to his feet to take his own plate to the sink.

She shook her head. “No, he loves it when I’m there cheering him on.”

Harry gave her an odd look she couldn’t interpret but she knew him well enough to know that there was something he wished to say that he wasn’t. He was choosing his words carefully around her, and while she sometimes appreciated his thoughtfulness, this was not one of those times. “Mione – I –”

“Just spit it out, Harry,” she said with a sigh.

“Does it bother you going to these matches and seeing him up there?” he asked.

“Does it bother me to support my son in what make him happy? No,” she replied and got up from the table, took her plate to the sink, and left the kitchen to dress herself. “We’ll meet you there.”

“Want me to take the lunch over?” he asked, gesturing to the cooler.

“Yes, please, or I’ll just forget it like last time.”

“It was one time! And the kids loved that chippie place,” Harry assured her.

“Right, and the other parents never let me live it down,” she said. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Gin and I will save you a seat.”

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Hermione had opted to leave Sirius and Regulus’ rooms untouched and had sealed them so that Rigel wouldn’t get curious and go poking around. She had taken for her own, Walburga’s master suite, funnily enough and removed every scrap of emerald and silver, every snake motif piece of décor, and made it a soothing paradise of neutral creams, whites, browns, and pops of blue here and there. Periwinkle, her favorite.

Harry and Ron had been an immense help in renovating while she was heavily pregnant and hiding out from the media and their care for her and her son shone in each new wall, light fixture, brushstroke of paint, and fresh wallpaper. They had helped lay new flooring, learned spells for spraying new insulation, and even installed underfloor heating for the winters. Halfway through the renovations, she’d gone to Remus and Harry and confided her worries that Sirius might think she’d overstepped by doing a full remodel on his house. But they both heartily assured her that Sirius had no emotional attachment whatsoever to the place and might appreciate the help if she ever moved out and he decided he wanted to sell it.

While the place bore a lot of scars and held many painful memories, it also carried with it the hope that she could take something broken and mend it, to forge something new and stronger from the wreckage. She had viewed it as a metaphor for her life and taken it as a personal challenge.

As she looked at her reflection in the mirror – the frizzed hair, the stress breakout on her chin, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the obvious mama pooch when she turned to the side, she sighed with disappointment. She wasn’t even thirty! How was this her reality? How was it that she was just a mum and nothing more? The Brightest Witch of the Age reduced to a maid and nanny, a tutor and nurse… What a waste, she thought uncharitably.

Then there was a light knock at the door, and it cracked open a bit to reveal her son standing there in his quidditch kit needing help with the laces on his gloves and chin guards. “Mum, can you help me do these up?” he asked.

She felt immediately guilty for her thoughts when he looked at her that way – as if his whole world revolved around her. And at his age, it most likely did. But when she was feeling down on herself, sometimes it was easier to pile on instead of trying to remember her positive affirmations she’d learned from her mind healer after the war. Katie Weasley nee Bell had gone on to start a trend inspired by muggle psychiatry following the war, sponsored by St. Mungo’s. Now apprenticeships in Mind Healing were in high demand what with their generation and the ones that preceded them being utterly fucked in the head following two wars. But as a personal friend to Hermione, Katie had been the one to help ‘the Brightest Witch of the Age’ unburden herself.

Hermione smiled at Rigel and helped him do up the laces by hand instead of involving her wand. Then she gave him a kiss and said, “I’ll be down in a minute. Just have to change. Close the door behind you, please.”

Rigel bounded out of the hall and down the steps to wait for her near the floo.

Sure, some days were harder than others. But today her son was happy, whole, and smiling. And she would pull herself together to do that too.

Meanwhile – Lupin Cottage

Remus stepped into the kitchen and greeted his wife. “Morning, love,” he said and kissed her lips.

Dora smiled at him and offered him a cup of tea. Her tea was terrible, but the lovely man still stomached it without complaint every morning and offered to make dinner when she’d had a long day at the DMLE. “Oh! Before I forget, an owl came for you.” She handed over the sealed envelope.

“From Padfoot?” Remus asked with a hint of surprise and accepted the letter.

“No idea what he wants. Didn’t have time to read it while getting Teddy ready for his match,” she said.

Remus nodded and broke the seal to see what his old friend had been up to recently and nearly dropped his tea, cup and all.

‘Dear Moony –

I’ve missed that old soggy island, and Bolivia’s gotten boring after a year. This bird I was seeing has gone absolutely mental. So, I figured it was as good a time as any to make a trip home. This letter will probably get there shortly before I do with the owl having to cross an ocean and all. Meet at Old Grimmy? Feeling nostalgic and want to see the old place… Expect me the morning of the 18^th.

– Padfoot’

“Oh, shite,” Remus gasped, set aside his tea, and the letter and went to collect his cardigan from the coatrack by the floo.

“Remus, what’s wrong? Is something the matter with Sirius?” Dora asked, stumbling out of the kitchen after her husband.

“No, I have to warn her. Can you take Teddy to the pitch?” he asked.

“Warn who? What’s going on?”

“Read the letter, Dora. I have no time. I have to go!” Remus kissed her cheek, sprinted to the floo, tossed in a handful of powder, and called out “12 Grimmauld Place” before vanishing in a burst of emerald flames.

Dora went to the kitchen counter to retrieve the letter and once she’d read it, she had a better understanding of what had her husband so frantic. “Shite.”

“Mum!” Teddy called out, shocked at her swearing.

She spun on her heel to face her son with wide eyes. “How about you forget about what you just heard me say and next time we’re in Hogsmeade, I’ll treat you at Honeyduke’s?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and usually turquoise hair went deep indigo. He may be a sweetheart like his father, but he was also a Tonks, a Black, and the son of a Marauder to boot. The boy had mischief coursing through his veins whether he liked it or not. “Hmm,” he stroked his jaw the way she knew he’d seen his father do and was imitating him and trying to seem more mature in doing so.

It made her want to laugh, but she bit her lip to refrain from doing so in order to see if the stakes of her bribe were high enough to satisfy her son. “Hmm, anything I want?” he asked.

“Within reason, but yes.”

“Deal.”

“And I don’t have to put anything in the swear jar,” she tacked on.

He extended his hand and said, “I hope you know that your next pay packet is going to be spent almost entirely on chocolate.”

“Deal.” Dora took her son’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “I would expect nothing less.”

A few minutes later – 12 Grimmauld Place

“Do you have your bag?” Hermione called out for her son.

“Yes!”

“Your kit, your broom, your goggles?” she asked.

“You packed it,” came his cheeky retort.

She snorted at his sense of humor and rolled her jaw while eyeing him up and down, arms folded across her chest as she assessed him. He needed a haircut because with her curls and that length, it would be a tangled monstrosity by the end of the match. “Hair tie?” she asked, pulling out off of her wrist where they tended to accumulate these days.

Rigel stuck out his hand and grumbled, “Fine.”

“Less of the attitude, Peanut,” Hermione warned. “You can wear your hair however you like, but I’m not spending hours detangling it either.”

He secured his hair in a bun at the back of his head and picked up his duffel bag to swing it over his shoulder. “Ready!”

“Alright, let’s go,” the curly-haired witch said, peeking at her muggle wristwatch, and ushered him towards the floo with a hand between his shoulder blades.

The Grangers were startled by the sudden sound of the front door swinging open. Hardly any of their friends or family used it, given that they were keyed to the wards and were able to floo in directly. Their security measures had relaxed during their decade of peacetime. She didn’t know who she was expecting to show up at their house when they were on their way out, but it certainly wasn’t –

“Moony! Harry! Anybody home!” the familiar baritone boomed jovially.

She felt like her heart might fall out of her arse. Hermione hadn’t heard that voice in a decade, but she would know it anywhere. “Why don’t you go through the floo to the pitch, Peanut?” she murmured softly to her son.

“But –” His eyes flickered between her face, the floo, and the archway that led into the main hall. “Mum, who is that?”

“Peanut, we can talk about it after your match, I promise,” she was trying to keep her expression blank and her tone from turning hysterical, but she knew that Sirius Black might turn that corner any second and this was not how she wanted their first meeting to take place. Of all her plans, this was not something she could’ve accounted for. “Just look for Auntie Gin and Uncle Harry. And I’ll be right behind you.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Do you want to be late for your match and risk the coach benching you?” she volleyed back in her best stern ‘Mum voice’.

He blanched, lunged forward to peck her on the lips, and then sprinted towards the floo. “Catchpole Pitch!” Rigel disappeared through the emerald flames with a wave of his little hand, and she nearly collapsed in relief. But her relief would have to be delayed because just then Sirius Black entered the room and stopped when she turned on her heel to face him. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting to find her here either. Well, that made two of them, she thought with no small amount of annoyance.

“Kitten?” he gaped. “Is that you?”

Hermione knew what he was seeing when he looked at her – the bags under her eyes, her unkempt, waist-length plait, and dare she say it, an immovable layer of fat around her midsection that hadn’t been there the last time they clapped eyes on one another.

For his part, he might have a little bit of silver dusting his temples, only made more obvious by the stark contrast to his inky-black mane. But he looked tan, well-rested, and like he’d put on a bit of muscle, actually. The laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were a tad more prominent. But overall, he looked hale, hearty, and most of all, happy. She had the distinct overwhelming urge to sock him in the jaw.

“Yes, Mr. Black. It’s me,” she began as she meant to go on, with formality and distance. Now that he was on British soil, she couldn’t keep him and Rigel from meeting forever, but the curly-haired witch wanted him to know where he stood with her and by extension, her son. “And I haven’t been called by that nickname in a very long time.”

“Well, it seems to still suit you,” he teased, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. After a long beat of silence, he cleared his throat and asked, “Where is everyone? I wrote to Harry and Moony asking them to meet me here, but I guess my letters didn’t make it them before I did.” Sirius scratched the nape of his neck bashfully. “What are you doing here?”

She wanted to be as honest as possible. “I live here.”

“You do – why?” he asked, canting his head to one side which reminded her very much of Snuffles.

She’d never told him about the circumstances by which she’d effectively orphaned herself during the war. It had been too personal, and afterwards, well, they hadn’t done much talking. “During the war I obliviated my parents and created new identities for them. I sent them to Melbourne. I tried looking for them after – well, after you left – but they seemed too happy for me to uproot them again. It was just me. So, Harry and Remus invited me to stay here –” Hermione felt like she was being grilled by her boss, squirming under his intense gaze.

“And you choose to stay here all this time?” Sirius scoffed.

Perhaps to him it might seem pathetic, but he had a history with this place that she never had. Hermione had put in the time and work to make it new. “Yes, well, what can I say? I love a good project, and this place was a fixer upper when I got my hands on it.”

He took a look around at the improvements she’d made and let out a low whistle. “I can see that.”

It was open concept now, light, and airy. The ground floor had been redone in deep earthy tone and rich, warm colors that reminded any fellow Gryffindor who came to visit of the common room. It had been mentioned more than once over the years. But to her, that made it homey. And Rigel had never known anything different. She hoped that when he left for Hogwarts, if he had the good fortune to be sorted into her former house, that Gryffindor Tower would feel just like home. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said softly. “Remus and Harry assured me that you wouldn’t be offended. But I hope I didn’t overstep.”

He waved a hand dismissively at her apologies. “Never mind all that. I barely recognize the old place.”

“Well, that was the goal,” she said, allowing herself a brief smile of satisfaction at what she perceived to be a compliment.

“It reminds me of Gryffindor Tower,” he remarked when he stepped into the family room, took in the rich wood tones, and overstuffed chairs. He made his way over to the gallery wall she’d created of knick-knacks, mementos, and photographs – both magical and muggle. Front and center was one of her favorites where she had her arms around her son with a proud smile after his first victory. Rigel was in his quidditch kit, covered in sweat and grass stains, showing off a beaming, gap-toothed smile. In one hand, he had the golden snitch he’d caught by complete accident, and in the other he held his front tooth between his thumb and forefinger that he’d lost when he tumbled off his broom face-first.

Stupid Harry showing him that memory from First Year in a pensieve and putting idiotic and dangerous ideas in her son’s head! He was already a daredevil as it was and didn’t need any help on that front!

Hermione was momentarily lost in memories of that day when she realized that Sirius had gravitated over toward the photo. Did he see the resemblance? He would have to be willfully blind not to. Oh, sweet Circe’s knickers, not now! Not like this!

He turned to look back at her over his shoulder, and gestured to the photo with his thumb, “Did you have a kid, Kitten? Harry didn’t mention anything in his letters about you getting hitched or becoming a mum.” His pupils were the size of pinpricks, and his voice was tremulous. Bugger.

Just then the floo went off and Hermione turned to stagger back towards the hearth to find Remus there on all fours. “Hermione? Oh, good, I caught you! Listen, I just got a letter from Sirius, and he says he’s coming over here. You have to stash the kid –”

The curly-haired witch thought she might faint because there was no way that Sirius hadn’t just overheard everything his old friend had said. And between that and the photo of Rigel, he had to know. “Remus, he’s already here,” she whispered.

“Moony!” Sirius bellowed. “About time you got here.”

Remus paled and his scars stood out across his face by stark comparison. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“My thoughts exactly. Now, am I relieved of duty so I can go cheer on my son and godson or must I remain for the inquisition?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her irritation with the middle-aged werewolf.

“I am so sorry, Hermione. I just got the letter before I flooed over here,” the man began to ramble.

She held up a hand to silence him, accioed her purse wandlessly, made sure her wand was inside, and went after Rigel. This could wait. Her son could not. Sirius Black had kept her and everyone else waiting for ten years. He could have a taste of his own medicine now.

Hours later – Catchpole Pitch

Nestled in the hills of Ottery-St. Catchpole and shouting distance from the Burrow, was nestled a recreational and sports park for the locals as part of the revitalization initiative of Wizarding Britain following the war. By the time little Albie came along, the youth quidditch league that Harry and Ginny had thought up had finally got its legs under it. But they had so many takers that other neighboring wizarding villages had started up their own leagues to cater to all the kids who were interested in socializing and playing with their peers. Soon it had spread across the majority of Wizarding Britain.

Harry had been right then, and he’d been right at breakfast. This was good for Rigel and all the others. She just loathed being up at the arsecrack of dawn every Sunday for practices and matches. And who wanted to tell their little brother, for all intents and purposes, that they were right? No one. That’s who.

But Hermione stumbled through the public floos, trying to keep her wits about her. She spotted Ginny about to toss the quaffle to begin the match, a whistle poised at her pursed lips and sprinted over to where Harry had saved her a seat in a foldable camp chair. When she plopped herself down with a breathless huff, he handed over a travel coffee mug. She received it gratefully, “Bless you. Did I miss anything?” Some of the other parents glared at her for talking and she fought the urge to give them all the two-fingered salute.

“Nope, they’re just starting now,” Harry replied. “Although Rigel did mention something about a strange man bursting in through the front door yelling for ‘Moony’ and ‘Harry’, and you looking panicky before sending him off through the floo by himself.” He looked at her askance.

“He’s almost 10, Harry. We were fighting trolls and tricking three-headed dogs at 11,” she said with an eyeroll, content to respond to the latter part of his statement and ignore the former.

“Let’s not conveniently forget setting teachers robes on fire,” he chortled under his breath, and she buried her face against his shoulder to stifle her own laughter. But she noticed that no one dared breathe a world to the Savior of the Wizarding World himself. Pretentious social climbers, all of them. “Oh, and if memory serves, you were already 12 at that point.” He wiped his leaking eyes behind his round spectacles.

She straightened up in her seat and waved her free hand dismissively. “My point stands.”

“I hardly think that our antics at that age should be the bar we set for our children’s… adventures,” he reminded her with a devilish gleam in his eye. It was moments like these where she was reminded of the boy she’d met on the Hogwarts Express at 11. “We want them to live safe, boring lives and die of old age someday warm in their beds.”

“Ugh, morbid. Let’s not talk about that, hm?”

“Wotcher, ‘Mione! Harry!” Tonks migrated over, stumbling over her own feet once or twice while she struggled to balance two camp chairs, Teddy’s quidditch bag, and a tray of snacks from the concession stand.

Harry got to his feet immediately to help, her being a fumble waiting to happen. Hermione took the tray from her while she and Harry set up her and Remus’ camp chairs just beside Hermione. Then the curly-haired witch handed the tray back, but not before snagging a single pickle spear. “Mm, still amazing,” she remarked as she crunched on the crisp dill.

“Get your own, witch,” Dora teased before leaning over to kiss her cheek in greeting. “Just kidding. I got extra.” She handed over a basket of steaming chips and pickles. It was an odd choice, sure, but Hermione had been partial to pickled cucumber during her pregnancy and even years later the fondness lingered. Good thing she was a dab hand with breath-freshening charms and since becoming a boy-mom, she’d taken to carrying around a miniaturized pharmacy at all times in her undetectably extended purse.

Harry teased and picked at her chips around the pickles. “You’re an odd woman.”

“Part of my charm, Potter.”

“Where is Remus?” Dora asked. “He ran out of the house saying he had to warn you about something.”

Hermione turned a knowing glare on her friend and said, “Oh, we had an unexpected guest this morning at Grimmauld Place. Might’ve been nice to have some advanced notice, but why should I expect manners now after all this time?” She huffed and scanned the skies for her son, godson, and nephews.

Ron and Luna were sitting across the field with the majority of the Weasley clan and Hermione raised a hand to wave when she noticed Molly staring. She’d been so happy when Ron and Luna had found their way to one another following the battle. For a moment, Hermione feared that the kiss she’d shared with her childhood friend during the Battle would change their relationship forever. And while he hadn’t been pleased with the discovery that she was expecting and the father had ‘legged it’, Ron had simmered off, done his soul-searching and confessed to her that the kiss had been awkward for him, if nothing else. It had felt like kissing a sister. The two had parted ways as best friends, brother and sister really, and the Weasleys had enveloped her into their fold just as they had with Harry.

Ron and Luna had two beautiful children – Rose and Hugo – and they had both inherited their mother’s wavy, blonde hair, but Ron’s blue eyes and freckles. They were so sweet and often hosted cousin sleepovers with all the other Weasley kids, the Potter kids, and going so far as to include Teddy and Rigel. It warmed her heart that even without blood relations to speak of Hermione had still managed to give her son a real family. But now the oaf who’d helped derail her life had reappeared like nothing was amiss and threatened to bring it all crumbling down around her with an ill-timed letter!

“Well, is Remus coming? He’s going to miss Teddy’s match.” Dora pouted into her nachos.

Hermione felt guilty that once again because of her poor decisions in her youth she was interfering with the lives of her friends and making things difficult for them as a result. “I –” left him behind to clean up my mess. “He’ll be right along. I’m sure of it.”

“Go Catchpole Chimaeras!” Harry roared when his son James scored 10 points.

Hermione and Dora cheered for their friend’s son while Ron jumped up to his feet to applaud.

Across the pitch was seated the smattering of guests there to support their children on the opposing team – the Wiltshire Wampuses found by none other than Draco Malfoy. And though his personal rivalry with the Golden Trio had ebbed after the war, the quidditch competitiveness proved strong. His wife, Astoria, was a sweetheart though and after Rigel’s birth, Mrs. Malfoy and Draco had come around and shown their support. It seemed everyone in their social circle had their suspicions but were too polite to give them voice.

Remus joined them shortly thereafter, but unfortunately Sirius was in tow and Hermione wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. With the man in question here in the flesh, it was only a matter of time, and she wondered whether all the other parents would make the connection at any given moment. The sandy-haired wizard took his seat beside his wife and Sirius was left to conjure his own seat.

Hermione was relieved that he was two people removed from her so she wouldn’t have to talk to him and could spend the remainder of the match planning on what she would say. She should’ve been watching her son, but her mind was elsewhere, and she blamed him for that too.

“Sirius is back,” Harry whispered to her.

“Yes, I can see that, Harry,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Besides grabbing my kid and getting an international portkey literally anywhere that man isn’t? No, not really.”

Dora must’ve overheard because she leaned in closer to whisper, “Are you gonna tell him?”

“I think he’ll realize soon enough if he hasn’t already, don’t you?” Hermione retorted, gesturing to her son with the surname ‘Granger’ plastered across the back of his jersey.

“Is that your kid, Kitten?” Sirius called out with a hand cupped around his mouth.

She gnashed her teeth. “That would be my I’m here at some ungodly hour watching him play and why my name is on his back, Mr. Black.”

He seemed momentarily taken aback by the bite in her tone and Harry took hold of her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. Without saying a word, he was able to convey ‘I’ve got your back’. And she appreciated it immensely.

“He’s good, Granger!” he called back.

“Thank you.” Her answer was curt, but frankly her mind was racing and the less she had to converse with him now, the better for everyone around them. She didn’t want to make a scene at children’s sporting event and embarrass herself, her friends, or Rigel. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t earned the right to be just a tad petty. “He takes after his father.”

Remus choked on his tea and Dora’s eyes went comically wide as she fought to keep her eyes locked on Teddy. “Wotcher, Mione,” she mumbled to Hermione under her breath, trying not to snicker.

Ron’s daughter Rose was the Chimaera’s Keeper, Teddy and James were among the Chasers on the team, and Rigel was one of two Beaters, though he liked to be the center of attention whenever possible. He often got fouled for snitchnipping. Little Albus had been picked at the Chimaera’s Seeker and Harry was proud one of his sons was taking after him in that regard. While the game was typically played with seven players at one time, the team had twice that many members, so the Chimaeras had taken up the tradition of swapping at ‘half-time’.

Teddy and James pulled off a good Porskoff Ploy and topped it off with a solid reverse pass that confused the other team. “That’s my son!” Dora cried out and Teddy blushed at his mother’s enthusiasm.

“Hermione, please tell my cousin if she distracts the boy, he’ll end up getting hurt,” Sirius called over.

“Mr. Black, I’m not an owl. And you can speak to your cousin yourself,” she volleyed back.

Rigel managed to spin his broom in a tight circle and whip the bludger in the direction of the other team’s Keeper sending him through the hoop. Luckily the bludgers were ‘dumbed down’ to pack far less of a punch, the kids were all wearing padded unforms across their torsos as well as helmets, and the hoops were at half the height as normal. If a kid fell, they were far less likely to get severely hurt and she deeply appreciated the rulebook that Harry, Ginny, and the other parents who’d founded this youth league had created for her peace of mind.

“Go, Granger!” Sirius cheered and Hermione, Harry, and the Lupins whipped around to stare at him wide-eyed while he pumped his fists into the air.

Little Rigel turned to look at the man with a furrowed brow and confusion clear on his little face.

Oh, sodding hell. NO.

An hour earlier – 12 Grimmauld Place

The little curly-haired witch had disappeared through the floo like she had the hounds of Hades on her heels. And then it was just Sirius, and his oldest friend and best mate left in his childhood home. Sirius had been skeptical about returning to this place, but he hadn’t been back to Britain in ten years, and he wasn’t sure where everyone was staying. He just knew that Grim Old Place was still standing – he would’ve heard about it from them if it burnt down in a horrible yet hilarious accident – and it was neutral territory. But the moment he’d stepped through the front door, the wards around the place had recognized him immediately by blood, and yet the interior was nothing like he recalled.

It was full of life and light, it was cozy and warm. It reminded him of Gryffindor Tower – one of three places that had ever felt like home to him in his entire life. He found himself endlessly curious and wanting to explore. And then he’d stumbled upon the last person he’d expected to find there and looking right at home – Hermione Granger. Or was she Mrs. Someone-or-other now? He hadn’t heard from any of the others about her getting married. But he supposed that part of him had been avoiding mentioning the little witch, having been eaten up with guilt for years about his actions that night.

In the light of day, he’d felt like a cad, like he’d taken advantage of a naïve, extremely vulnerable young lady. And desperate as he was to feel something, as touch starved as he’d been following his imprisonment and the years that had followed when he was a fugitive, Sirius Black had thought he was better than that. Turns out, he was just a dog after all. He’d left as soon as possible, left her and all of it behind and vowed to start afresh.

He had climbed mountains, swam in all Seven Seas, visiting silent orders of monks in the Himalayas, lounged on nude beaches in Greece and Spain, sampled food, drink, music, and beautiful women – muggle and magical – across every continent. And yet he hadn’t been home in a decade. He was loath to admit that it was because part of him had wanted to avoid that night.

When it had been just Sirius and Hermione, their conversation was stilted and mildly awkward, but they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in a decade, so he supposed that was to be anticipated. Then he went over to her wall of photos and art and noticed one of her dead-center with a small boy, perhaps 6 or 7 at the time and something in the shape of the nose or their freckles seemed to correspond. Was she a mother? And who was the father?

Then Sirius had taken a closer look at the boy in the moving photo and asked himself why the precise color of the boy’s hair, or the shade of his eyes seemed so familiar. Perhaps it was the tilt of his little smile. Or the look of mischief in those eyes. A shiver went down his spine and he had to ask, “Did you have a kid, Kitten? Harry didn’t mention anything in his letters about you getting hitched or becoming a mum.”

Bloody hell. Please don’t say it. Just deny it. Please.

But the sound of the floo going off pulled Hermione from the room and prevented her from clearing his conscience for him. A familiar voice murmured, “Hermione? Oh, good, I caught you! Listen, I just got a letter from Sirius, and he says he’s coming over here. You have to stash the kid –”

‘Stash the kid?’ Sirius wondered. Why would Remus be advising her to hide her son? And what did Remus know exactly? Why were they living here in his renovated childhood home and why did the boy look so much like –?

With his enhanced hearing thanks to his Animagus status, Sirius overheard Hermione whisper, “Remus, he’s already here.”

Oh, they both sounded soooo bloody guilty. And Moony knew the truth? He would get it out of him one way or another, the dark-haired wizard vowed to himself. “Moony!” he bellowed. “About time you got here.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he heard Remus groan. He had that right. If what Sirius suspected was true, his old friend and even his godson had been leaving quite a bit out of their letters over the years and Sirius was upset.

“My thoughts exactly. Now, am I relieved of duty so I can go cheer on my son and godson or must I remain for the inquisition?” Hermione mumbled under her breath, and the irritation was clear in her voice.

“I am so sorry, Hermione. I just got the letter before I flooed over here,” Remus tried to apologize. He was apologizing to the wrong person! Sirius was the injured party here!

“We’ll speak about this later, Remus,” she said simply and called out “Catchpole Pitch” before the whoosh of the floo sounded again.

The scent of soot permeated the air and Sirius marched into the other room to intercept his old friend. “Moony, you have some explaining to do. Now.” He faced his old friend with his arms folded across his chest and glared intensely up at him.

“Now, Padfoot, this isn’t precisely my story to tell,” Remus put up his hands in supplication.

“What – and this isn’t something any of you thought to mention in your letters during the past decade?!” Sirius snapped.

Remus glared and closed the distance between them quickly. He surprised Sirius with his mood shift and jammed a finger into his chest. “She is pack and under our protection. She and her cub. And you’ve been out of the picture for a long time.”

Sirius balked. “So, that’s how it is?”

“How else did you think it was going to be, Padfoot, when you disappeared for ten years? You missed funerals, weddings, anniversaries, and births. So much.” Remus flung himself down in a large crimson highbacked chair.

“I –” Sirius began, unsure how to start. “I needed to get away.”

“I realize that, Pads. But the rest of us had to pick up the pieces. We supported one another and did our healing here at home so we could be there for each other,” Remus explained. “And we’ve grown close.”

“You named her and Harry as Teddy’s godparents, right?” Sirius asked.

Remus nodded. “You would’ve been my first choice, but you weren’t here, Padfoot.”

Sirius felt guilt wash over him hot and bitter. “I’m sorry, Moons.”

“You’re here now.” His old friend sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face.

After a long, protracted silence, Sirius dredged up the courage to ask, “So, who married Kitten?”

“She’s not married, Pads. She’s single.”

“Widow?” Sirius asked, canting his head to one side. He liked to believe he was open-minded and had left his preconceived pureblood notions behind him, but he knew the wizarding world was harsh on single, unwed parents, especially mothers.

Remus shook his head. “Nope. Just her and the boy.”

Sirius looked up at the moving photo as it looped around for the hundredth time since he’d walked into the room and saw the small, dark-haired boy thrust his hands proudly towards the camera – snitch in one hand, tooth in the other. “Bit of a bruiser, ain’t he?” Sirius teased.

“Just like his father,” Remus said softly, his gaze penetrating.

“Who?”

“Who do you think, Padfoot?”

Sirius couldn’t cope. The boy had to be almost ten now. And Hermione had shuffled him out of the house through the floo without even allowing Sirius to meet him. From their one night together? A son? When had she found out? Had she known before he left? Would she have mentioned it anyway?

Why hadn’t any of them said anything all this time?

“You all must hate me for this,” Sirius said simply, hung his head, and slumped into a seat opposite his oldest friend.

“We don’t hate you. And deep down, I don’t think she does either. She just had to keep on and carry on, but we all pitched in. We didn’t let her feel like she was ever alone,” Remus said with a soft, somewhat sad smile. “She had it rough for a while there. Bloody Skeeter was at her throat.”

“Fucking Skeeter,” Sirius seethed. “What did she do?”

“Who – Hermione?”

“Yes. Last time she stowed the beetle in an unbreakable jar and blackmailed her,” Sirius joked.

“I heard about that from the boys,” Remus chuckled, his green eyes alight with mirth. “Well, she made a scrapbook.”

“She what?” Sirius stared back with wide eyes.

“She’s learned to roll with the punches, you know. Being a single mum will do that. She loves that boy more than life itself. He’s a good kid. And Mione has become an amazing mother,” Remus shared.

Uncomfortable with the seriousness of the moment, Sirius sought to lighten the mood by teasing his old friend, “If I didn’t know you were happily married to my cousin, I’d accuse you of being smitten, Moony.”

Remus shoved his shoulder playfully. “What you’re hearing is admiration, Padfoot.”

“I bet.”

“Are you planning to stick around for any length of time?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, initially. Just a stop in town before heading down to Rio de Janeiro.” Sirius scratched at his day-old stubble. “But now –”

Remus looked at his old friend and warned him, “Don’t make things difficult for them if you’re just going to cut and run again, Pads. She’s made a pretty good life for herself and doesn’t need you to come in and mess it up.”

“Is that really what you think of me, Moons?”

“I know you, old friend. And I know you don’t always mean to, but you can hurt people sometimes.”

Sirius looked up at the picture of the – his kid again – and asked, “Do you think she’d let me meet him?”

“Maybe. In time. She’s protective of him. You’d have to earn their trust,” Remus said.

“Bloody hell, he looks so much like Reggie did when he was that age,” Sirius observed. He could feel his old friend’s eyes lingering on his profile. “I really fucked up, Moony.”

“Good thing it’s never too late to make amends, eh, Pads?”

Sirius turned to look at him. “You really think so?”

“Hermione has always had a big heart. But she’s also learned to have her guard up since –”

“Since I abandoned her, you mean,” Sirius interjected.

“You didn’t know.”

“Well, clearly, neither did she. It was her first time, Moony. I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t’ve been drinking. I shouldn’t’ve –”

“What’s done is done. Little late to undo it now. You missed the first nine years, Padfoot. But Rigel is a tremendous little boy, so maybe if you take the time to get to know them –” Remus began.

Holy hells! “She named the kid ‘Rigel’?” Sirius gaped. Even after he’d – She’d still honored him and his horrendous family – a family that would’ve cursed and loathed her, by the by – in that way? He felt like such an unmitigated arse.

Remus just smiled knowingly. “Rigel Alphard Granger.”

Tears welled up in Sirius’ eyes unbidden and he had to look away so he could discreetly dash them away. It had been so long since he’d heard the name of his favorite uncle who at one of the low points in Sirius’ life, had given him freedom and hope. “It’s a good name. Strong,” Sirius rasped.

“He comes from strong stock.” Remus clapped a hand on his shoulder and then looked up at the clock on the mantel. “Now I have to go to my son’s match, Pads. Will you still be around later?”

“Match?”

“Harry and some of the others started a youth quidditch league when they began popping out kids of their own,” Remus explained. “Teddy is on the same team with Harry’s sons, Rigel, and Ron’s kids. They meet up to play near the Burrow.”

Sirius didn’t know what compelled him to ask, but it poured out of him before he could rethink it, “Do you think – Can I come along?”

“I don’t know, Padfoot. That might make Mione a little uncomfortable…”

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. I’m going to support my nephews and godkids after all!” Sirius got to his feet with the nimbleness of a much younger man and faced his old friend with an excited, beaming smile he knew Remus had never been able to refuse.

“Alright, fine. But don’t make a scene or I’ll muzzle you,” Remus threatened, and they headed towards the floo.

Chapter Text

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Later that day – Catchpole Pitch

Ever since his mum had rushed him through the floo this morning – by himself! – Rigel had been out of sorts. He had woken up that morning looking forward to his match and seeing his friends and cousins. They weren’t related by blood, like Rose and Hugo were with Vicky, Dominique, and Louis, Jamie and little Albie, Molly, Lucy, and Roxie. But Mum had always told him that the family related by choice was stronger because it wasn’t chance. He and Teddy didn’t have much family by blood, but at least Teddy had a Mum and Dad. He even had a Gran!

Rigel had called Mrs. Weasley ‘Granny Molly’ all his life, but it wasn’t quite the same. Mum had told him when he was five years old that her parents were gone, but she didn’t like it when he asked questions about them. She would get all quiet and her face would get that same pinchy look as when he used to ask questions about his father – such as ‘why does Teddy have a Mum and Dad, but I don’t?’ or ‘Is my dad gone like Gran and Pop Granger?’ She would either change the subject and hope he didn’t notice, but that stopped working when he got older and realized what she was doing, or she would share with him all the small details she could remember about her parents from when she was a little girl until it got to be too much. 

He knew a lot of about Mum’s parents – their names were Helen and Richard Granger, they were both muggles, and they were din-tists. His mum explained to him that it was like a special type of healer for muggles that worked especially on people’s teeth. He hadn’t understood at the time because he’d never been to a dintist office in his life. He only ever went to St. Mungo’s when it was something that Mum or Granny Molly, or any of his aunts and uncles couldn’t fix themselves with magic. But Rigel knew that his mum would get sad when she thought about it for too long, so he stopped asking her after a while.

Granny Molly and Grandpa Artie had always treated him just like the rest of their grandchildren and never made him feel different. So, he thought he must be lucky to have such an amazing mum who was so loved that all these people would choose her and, by extension, him too.

But the moment that strange man – Rigel assumed it had to be a man because he’d never heard a woman who sounded like that – had burst through their front door like he owned the place, the little wizard had been confused and afraid. He had looked up at his mother brimming with questions and seen that sad, afraid look she sometimes got when he continued to pester her about her parents or his father and wouldn’t drop it when she asked nicely. He didn’t completely understand, but he knew that he didn’t want her to get quiet and sad, and he didn’t want her to be upset for his match. So, Rigel had listened to what she said, gone on to his match, and played his bum off for the first half! His mum and Gran preferred when he said ‘bum’ instead of ‘arse’ but sometimes at home, he heard Mum slip up and swear.

Once upon a time, they had a swear jar that sat on the kitchen table, but that was filled with water and fresh flowers now. And when the glass jar that they used to use had smashed when Rigel, Teddy, and Jamie had decided to turn the table into a fort, Mum had just replaced it with a pretty vase instead. Now Kreacher filled it with fresh flowers from the back garden every morning.

But then Mum had come through the floo with that pinchy look on her face like she was a million lightyears away, trying not to cry, and Rigel got upset. He didn’t like it when his mum looked that way and hoped it wasn’t his fault. He played his heart out for her and watched as she and all his aunts and uncles, even Granny Molly and Grandpa Artie cheered from their seats. Halfway through the first half, Uncle Moony and a strange man with long, black hair and very familiar eyes sat down with Auntie Dora, Uncle Harry, and his mum. The stranger seemed to be very friendly with his aunt and uncles, telling jokes, and chatting with Rigel’s mum. But Mum still had that pinchy look on her face.

Rigel liked to think that he took after his mum when people still referred to her as ‘the Brightest Witch of the Age’, but this was a mystery that he couldn’t seem to solve. He loved puzzles ever since he was a baby and Kreacher would gently scold him for putting the pieces in his mouth. But this puzzle seemed to be missing a few important pieces. Who was that man? How did he know his family? And why was his mum still upset? Was the man making her upset? She had stayed behind to talk to him once Rigel had gone through the floo, the boy assumed. Maybe she’d wanted to talk to the man alone and they had a fight and that’s why she was mad or sad.

Sometimes when his mum got into fights with Uncle Harry, Uncle Ron, Aunt Ginny, or Aunt Dora, she would ignore them for a week, and then they would floo call each other or owl one another, or sometimes just drop by and talk it out. Then they would apologize and fix it. Whatever it was. Then it would be all better and things would return to normal. If this stranger had been the one to upset Rigel’s mum, then he just had to give her time, say he was sorry, and things would go back to the way they were supposed to be? Right?

Rigel hadn’t expected that when he and the Mini-Marauders pulled off a perfect Porskoff Ploy and Reverse Pass to score for the Chimaeras that the strange man would end up cheering the loudest. It had startled the dark-haired boy and he’d nearly fallen off his broom. He stared at the man and wondered why something about him seemed so familiar when the boy knew he’d never seen him before in his life. Then the man leaned in behind Uncle Moony and Aunt Dora and said something to Mum which had clearly upset her more. This man was going the right way for a tongue-lashing, Rigel observed with a laugh. His mum was funny. She had a temper too. And while she was often very patient with Rigel and his cousins and friends, she had less patience with grown-ups. And this man was pissing her off. Rigel knew his mother wouldn’t approve of his ‘slang’, but it was safe when it stayed in his head, right?

Once Aunt Ginny got up to blow the whistle at halftime, the first batch of the Chimaeras hovered above the ground before carefully touching down and scampered off to join their parents for a rest and some snacks. He wondered what Kreacher had packed up today! His mum seemed to snap out of it and stand up with her arms out for a hug when he came sprinting over, careful not to bash her in the face with his broom like he had once during his first match. Rigel dropped the broom in the grass moments before he collided with his mum and buried his face in her chest, taking in the comforting scent of her – lavender like her soap, strong coffee, and the fabric softener that she and Kreacher used on their clothes and bedsheets when they did the washing together.

“Mum, Mum, did you see me?” he squealed, his voice cracking on the last word.

“Yes, I did, Peanut. You were amazing!” Mum gushed and beamed down at him proudly, the pinchy look on her face vanished.

“You were great, kid.” Rigel blushed when Uncle Harry chuckled, patted him on the shoulder, and crossed the field to join Aunt Ginny where she sat with Jamie and Albie along with the rest of the Weasleys.

Teddy was already sitting on his father’s knee digging into a sandwich and chips while his mother opened a muggle juice box for him. “Slow down before you choke, love,” Auntie Dora teased, and brushed her son’s sweaty, blue-green fringe out of his eyes. “That’s it, this weekend you’re getting a haircut.”

“Aww, Mum!” Teddy whined.

The strange man barked a laugh – really, it sounded like a dog barking! – and said, “Dora, your kid’s got style! Don’t take that away from him.”

“It’s just hair, it’ll grow back, Padfoot,” Uncle Moony replied.

Then it hit him, like one of those muggle lightbulbs that appeared in cartoons on the telly when someone got an idea. This man was ‘Padfoot’ – the friend from all of Uncle Moony and Uncle Harry’s old stories from when they were kids! Rigel turned in the circle of his mother’s arms and called out loudly, with no preamble, “You’re Padfoot?”

All the adults around him all seemed to freeze, even Rigel’s mum who had been assisting in removing his outer robes so he could have his lunch. The strange man with the familiar eyes looked at Uncle Moony for a moment before he cleared his throat and rose to his feet from his chair. Cor blimey, he was tall! Almost as tall as Uncle Moony. Then the man closed the distance between them and Mum stiffened beside Rigel, her hold on his shoulder tightening. Rigel looked up at his mum curiously. He had seen her get like this a couple times in Diagon Alley when he was little, and some newspaper people had gotten in their faces with notepads, quills, and cameras asking her all sorts of questions that made her angry. She explained when he was a little older that those people were invading their personal space and privacy and she – as his mum – was protecting him. And that had been the end of it. But now his mum looked that way again. From what he understood, it was something like being afraid. His mum thought he might be in danger and wanted to protect him. That’s what mummies and daddies, uncles and aunties, and grandparents did. But did that mean that this ‘Padfoot’ man was dangerous?

“Yes, s-son,” the man stammered over the word. His mum’s hold tightened on Rigel’s arm almost painfully and he winced. “My name is Sirius. Sirius Black. But my friends all call me ‘Padfoot’.” The man extended a hand towards Rigel – well, towards his mum, really – and Rigel leaned sideways to sneak a peek at him.

This only seemed to cause Rigel’s mum to take a protective step in front of him to tuck Rigel behind her. Maybe Padfoot was dangerous. Maybe that’s why Rigel had never met him before. But then why did he come now? Why was the man here? And what did he want with Rigel and his mum? The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes on Rigel’s mum. “Am I not allowed to say ‘hello’ to the boy, Kitten?” he growled, and sounded very much like a dog.

“Mr. Black, I don’t think this is the appropriate time or place for this introduction or conversation,” his mum said, her voice tight like she was getting angry.

“Pads, don’t make a scene,” Uncle Moony said and curled his fingers around the man’s wrist to halt his forward advance.

“I’m not trying to make a scene, Moony, I’m just trying to meet the kid, and –”

“Stop,” Auntie Dora said with finality and glared at the man.

Padfoot. Padfoot. Rigel searched his mind for what else he knew about the man since his mum was so against them getting to meet or even talk. But his mother had always done the right thing – the smart thing – and taught Rigel to do the same, so he trusted that she knew best in this moment. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Padfoot,” he said from behind his mother, still gripping tight to her jumper.

His mum ran her hand over his curls before the man went to march off across the field in the direction of Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, and the Weasleys. It seemed like all the adults had been holding their breath together because they all let out a big sigh before Rigel’s mum turned to him, all smiles again, and asked, “Are you hungry?” She was changing the subject again and her smile didn’t light up her eyes the way it usually did when it was real. She was faking.

After a moment’s hesitation, Rigel nodded enthusiastically and forced himself to smile. He knew this was what his mum needed – what she expected from him. Not being annoyed by his endless questions. That could come later when she’d had time to cool down and was in a better mood. “Yes!” He took Uncle Harry’s camp chair and accepted something warm wrapped in wax paper. Rigel peeled it back and took a sniff and was immediately giddy. His first bite confirmed his suspicions – a crunchy peanut butter toastie. Kreacher must’ve packed it special. He looked around at his other teammates who were all enjoying their cold-cut sandwiches and crisps and knew this was just the grumpy, old house elf’s way of silently cheering him on.

Once he was done, he bunched up the wax paper and put it back in the cooler. When Rigel got back to his seat his mum already had a wet wipe and a thermos waiting for him. He wiped down his hands easily enough and took the chilled thermos only to discover that it was cold milk. Kreacher. “You have a milk mustache, Peanut,” his mum said with a giggle and reached out with her thumb like she’d wipe it away.

He reclined in his seat and folded his bottom lip up over his top lip to lap up the milk. His funny face made his mother laugh. “All gone.” He beamed at her, smiling wide until his cheeks hurt and her smile finally reached her brown eyes. Sometimes Rigel wished he looked more like this mum the way Teddy looked like each of his parents. But Rigel must look more like his dad and that made him curious and sometimes annoyed that he had never gotten to meet the man.

Sometimes, in the safety of their backyard fort when Teddy and Jamie would come over, the three of them would talk about anything and everything. And more often than not Rigel would wonder about his father. His friends asked if he missed the man, but Rigel had a tough time explaining that if was difficult to miss someone he never knew. He felt the same way about his mum’s parents – the grandparents he’d never gotten to meet. But Rigel had so many uncles that he knew he shouldn’t whine about it. There were kids in their school who didn’t have any parents at all.

“How long have you two been practicing that move before you got it down?” Uncle Moony asked.

Teddy and Rigel shared a conspiratorial grin. “Two weeks,” the former said.

“We kept missing the catch,” Rigel added.

“But it was Jamie’s idea to add the reverse pass at the end to score,” Teddy crowed.

“I can’t wait to try out for the quidditch team at Hogwarts,” Rigel said dreamily.

“Just don’t go growing up too fast, kid,” Auntie Dora warned, but her glare was playful.

He loved his life and his family just the way it was, and he didn’t need anyone else for it to feel whole and complete, Rigel told himself, somewhat stubbornly, even as he looked over at Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny sitting with Jamie and Albie, Uncle Moony, Auntie Dora, and Teddy, Uncle Ron, Auntie Luna, Rose and Hugo, and all the other Weasleys with their complete family units. Mummies, daddies, and children. Even Mr. Malfoy was with his wife Miss Tori and their son Scorpius. Auntie Cissa was there with them looking a little posh for a quidditch match, but happy all the same.

Rigel loved his family. He did. And he didn’t often feel like something was missing, or that he was missing out. But sometimes he looked at the other mums and dads and he looked at his mum and the way she didn’t have anyone to hold hands with or make inside jokes with – unless he counted – or cook with. Not unless he counted Kreacher. And that wasn’t quite the same.

His mum didn’t talk about going out on dates or finding him a new daddy. And for that, Rigel was grateful because the thought of his mum kissing some other bloke or holding hands or cuddling and laughing gave him the willies. His aunt and uncles did that kind of mushy stuff all the time, but his mum wasn’t like that, he told himself. Or maybe she just didn’t have someone to do those things with.

Rigel wished that he was enough. He wished that she could feel like their family was whole and complete too the way that he did. But he remembered one time when he was younger, and she’d bought him children’s books from a muggle bookstore to ‘broading his horizons’ or something. And they’d come home with a book all about different kinds of families. She had read it to him and then waited for him to ask his questions the way they always did after story time. Mum called it ‘Q and A’ and said it stood for ‘questions and answers’. And he liked their little traditions and inside jokes. But he remembered asking her – being afraid to ask her – whether she missed his dad.

His mum had simply shut the book, set it aside on his nightstand, and shook her head. She had said something he’d never forgotten all this time, “I don’t miss the man so much as I miss what he could’ve been for you. But you’re the only man I need in my life.”

He didn’t understand then what he was starting to understand now as he looked around the pitch. There are many different kinds of love. The way he loved his mum was different than how he loved his friends, and that was different from how his aunts and uncles loved each other. Husbands and wives. Or mates like Uncle Moony and Auntie Dora. Rigel couldn’t give his mum that. And he wondered if sometimes she felt like she was missing out. If she was lonely.

Their lunch break and halftime were soon up, and the second half of the match started, the second half of the Chimaeras mounting their brooms for their turn. “Ooh, I hope they don’t play too hard and make themselves sick,” his mum said, her hand fluttering to her mouth the way she did when she was worried or nervous.

“They’ll be fine,” Auntie Dora said. She was less of a worrier than his mum.

“I’m just happy we played the first half,” Teddy said. “Look at that kid.” He pointed for a moment before Rigel followed the path of his finger and his eyes widened comically.

“Who’s kid is that? Are they even in the same age group?” Uncle Moony asked, looking around the pitch.

“Bugger, that kid is massive!” Rigel gaped.

Hermione scoffed and shook her head. “The mouth on you – why do I even try?”

“What did I say?” he balked and put up his hands. “On a scale of scourgifying my mouth out with soap to being locked away in Azkaban for all time, how much trouble am I in?” he asked cheekily.

The adults around him blanched and he froze. He thought his joke would be funny, maybe get a few laughs, or at least get him out of trouble, but his aunt, uncle, and mum all shared a looked before they looked across the pitch to where that Padfoot man was sitting with the Weasleys and the Potters and laughing. He even seemed to be making conversation with Aunt Cissa and the Malfoys. What was it about that guy that made them all get that pinchy look on their faces?

“Just… save that kind of language for home, okay?” his mum said, breaking the awkward silence. But her smile was fake again and he felt bad. She gestured for him to spin in his seat, and he went along with it. Then she undid his hair tie, combed her fingers through his tangled curls, and retied his hair in a bun to keep it off his neck. “Don’t want the other parents accusing me of corrupting their spawn because my kid has a sailor mouth.”

Rigel snorted and said, “You swear all the time.”

“I’m an adult. Do as I say, not as I do and all that rot,” she parried.

“Fiiine,” he whinged and turned back in his seat. “Mum can I have water?”

“Yeah.” She dug around in her beaded purse where she always carried everything and pulled out an icy water bottle. “I would say ‘try not to spill’, but you smell like you could use a shower so if you want to get a head start, have at it.”

Rigel chose the wrong moment to take a drink because ice water shot out of his nose and his mum panicked while Teddy and Auntie Dora fell all over themselves laughing. He could tell that Uncle Moony was trying to be polite by not laughing but struggling against the urge. Bloody mums and their jokes! He spluttered and coughed with one hand cupped under his chin to catch his dribble from running down the front of his jersey.

His mum took the bottle from him and set it aside in her camp chair’s cupholder. “Oh, Peanut, are you okay? I’m so sorry!” Her eyes were wide and worried, and her hands were all fluttery while she tried to wipe at him with a handkerchief.

But across the field his eyes locked with that Padfoot man again. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were intense. Rigel took a moment to notice that his eyes were the same as Aunt Dora’s normal eye color, just like her mum’s eyes, Aunt Cissa’s eyes, and even Mr. Malfoy’s eyes – that silvery-grey that all the House of Black had inherited. Rigel wondered if his dad might’ve been related to them somehow and that was how he’d gotten grey eyes just like theirs. Maybe that’s why the Padfoot man kept staring. Maybe he had the same questions that were rolling around inside of Rigel’s head since he’d shown up at their door.

-------

The Chimaeras had won the match, but only just, by 20 points and the kids were tuckered out and ready for baths and naps most likely, despite their pre-pubescent protests that they were ‘too old for naptime’. Hermione thought with a smile. She had agreed to take Teddy for the night so Remus and Tonks could enjoy their anniversary sans child or silencing charms. She was happy for them and looking forward to time with her favorite boys.

So, when Harry crossed the pitch with his hands in his pockets with Sirius on his heels and looking sheepish, she wondered if they were about to throw a spanner in the works. “Mione, can I ask for a huge favor?” Harry asked.

She looked up at him from where she’d been cleaning up their area and packing Rigel’s kit so they could leave. “Depends on what it is,” she said, eyes flickering to where Sirius stood like a silent sentinel on his heels.

“Well, I was wondering if I could jump on the babysitting bandwagon if it’s not too short notice,” he began.

Hermione knew very well he was referring to his sons but wanted to make him as uncomfortable as he was currently making her by bringing Sirius back over. “Well, my services usually stop once the person in question is out of school. I think Padfoot should be fine without a babysitter. At least for one night.”

Sirius looked up and glared at her. He had no right to be upset with her. She had made his life so simple for the past decade. And yes, she’d hidden something huge from him to do it, but to be completely frank – he hadn’t been prepared to be a parent at that time. Granted, neither had she. But he had demonstrated just how self-centered he was by immediately packing up and jet-setting around the world the moment that his name was cleared. Hermione had buckled down and done the responsible thing when she realized that she was expecting and had decided to keep it. So, he had no moral high ground to judge her from.

“Mione, enough.” Harry chided her even though he couldn’t hide his smirk. “Pads and I want to catch up with a night at the pub. A bunch of the lads are gonna come.”

“Oh, so just a lad’s night?” she asked, arms folded across her chest and one brow raised in challenge.

Harry spluttered, “W-Well, Gin would also really appreciate a chance to put her feet up.” It wasn’t quite ‘out’ at the moment, but Ginny was expecting again, and this third pregnancy was especially hard on her. With two young boys underfoot, both under ten, she rarely got time to rest and recuperate.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine. For Ginny. Not for you. Are the boys ready to go because my gremlin needs a bath, stat.”

Harry nodded and turned over his shoulder to let out a sharp whistle. James and Albus sprinted over each still in their kits with their bags slung over their shoulders. “Boys! Sleepover at Auntie Mione’s place!”

Ginny waved with a look of exhaustion and gratitude on her face and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.

Meanwhile Jamie and Albie joined Teddy and Rigel and a huddle, all chatting animatedly about their impromptu group sleepover.

“Thanks, Mione.”

“Oh, you’re racking up quite a debt, Mr. Potter. I’ve been keeping tally.” She winked at him, determined to ignore Sirius and his attitude for as long as humanly possible, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Then she ushered the now four boys towards the veranda with the toilets, changing rooms, muggle vending machines, and public floo access.

-------

The moment Hermione was out of earshot, Sirius asked his godson, “When did the little witch become so snarky?”

“Hmm, around the same time that Skeeter’s exposé dropped about our love affair and the first howlers started showing up at Grimmauld Place,” Harry replied with an irritated scoff and turned to make his way back to his wife to help pack up their belongings to take them back to their home in Godric’s Hollow.

Sirius helped without having to be asked, noticing the ginger witch’s obvious fatigue and how it reminded him of how ill Lily had been during her first trimester with Harry. Oh, Lils. But his mind drifted back to the fiery little witch that had unknowingly done this all herself without the support of a partner. At least Lily had had James, and now Ginny had Harry. Hermione had done this all alone, at 18, probably scared out of her wits, battling all the awful pregnancy symptoms too. And bloody Rita Skeeter had thought it would be a good idea to pile on and incite a fucking riot by accusing Hermione Granger of being a homewrecker to the wizarding world’s savior? If he ever saw the bint, he would wring her skinny neck.

Once they’d seen Ginny off to the floo, Harry and Sirius went through the floo to the Three Broomsticks where the Weasley brothers were all gathered and for a moment Sirius felt nostalgic for the times when he could have a lad’s night at the pub with his friends – the people who knew him best in the world. Prongs, Moony, W –  It wasn’t the time to go down that rabbit hole. But suddenly it seemed like he was the old fogey at the bar and these boys had all grown up together. They shared memories, stories, and inside jokes while Sirius had become the odd man out. Perhaps this had been a mistake.

Rosmerta came over to take their orders and her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Well, I never –! Sirius Black, in the flesh.”

He turned on the charm. “Rosie, my love, I have returned just for a taste… or your firewhiskey.” He let his words trail off suggestively and she chuckled and took orders for the rest of the table.

They were soon joined by a Dean Thomas, a Seamus Finnegan, Alice and Frank’s boy Neville, a Lee Jordan, and even Cissa’s boy Draco joined them, surprisingly enough. Last time he’d been on British soil right after the war, the boy had still been his godson’s long-time bully and mortal enemy. But today at the pitch, Cissa was there to support her grandson, Scorpius, sitting under a parasol of all things. And it seemed that in the past decade the kids had all grown up, done their healing, and buried the hatchet. Just one more than that had changed in his absence. Sirius was beginning to wonder if it had been his best idea to have a lad’s night when he was clearly no longer ‘one of the lads’.

Then they all started drinking and the language grew coarser and less restrained by social decorum. “So, Sirius, tell us! Is it true? You and our Mione?” one of the twins asked – perhaps George.

“Yeah, we never would’ve pegged her for your type,” maybe-Fred added.

Sirius rolled his jaw. “My type?”

“You know – all boobs and no brains,” could be-George guffawed.

Once upon a time not so long ago, they would’ve been right. Hell, if a blonde bimbo in tall heels with legs that went on for days and a short scrap of a dress tried to hit on him a couple days ago, he most definitely would’ve taken the bait. But at the moment, Sirius didn’t appreciate their insinuation that 1) Hermione Granger hadn’t been attractive enough to warrant his attention, and 2) that he was that shallow. Was he?

“I don’t believe Granger would appreciate us talking about this,” Sirius said diplomatically.

“Why’d you do it?” Ron asked.

Harry stiffened beside him and Sirius tried not to steal a peek as he faced down the remaining third of what the media had dubbed ‘the Golden Trio’. The boy was no slouch, and he’d had quite a chip on his shoulder years ago when Sirius had known them as teens. But the youngest Weasley son had made a name for himself alongside Harry in the DMLE since then, and he felt the full force of his disapproval now from across the table where he sat between two of his older brothers, Bill and Charlie.

The others all froze, their drinks halfway to their mouths, and watched to see what Sirius would do. He had been known for his temperamental outbursts during the war and they most likely expected he would lash out now. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to downplay any of his responsibility in the matter. “I didn’t know,” he said simply.

“How could you not know?” Ron pressed.

“Ron, stop,” Harry insisted. “This isn’t what we came here for.”

“It’s what I came here for. I want answers,” the redhead pressed. “Our best friend’s life was ruined because this man – a grown wizard two decades her senior – was irresponsible about where he was pointing his wand.”

Sirius felt his face heat with shame and his gut roiled with guilt. Fuck, this had been a bad decision. Where was Moony when he needed him? “Yes, I made an error in judgment. But I had no idea until I returned to Grimmauld Place this morning that –” He wasn’t trying to make excuses. He was simply trying to explain, but it seemed like the Golden Girl had acquired herself quite the kennel of guard dogs since he’d been away.

“He knows that.” Bill clapped a hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder. “He’s just being protective.”

“I can appreciate that. And I’m glad she had all of you when I wasn’t able to be here.” Sirius didn’t want to aggravate the situation.

“I have another question,” Charlie chimed in, ever the quiet one. He was certainly the one Sirius knew the least what with the boy always being away in Romania the last time he’d been home at their dragon reserve. He must’ve relocated back to the British Isles since and put down roots.

“Why not? No one else is pulling their punches tonight,” Sirius said with a groan.

The twins and their friends Lee, Seamus, and Dean chuckled.

Draco concealed the curl of his lip behind the rim of his own firewhiskey glass.

Charlie went on, “If you had known, would you have stayed?”

All the younger wizards went silent and stock-still around him before turning to look at Sirius, waiting to hear his answer. But that was the big question, wasn’t it? He had no answers for them because there was no way to know what he might’ve done back then – not without the invention of a powerful magical artifact capable of transporting him back a decade in time. And he would never risk interfering with the present in that way. Everyone around him in that moment seemed happy with the turnout of their lives, even if the rug had been yanked from under him in the last twenty-four hours.  

“I – I’d like to think so, yes,” was the best answer he could give.

“Do you intend to have any part in their lives moving forward?” this came from Harry.

Sirius turned to look his godson in the eye – Lily’s eyes which had always seen through all of Sirius’ charm and bullshit – and strove to give the most honest answer he could for the benefit of those around him and himself. “If Hermione allows me. Moony tells me I have plenty of work to do on that score, earning her trust. And that’s fair.” He turned back to face forward in his seat and raised his glass to his lips to take a long pull. Once he swallowed, he added, “I wanted to say… thank you to all of you for being there for her and Rigel when I wasn’t. I haven’t officially met him yet, but Moony tells me he’s a really good kid.” Sirius could help the smile that tugged at his lips at the image of Rigel – his son – in his mind. Suddenly a warmth began to bloom in the center of his chest that he couldn’t put a name to. But it was akin to how he’d felt that day on the battlefield a decade prior when Harry had taken down Voldemort once and for all. Pride.

“He is,” Percy agreed, the first time he’d really spoken all night, sitting there prim and proper like a professor with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose and his fiery curls cropped close to his scalp. “Very smart too. But that’s not a surprise with Hermione as a mother.”

“Yeah?” Sirius asked, curiosity brimming. He wanted to know about his kid. Whatever they could tell him. He would cling to every nugget and pearl of information they’d willingly part with. “I saw him at the pitch today and the kid’s a natural.”

“Bought him his first training broom myself,” Harry shared. “He took to flying like a fish to water.”

“You were the same, son,” Sirius said and clapped his godson on the shoulder.

The night proceeded unlike any other lad’s pub night Sirius had ever been to, but perhaps this is what happened when all the lads were suddenly old farts with kids of their own. He wondered if Moony and Prongs would’ve been like this if things had been different for them, and they’d gotten to grow old and raise families together. Would Sirius have found a nice witch to settle down with and start a family? They told him all about their families and all they’d missed and answered each of his questions about Rigel.

Sirius learned that Rigel loved to fly and had always wanted to play the position of Beater despite never having met his father, who had played the very same role on the Gryffindor team in school. He learned that the boy had a penchant for mischief and the twins had taught him well in that regard. Rigel had a soft spot for Kreacher, who was apparently still haunting Grimmauld Place. It surprised Sirius to learn that the ancient house elf had taken such good care of Hermione during her pregnancy once he discovered she was carrying the heir to the House of Black. Sirius also learned that Rigel was a bit of a picky eater and loved muggle cartoons. He was a big reader like his mum and top of his class while somehow also being the class clown. 

Sirius learned that his son went to the same primary school as Harry’s sons, Moony and Dora’s boy, Neville’s daughter, little Scorpius Malfoy, and the newest crop of Weasleys. Founding the primary school had been the initiative of his cousins Andi and Cissa since retiring and with copious amounts of time, influence, and wealth on their side it had been a personal triumph. The kids were taught a mixture of magical and muggle subjects to prepare them for Hogwarts and the wider, non-magical world both. Hermione had helped craft the school charter and its curriculum. That, of course, was the one thing that didn’t surprise him.

What did, however, surprise him was learning that not only had she’d completed her final year of school and sat for her NEWTs while carrying their son, but she’d also scored the highest Hogwarts had seen in the last half-century. The Brightest Witch of the Age, indeed. And the hardest-working. During that time all of the Weasleys and most of the remaining Order had helped the young witch to her appointments, made snack runs, renovated Grimmauld Place, and became her support system. 

Sirius learned that Hermione had worked her way up through the DRCMC and after heading that department for a couple of years, Hermione had gone on to become a magibarrister in the Wizengamot. She had chosen to take on human and creature’s rights cases specifically. All while being a full-time parent to their son. He was in awe of her and this network that had formed around her.

Soon the night was coming to an end, and the lads began to disperse, flooing home to their own families and beds, which raised the question: Where would Sirius be sleeping tonight? “Erm, Harry, do you think I could stay at yours tonight?” he asked.

“Don’t want to stay at Grimmauld?” Harry asked, a knowing look in his eye as they stepped outside to apparate.

“Ah, yes, because nothing screams comfort like that house of horrors – once haunted by Dear Old Mum and now by a whole new dragon lady,” Sirius teased.

Harry smiled as they disapparated with a crack and landed on the doorstep of Sirius’ childhood home still laughing from the pub. The moment they pushed through the front door, it seemed their timing was immaculate because a familiar guitar riff split the air and Sirius looked at his godson with a surprised smile.

“Is that AC/DC?” he asked.

Harry just chuckled and shook his head. “They must be up in the music room having a jam session dance party.”

“What?” Sirius asked. He knew what most of those words meant, but in the context of what he knew of his childhood home and the witch currently inhabiting it, this all seemed out-of-character even as the drum intro began.

“There’s a reason she’s their favorite, Padfoot,” Harry said, as if that explained everything.

“She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean.

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen.

She had the sightless eyes,

Telling me no lies.

Knocking me out with those American thighs.”

Sirius smiled to himself and tugged off his leather jacket to hang it on a free hook on the hall tree. “I don’t know if this is entirely appropriate for children, but I won’t deny the witch has good taste.”

Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Two points, 1) they’re your records, and 2) have you met our kids? They were doomed from the off. This just seals it. They already go around calling themselves the ‘Mini-Marauders’, for Merlin’s sake.” His godson began leading the way towards the stairs and the sounds of children’s laughter and the songs of Brian Johnson’s magic pipes.

“Taking more than her share,

Had me fighting for air.

She told me to come,

But I was already there.”

“You really kept all of my old records?” Sirius asked as they climbed the stairs.

“What – did you think we’d just chuck ‘em?” Harry retorted with a snort.

“I guess not,” Sirius said, then he changed tack when he realized that the sound of guitar and drums weren’t just coming over through the vinyl but also being played live. “Are they –?”

“She’s been teaching the boys how to play music since they could walk.” Harry nodded with a fond smile. “James – bless him, but he’s tone deaf like his mum. Albie’s getting it though. He likes the guitar like Mione. Teddy has been learning piano with Andromeda, so he’s taken to the keyboards just as well. And the drums, well, we noticed early on when Rigel wanted to be a Beater for the Chimaeras that he liked hitting things. So, Mione channels that into sport and music. Seems good for the kid.”

“’Cause the walls start shaking,

The earth was quaking.

My mind was aching,

And we were making it!

You shook me all night long!”

A little boy with a temper and aggression he needed to work out. Sounded familiar. Sirius sighed heavily and tried to piece together the images in his mind of Hermione Granger and their son playing along to AC/DC with Moony and Harry’s kids and hosting a sleepover in his childhood home. It was mind-boggling. But then they reached the door to the music room if the sounds of the racket were any indication and Harry put his finger to his lips and cracked the door so they could peek inside.

Sirius didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t his nine-year-old doppelgänger banging away on a professional drum set with a goofy grin spread across his little face and his dark curls – those curls were all his mother’s doing – tied up haphazardly on the top of his head while some had fallen into his eyes. Hermione was hooked into a muggle amp and wailing on an electric guitar along with the record on the player. Teddy was standing on a milk crate to reach the adult keyboards he was tapping away on. Meanwhile, Jamie was pulling his little brother around dancing spastically in the middle of the impromptu concert with much the same rhythm as his namesake.

“Working double-time on the seduction line,

She’s one of a kind,

She’s just a-mine, all mine!

Wanted no applause, just another course.

Made a meal outta me and come back for more.”

Hermione’s curls were tied up much like Rigel’s which led him to believe it was her doing, and her skin was glistening with a light sheen of perspiration while she danced around and sang off-key. He had never seen this side of her. Once upon a time, he had seen a flicker of what she might become given time and didn’t want to dampen that or drag her down with his baggage. And then, unbeknownst to Sirius Black, he’d gotten her up the duff and bailed on her doing just that anyway. 

He’d recalled their conversation in the kitchen that night many years ago often since then and wondered how her life would turn out. She had such big dreams. He assumed that someday she might become the youngest Minister for Magic in British history. But to return to this – just a regular woman living her life, having learned to adapt, and rolling with the punches while finding enjoyment in the little things, it was a shock and a surprise all in one.

She shimmied with the guitar, winding her hips while not missing a single note. Ever the perfectionist that one. And the wind of her waist hypnotized Sirius while he stood beside his godson watching through the crack in the door. She lost herself in the music as it were an oasis – a reprieve from everyday life. “You’re doing great, Peanut!” she called to Rigel over the music, and he played the high-hat and kick drum in perfect timing with the song.

“You are so wicked, Auntie Mi!” Moony’s boy called out.

She bowed over her guitar then threw her head back with a full-belly laugh. “Thank you, Sir Ted-ward.”

The boys shared a laugh over it and Sirius suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private family moment. A family unit that he, oddly enough for his connection to everyone present, appeared to no longer be a part of.

“Had to cool me down to take another round.

Now I’m back in the ring to take another swing.

That the walls were shaking,

The earth was quaking.

My mind was aching, and we were making it!”

“Grand finale, boys!” Hermione called over the music.

All five of them started singing out – or perhaps it could instead be classified as shouting – along with the lead singer:

“You really took me, and you shook me all night long!

Ah, you shook me all night long!

Yeah, yeah you –

Shook me all night long!

You really got me and you –

Shook me all night long!”

When the song ended, little Rigel – his boy, his son – held up his drumsticks and climbed out from behind his drum set to where his mother was standing. “Mum, that was the best I ever did! I only messed up one time!” The boy was bouncing on his heels.

Harry took that moment to interrupt and enter the room, making himself known. James and Albus noticed him immediately and ran over. “Daddy!” Albie smiled while he tried to climb Harry’s trouser leg.

“It’s pretty early for you, isn’t it, Harry?” Hermione remarked, set aside her guitar on its stand, and wiped a hand across her sweat-slicked brow. “I fully expected to keep the boys overnight.”

“Oh, I just wanted to give them a goodnight kiss and then I’m off.”

“Sure,” she said with a smile while she watched the boys.

“What are you doing here?” Rigel asked, so that everyone finally noticed that Sirius was still lurking in the shadowy doorway. In the dim lighting of the hall, and dressed all in black, with his dark hair being what it was, he’d blended it well enough. But the kid’s eyes were sharp and narrowed while they glared up at the man.

Hermione’s gaze pinned him, and she put her arm around her son’s shoulders, that protective stance again. It rankled Sirius that she felt like he would ever be a danger to his own son.

“I was just out with Uncle Harry,” Sirius explained, trying to keep the discomfort off of his face.

“Oh, getting pissed at the pub?” Rigel asked and Sirius nearly choked on his own tongue.

Where in Godric’s saggy bollocks had he learned those words? “Precocious kid you’ve got there, Granger,” he remarked. It had clearly been the wrong thing to say.

The curly-haired witch narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s always been intelligent and observant if that’s what you mean.”

“Auntie Mi, can we put on another record?” Teddy asked.

She faced Moony’s boy and smiled warmly at him. Sirius felt himself grow envious of a child for perhaps the first time in his life wishing she would grace him with a smile, or really anything besides a frigid glare. “Of course, you can, love. Go and pick one out.”

“Can we spend the night in here?” Jamie asked.

“The hard floor won’t be very comfortable,” she warned.

“We could ask if Kreacher would move our beds,” Rigel suggested.

“Oh, we could ask him, could we?” Hermione raised a challenging brow at the boy.

“I’d be happy to offer my services, Kitten,” Sirius said, and the moment the words were out, he wished he could call them back. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He should’ve just said his goodbyes and disappeared to his room.

“That’s ‘Ms. Granger’, if you recall, Mr. Black.” Her words were icy and intentional. She wanted to put distance between them.

Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Boys, goodnight kisses before I head home!”

His sons threw their arms around him and Sirius couldn’t help but look at his son who had no idea he was even his father, and something sharp dug into the left side of his chest. He had missed out. He hadn’t even thought he wanted all this – the house, the wife, the kid, and weekends spent watching youth quidditch matches.

The last ten years of his life had been stellar. He’d finally made up for all the time he lost being imprisoned in that hell hole in the North Sea. He had traveled the world, experienced new cultures, sampled beautiful women across the globe. He had toured museums and palaces, gone to concerts and dined in five-star restaurants with the rich, famous, and infamous alike. He had flaunted his wealth and enjoyed the many perks it brought. He didn’t regret it for a moment, reclaiming his stolen youth. But when he looked at Harry and Hermione and even old-fart Moony with Tonks and their kid, he felt like part of him had missed out on something infinitely more precious.

And as he caught sight of Hermione glaring at him for looking at Rigel, Sirius felt like he might never get the chance to make up for lost time if she had anything to say about it. She was hurt. He got that. It hadn’t been intentional. She had to know that. But just like him, she had her pride and wasn’t about to forgive so easily. Sirius would give her time and space and hope he could earn her trust again – that they might get to know each other and at the very least, that he could start to bond with his son. This might be the only chance he had at becoming a father and he didn’t want to fuck it up!

“Good night, Harry,” Hermione smiled at Harry and they air-kissed each other’s cheeks before his godson disappeared to head for the floo.

Sirius was left standing there like a dimwit. “Erm, so you have good taste in music.”

“Good night, Mr. Black,” she dismissed him and with a flick of her wrist the door to the room slammed in his face before wards went up specifically meant to bar him from entering.

Chapter Text

-------

Later that night – 12 Grimmauld Place

Dinner had been an event. Any activity with four little boys under ten usually was, particularly with this gaggle of troublemakers. They’d made pizzas after much muttering from Kreacher about them ‘usurping his role in the kitchen’, blah blah blah, two of them since they all could never quite settle on one choice for toppings. One meat lovers’ pizza with crumbled sausage, pepperoni, bacon, and ham for the carnivores in the room (namely Rigel and Teddy), and one ‘Potter Special’ for the less intense members of the group with crumbled sausage, sliced mushrooms, black olives, and a lot of cheese.

Kreacher had surprised the little wizards with muggle soda from the convenience store to accompany their dinner. Once they’d settled down in the music room – the house elf having assisted Hermione in migrating their beds into the space for the night – they’d watched a movie on the telly and eventually nodded off after a long day and a sugar crash. Hermione had cast some wards over the door that would alert her if any of them got up in the middle of the night, just in case, and shuffled down the hall to her room.

She was dead on her feet. If felt like she was running on adrenaline all day since that morning where she’d been rushing through packing lunches and snacks for the boys’ team, to Sirius’ surprise arrival, and all of the awkwardness that followed, topped off with a group of little wizards hopped up on a victory and a sugar high. Once that had all subsided, she felt like she might crash herself. Hermione knew Sirius was somewhere in the house, and she could just make out the faint sounds of shuffling around downstairs – probably the kitchen. But she couldn’t discern from this distance whether it was Kreacher or Mr. Black. It had been a decade since she’d last been in the same house as him, but even then, he’d had horrendous bouts of insomnia. And given what little she knew of his life, she couldn’t fault him for that.

She didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to pity him. She didn’t want to look at him. Frankly, she didn’t want him here, she told herself. She warded her bedroom and went to her ensuite bathroom to soak in her large, luxurious tub. Walburga Black might’ve been many things – a bigot, a simpleton brought on by generations of inbreeding, and a terrible mother to boot, but the woman’s taste for the finer things in life… Ah. Besides the color palette and some updates to the house’s plumbing, this bathroom had been the one thing to pretty much remain as is. And Hermione lavished herself in a good long soak often after a long day.

“Caught in my fears.
Blinking back the tears.
I can't say you hurt me,
When you never let me near.”

There was a bottle of sweet white wine chilling when she stepped into the room already waiting for her and the tub was steaming and full. She smiled and shook her head at the sight. Kreacher. That elf really was too good to them sometimes. Hermione summoned a book from her nightstand and went around the room lighting scented aromatherapy candles before she flicked her wrist and turned on a favorite Linda Ronstadt song on the small boombox she’d received from Harry for her last birthday. She set a silencing charm around the room and shut the door, locked it, and cracked the window beside the tub. Then she went into one of the warded drawers of her vanity and pulled out a cigarette case filled with a half-dozen hand rolled marijuana cigarettes.

It was no secret that Hermione had always been a highly-strung person. And following the war, she’d suffered from severe bouts of depression, only aggravated by her pregnancy and all the stress that entailed, and PTSD. The nightmares had robbed her of more than she could put words to. She had tried talk therapy, and Katie had been a godsend in that regard, and she had tried muggle meds. But they had all had terrible side effects and made her feel either ill or put her in a fog where she felt like she was on autopilot and couldn’t properly function at work or at home with her newborn.

It was Fred and George, unsurprisingly, that had been the ones to introduce her to the muggle recreational drug. And it had been a lifesaver. Yes, it was still considered taboo by many people, but it put her in the proper state of mind to better care for herself and by extension those around her who needed her. Rigel. Teddy. Harry and Ron. Ginny, Luna, the Lupins, the Weasleys, all of them who depended on her in one way or another. It had become a symbiotic relationship over time. And for anyone who might judge her self-medicating, she would kindly show them the memories of her pregnancy and of her post-partum depression that nearly resulted in one of the biggest mistakes of her life. 

When she thought about it now, it made her shudder with self-disgust that she had let it get so bad instead of seeking help and admitting she couldn’t do everything herself. Sometimes she still struggled with that part, but Hermione liked to think that since finding her way she was getting better every day. And her son had reaped those benefits. He had a whole, present parent who could give him the love, time, and attention he needed to thrive.

She plucked one from the case, shut it, and tucked the rest away in the back of her vanity table drawer. She warded the drawer against anyone else, because let’s face it, those boys down the hall were too curious sometimes for their own good. Then she stripped down, tossed her clothes in the hamper, and secured her curls on top of her head with her wand. Hermione set her wine glass, book, and ashtray on the wide windowsill and poured herself a large glass before setting the bottle back to chill. She allowed the scents of lavender and eucalyptus to wash over her and sunk into the tub with a hiss at the scalding heat. But once she was submerged, she let out a pleased sigh, brought the spliff to her lips, lit it with a snap of her fingers, and took a long pull. The witch let her head fall back against the lip of the tub and her eyes fluttered shut. She let the smoke fill her lungs and the calming effects of the pot begin to work their own form of magic on her frayed nerves. Then the spiral began in earnest.

 “And I never drew,
One response from you.
All the while you fell,
All over girls you never knew.”

Why had he come back out of the blue after all this time and with little to no warning?

Why was he staying here under this roof when it was clearly making them both uncomfortable?

What had he and Remus spoken about after she’d left this morning?

How much did Sirius know? Mr. Black, she had to remind herself that she couldn’t afford to think of him as ‘Sirius’ anymore. No, he would have to remain Harry’s godfather and Remus’ old friend.

What did he want and how long did he plan on staying? Surely after ten years away from this sodden island, he was already yearning for the tropical beaches he’d come from. For sure. Had to be.

He had seen the photo of Rigel and then cheered him on at the match. He wasn’t blind. He, at least, knew the basics – that their one night together resulted in a child, unplanned by both of them, and that Hermione had kept the child, raised it in secret in his childhood room – Did he think she asked his friends to keep Rigel a secret from them?

She hadn’t outright told them to do so. But she had been biting her nails each time they received an owl that first year thinking that the other shoe would drop. But Sirius hadn’t returned, hadn’t come storming into the house demanding answers or thrown her out on her arse. And after some time, she had allowed herself to become complacent and forget that he even existed at all. Sure, she’d acknowledged that as long as the letters and postcards kept coming, that he was out there somewhere. But having not seen or spoken to him herself, it became an ‘out-of-sight-out-of-mind’ type of situation and Hermione had chosen to ignore him. That had been her mistake.

And now she was facing up to the long-delayed consequences of her foolish choices all those years ago. And then Harry – bloody Harry! – had dragging his brooding godfather to a lad’s pub night with all the Weasleys, no doubt. Oh, Merlin, what happened tonight? What had they said? Had Ron lost his temper? And who else had been there during what was surely an inquisition?

“And life's full of flaws.
Who knows the cause?
Living in the memory,
Of a love that never was.”

Hermione’s gut roiled at the thought that her dirty laundry had been aired for public consumption and the entertainment of a group of some of her closest friends at the Three Broomsticks. Brilliant. Was she a laughingstock again? Now that it was confirmed, beyond a shadow of a doubt because the resemblance and the timing was undeniable, would she be a ‘scarlet woman’ again?

Oh, sweet Nimue’s soggy tits. What if the Prophet or Morgana-forbid, Witch Weekly or some other such gossip rag, got a hold of this? It would start all over again. And this time her son was old enough to understand what they were saying. What would he think of her for lying to him all this time – keeping his father’s identity a secret, choosing a man old enough to be her father, his Uncle Harry’s godfather?!

The curly-haired witch had long-ago tried to train herself not to put much stock in other people’s opinions. But sometimes that part of her – that scared, swotty, muggleborn witch with bucked teeth, bushy curls, and something to prove – came through and she couldn’t help the feeling that she was being judged and found wanting. She didn’t care about the Wizarding World’s opinions of her. Not really. But Rigel’s? She didn’t want to hurt her son by forcing him into the spotlight before he was ready for something that had happened before he was born. This was her fault. Her fuck-up. And he was a sweet little boy who didn’t deserve to pay the price for her mistakes.

She took a large swallow of her wine and let the refreshing taste of the peach-infused Riesling burst over her tastebuds. Then she took another pull of her joint, the last one and finished it off before stamping it out in her ashtray and waving the smoke towards the open window at her left. Linda Ronstadt’s voice petered out and the next song began to play – a Peter Gabriel love song. Hermione scoffed and pulled her wand to stop the music before returning it to her hair.

What was she going to do? She asked herself. About Sirius, Rigel, Harry, and Ron, and all the others? She was a big girl now and she was going to have to make some difficult decisions. Hermione weighed her options and decided that as a proud Gryffindor, she wouldn’t be sticking to the avoid-and-evade tactic any longer. No, she would have to face this problem head-on. And at breakfast tomorrow she was determined to do just that.

Then the tickle of the wards around the music room alerted her. “Fuck,” she cursed and climbed out of her bath. Still soaked to the skin, she threw on her dressing gown, put out the candles, and hurried from the door downstairs to check on them.

-------

Sirius had elected to stay in his old childhood bedroom which he could tell had been swept, mopped, dusted, and aired out with some regularity. But other than that, it had been left just the same down to the old Gryffindor banners and torn out centerfolds of scantily clad muggle women astride motorcycles, in bikinis, or sometimes in nothing at all.

Unable to sleep, Sirius left his room and wondered if it was Kreacher or Hermione who had kept it from becoming a ruin in the past decade. He puttered down the hallway on bare feet and took in the light, repapered walls with an abstract forest motif and wondered if the curly-haired witch had selected it herself. The old wall sconces and been swapped out and modernized, and the unfamiliar hum of electricity buzzed behind the walls. Coming from a pureblood family and raised outside of the muggle world, Sirius wondered if the sound was something that muggles and muggleborns had just unconsciously become accustomed to over time and tuned it out. It made the house feel alive in a way that had nothing to do with magic. Walburga would’ve despised the corruption of her precious house. The realization made him smile.

The floors had clearly been redone. He would have to ask her or maybe Harry about it. It didn’t seem she was in the mood to talk to him much these days. Not that he could blame her. If their roles had been reversed, Sirius knew he’d be more than a little miffed about the sudden, unexpected arrival of his – former lover? Did that count when it was only once? They hadn’t dated, so he couldn’t classify them as exes. He didn’t quite know how to refer to them. But he knew what he wanted to be.

Just the memory of seeing little Rigel up on that broom today, giving it his all and beaming at his friends had thawed a part of his heart which he could admit he’d kept boarded up for a long time in the interests of self-preservation. And then that Porskoff Ploy! The lad was only nine! He had been proud. Sirius could admit it now, if only in the safety of his own mind. His son was going to be brilliant in a few years if he kept at it. And a Beater just like him. Who could’ve guessed? As he continued down towards the staircase, he noticed the new runner carpet and appreciated the soft texture against the bare soles of his feet. Had Kitten chosen this too?

His mind stalled and he had to remind himself that the old nickname was out of place now and clearly not appreciated. The others called her ‘Mione’ but they didn’t have that same level of closeness for it to be appropriate, despite their shared history. And Hermione seemed a little familiar. Ms. Granger felt… formal, stiff. He didn’t know what to refer to her as. And it felt foolish to ask. Sirius descended to the third floor and heard the familiar sounds of snoring and knew it must be the boys. They had slept in the music room after all, and he could see the faint glow of a light coming from under the door.

Curiosity got the better of him, so when Sirius approached the door and closed his hand around the knob, he felt the ripple of wards pass over his skin and wondered if Hermione had been the one to set them. Deciding he didn’t care, he pushed open the door just a fraction to peek inside.

He came upon the sight of the boys in a pile, little gangly limbs all thrown over each other and the youngest, little Albus, still sucking his thumb while tucked into his older brother’s chest. Teddy seemed to the snoring away, much the way Remus had throughout their school years and Sirius wondered how exhausted the boys must be that they slept through it anyway. Perhaps they’d just grown accustomed to it. They all seemed very close, and Sirius was glad that his son had this kind of family despite everything. Rigel was sprawled in the center of the single enlarged children’s bed on his stomach with his arms and legs thrown out like a starfish and his head turned to one side so he could still breathe. If Sirius tried that now, he’d wake up with a crick in his neck. And he wondered how the boy slept like that. The sight made him smile again and he lowered himself onto his haunches to get a better look at them all.

Merlin, James looked just like Harry that it was heartbreaking. Sirius recalled how he’d missed out on so many years with his godson. And then he felt a pang of guilt for the extra decade he’d willing given up to go traveling. At the time, he’d wanted to ask Harry to come with him but knew that they both needed time to heal, and Harry had always wanted a real family. He would heal better surrounded by them – friends and family. Sirius couldn’t have given Harry that. And, perhaps selfishly, Sirius had needed space to himself to process all that had happened in the years between his escape and the Final Battle.

Albus looked more like an amalgamation of Ginny and Harry’s features with those freckles and that little button nose, and then Harry’s wild mop of dark hair. Prongs, I wish you could see them, mate. James would’ve been an amazing father and exhilarated to be a grandfather if he’d been given more time. And Lily. Sirius’ heart ached to think of how life could be cruel.

His gaze flickered over to Teddy, and in sleep the boy’s metamorphmagus abilities had gone lax. His hair returned to its natural sandy-blonde hue, identical to his father’s, but Dora swore he had the Black eyes just like her and Andi. He remembered the letters and photos Moony and Dora had sent when their son had been born. Sirius had been mountain-climbing in Nepal at the time and his heart had soared for his old friend whom, at one time, had believed with his whole heart that he was a monster who would always be alone. Sirius had been pleased to learn that Remus had been wrong for once. Moony had told him a funny story about how the mediwitches had the most difficult time making note of the baby’s hair and eye color or weighing him because he kept morphing in front of them almost unconsciously. It had taken Dora months to begin to demonstrate some kind of conscious control to the boys and years more to teach him to master his skills. And Sirius remembered how Andi and Ted had been just as shocked when little Dora was born. At least Teddy had a metamorph for a mother and she knew how to help him.

Finally, Sirius’ eyes settled on his son. It was so odd to even think it because never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d ever be a parent. In all honesty, he thought his best years for parenthood had passed him by while he was rotting away behind cold, stone walls. He thought that even once he was free and the war was behind them that he was too fucked up to be any good at it. And he at least had the self-awareness to know that he didn’t want to inflict himself on some innocent kid. No kid deserved that. No, Sirius had been fully content to let the direct line of the House of Black die with him. Hell, Cissa had a son. He would have it if he wanted. The title, the Wizengamot seat, all of the pomp and bullshit. Sirius had never wanted it. But then he’d shown up this morning and his whole world had been tilted on its axis. Merlin, was that just this morning? It felt like lifetimes had passed since then.

A creak of the floorboards behind him made him whip around to face the open doorway and there stood Hermione Granger in all her sodden glory looking like some protective mama bear. She has her wand drawn on him, her curls loose around her shoulders, and was clad in nothing but a periwinkle, terrycloth bathrobe that left very little to the imagination. Hell, she wasn’t trying to impress him of all people and certainly not at this time of night in her own home! He had to remind himself that despite whose name was on the deed, she had been the one to make this place a real home again for her and her son and that after ten years, it probably felt to her like he was the trespasser. “What are you doing?” she hissed at him.

Sirius put his hands up and tried to keep his gaze from roaming over her, but it was difficult. She was no longer the nubile, young 18-year-old he’d ravished once upon a time in a semi-drunken haze and yearning to feel something, anything. But she had blossomed into something else entirely. Yes, she’d always been brave like any Gryffindor, and so bloody smart. She’d always known her way around a wand. Hell, Harry had told him all about their years at school and on the run through letters. His godson had admitted, however sheepishly, that if she hadn’t saved his life more than once during First Year he would never have survived long enough to get to the Final Battle.

And Sirius had observed her more than once that day on the battlefield – the fire in her eyes and the whip of her wand as she cast and cast and didn’t let up once, pushing herself farther and faster so she could be better than those were trying to kill her. It had been there when they’d spent the night together and for a few hours it had warmed him deep in his marrow. He had selfishly drunk from that fountain to try to stave off the bitterness and loss, the horrors of war, and the cold. He had felt cold for too long until she’d kindled something in his spirit that night with her hope that the future would be better.

Now she was a woman grown, in her prime, who had come into her own. Unlike that awkward girl she’d once been, this woman held herself with more confidence. She knew who she was. Based on what he’d learned today, from Moony and then the lads at the Three Broomsticks, Hermione Granger had fought like hell to get here. And the intensity in her eyes, warm brown with flecks of amber like firewhiskey, burned him. “Have you finally gone deaf, old man? I asked, ‘what are you doing’?” she repeated.

Old?! Did she just –? “I, erm,” he stammered a little louder than he intended, caught red-handed and looked over his shoulder when he heard one of the boys roll over in their sleep.

Both adults held silent and still as James resettled and then she gestured for him to step out into the hall with her wand. Not really wanting to be hexed, Sirius did as he was instructed. Once she’d shut the door quietly behind him, she recast her wards. So, it had been her, after all, and it must’ve alerted her to him passing through the door. Clever witch. “Sorry, Kit – Erm,” he stalled because he still didn’t know what to call her now.

She rolled her eyes at him, piled her waist-length curls haphazardly back on top of her head, and jammed her wand through them with a little more force than he thought was necessary. But his eyes were drawn to the way the material of her robe clung around her full breasts. They had grown as well since the last time he’d seen them. And he wondered if that had been because of age, lifestyle, or just the pregnancy. He had to remind himself that she was off-limits, and he wasn’t here for that. But he had always been a breast man. And an arse man. He had a thing for legs too. And there was that one bird with the amazing feet back in ‘79 – Sirius had to shake his head to clear the images out of his mind before he embarrassed himself if the tightening of his trousers were any indication. Luckily, the hallway was dark, and she wouldn’t be able to see as well as he could. Becoming an Animagus so young had its perks.

Hermione followed the line of his gaze and noticed he was staring before she narrowed her eyes at him in a frosty glare. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get them down? If you wake them up, I’ll string you up in the front hall by your toes and let Kreacher have his way with you.”

Sirius was startled by the force of her chastisement. He recalled how she’d caught him off guard once, that night, and he’d shot firewhiskey out of his nose because of something she said. She was still funny, but her sense of humor was a little sharper now. It had a little more bite. “Sorry, Kitten.” It seemed he couldn’t help wanting to rile her up just a bit.

“I didn’t say you could call me that,” she warned.

“Then give me something else to call you.”

“You could start with my name, or if that makes you uncomfortable, you could go with Ms. Granger,” she said. “That’s what everyone else calls me.”

“Everyone today called you ‘Mione’,” he pointed out.

“Ah, but that’s reserved for friends,” came her sharp retort. Ouch. “Now why are you wandering the halls and peeking at the boys at one in the morning?”

“I –” Couldn’t sleep. “I –” Didn’t want to shut my eyes in that old room where I could feed my old demons pressing against the edges of my mind. But he couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t want to admit to still having these weaknesses. He was almost 50 now.

But it seemed like he didn’t need to say a thing because her glare softened, not into pity but rather understanding, before she whispered, “I’ll meet you down in the kitchen. Since neither of us are going to sleep anytime soon, we might as well talk.”

Bollocks. He knew it needed to happen, but he wasn’t mentally prepared for it just yet. Still, he nodded his assent and turned to walk down to the sublevel kitchen and wait for her.

------

Hermione hurried back up to her room still in shock about coming face-to-face with Sirius Black in a darkened hallway in the dead of night. Sure, she’d been relieved it none of the boys had been sick or hurt, and that a deranged burglar hadn’t broken in somehow. But that relief had quickly turned to panic when she’d seen the way he looked at Rigel. It was as if he were trying to memorize every miniscule detail, and it had made her heart stall in fear.

She had only noticed she was still essentially nude in a dark, quiet corridor with him when he’d openly ogled her in her bathrobe. Then again, perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised. Sirius had long had a reputation as something of a playboy during his schooldays, during the first war, and then there came his long spell with unintentional celibacy before they – Nope! She wasn’t about to let her mind wander down that rabbit hole. Hermione Granger had shut the lid firmly on that night and drawn a thick veil over it so she would never think about it again.

In the years since their single encounter, she’d been on a few blind dates, and had a couple one-night stands of her own just to sate those needs that he’d awakened within her so long ago now it seemed. But nothing had stuck. She was too intimidating, she had too much baggage, she was ‘the Golden Girl’, the men didn’t want to date a single mother, the list went on and on. Finally, she’d just had enough. And the girls had tried admirably, really, they had, to ‘find her someone’. But in the end, after each failure, she was just more disheartened and no longer wished to put herself through the disappointment of lackluster conversation, incompatible personalities, and underwhelming shags.

Hermione had concluded that she didn’t just want a good time or a casual ‘friend with benefits’. She wanted someone to come home to, someone who wanted to know about her day and genuinely listened when she explained about what excited her at work. She wanted someone she could share all her thoughts and fears on motherhood with, and who would talk her down when she got into her own head. She wanted someone who made her laugh, who enjoyed her cooking, who liked that she had tattoos, attempted to play the guitar, swore like a sailor, smoked pot frequently, and hogged the covers.

Hermione didn’t want to settle. She never had. She wanted something stellar. She wanted someone who blew her mind in and out of bed. And she wanted them to want her that way too. The only trouble was… that man didn’t seem to exist. Or if he did, he didn’t know she existed. Maybe he was traveling through Antarctica right now and working as some kind of environmental scientist studying the effects of the melting polar ice caps, global warming, and rising sea levels. Either way, she couldn’t find him. So, it was a moot point. And for now, her son required most of her attention and time. Sooner than she liked, she’d have to see him off to Hogwarts and the thought was a bitter pill to swallow because then, well, then she’d truly be alone. 

The curly-haired witch applied some smoothing charms to her curls and plaited them into a simple three-stranded braid down her back. She pulled on an old pair of ratty joggers and a cotton camisole, some fuzzy socks, and made her way back downstairs to the kitchen. She could do this, she told herself. She didn’t want to, and she felt nowhere near mentally prepared, but she had faced worse than the sperm donor of her child. This was nothing.

As she entered the kitchen, she spotted Sirius going through the cupboards and drawers looking for something. She knocked on the doorframe to announce her presence so she wouldn’t startle him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the kettle and stuff for tea,” he said, turning to look back at her over his shoulders. Had they always been that broad?

“Are you a wizard, or aren’t you?” she asked, waving her wand to summon what she needed – an electric kettle, several cannisters of loose tea and her collection of prepackaged bags, the sugar bowl, and the milk from the fridge, even honey and lemon wedges. “Have at it.” She waved a hand to gesture to the stove and settled herself at the table, content to watch him squirm.

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“Looks like you’ve made up your mind. I appreciate it more than the stammering,” came her cheeky retort.

He gawked at her for a moment before filling the electric kettle and setting it to boil. Then he turned to face her, leaned back against the counter, and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve changed,” he remarked.

She arched a single brow at him. “That usually happens in ten years.”

He nodded and a long, awkward silence stretched out between them. This was going to be painful, wasn’t it? She might as well press on. “Why did you come, Mr. Black?”

“Can we at least call each other by our given names?” he asked with a wince.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by assuming.” She held up her hands in supplication. “Sirius, then.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I wanted to see Harry and Moony and part of me was nostalgic for home.” Then he quickly added, “Not this place, necessarily, but England, rather.”

“Ah, I was about to say that I was shocked you felt any such attachment to this house,” she replied.

“Speaking of which, this place doesn’t look anything like I remember.” He looked around them at the hardwood floors, the cutting block counters, the large farm sink, and the whitewashed cabinets. The walls were clean and replastered, painted a serene robin’s egg blue. And one wall had been taken out and replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto the back garden. Beyond it she knew he could see Kreacher’s greenhouse and vegetable patch where they grew fresh produce all year ‘round.

“Yes, well, this place was decrepit, the kitchen was an unstable, gloomy dungeon, and probably haunted by the spirit of your repugnant bitch of a mother,” she deadpanned while examining her cuticles.

His eyes widened on her and he barked a surprised laugh. “Brava. Hermione, you continue to surprise me.”

She found her face warming under his praise and approving gaze. If only it didn’t linger so. “Yes, well, as you’ve said, I have changed.”

“I can see that.” His voice dipped lower, the timbre gravelly and she crossed one leg over the other just as the kettle started to whistle.

Sirius turned to shut it off and poured two mugs of boiling water before bringing them over to the table. He set one in front of her and took the seat opposite.

Hermione summoned the accoutrements to the table between them and they each began doctoring up their beverages to their tastes. She noticed him peeking at her the way she was at him. He kept his simple – all black and at least three heaping spoonfuls of sugar. For her own, she preferred a splash of milk and a large dollop of golden honey which she stirred into the mug not caring that the metal spoon scraped along the ceramic. His mannerisms were still more refined than hers, as evidence of his upbringing. He didn’t make an unwanted sound the entire time. Posh bastard. “Now that you’re here, I guess you have a lot of questions,” she said, wrapping both hands around the mug and straightening her spine. She rolled her shoulders and noticed the way his eyes lingered at her left clavicle. Oh, this would be interesting.

“You have a tattoo?” he blurted.

“Several now, yes. But back to my question, Sirius.” Keeping him on track was almost as difficult as with their son. She’d always suspected if Rigel’s attention issues were a byproduct of this half of his genome.

He cleared his throat and appeared to refocus on her face. “I suppose I just want to get my bearings and hopefully meet him properly.”

“And then?” she pressed, her stomach tying itself in knots.

“Well, I spoke with Moony, and he hinted that you didn’t have an easy time of it.”

“I adore Remus, but he really should learn how to keep his mouth shut,” she snarled.

Sirius seemed taken aback by her upset. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He only –”

Hermione put up a hand to stop him before he went off on a tangent. “I know his heart is in the right place. It always has been. But regardless of his intentions, it is still my life and my business. However, he and Dora, all of them really, they’ve been wonderful with my son –”

“Our son,” Sirius interjected.

It felt like the floor cracked upon into a gaping chasm beneath her feet. “Pardon?”

“You called him your son, when he is in fact our son,” the dark-haired wizard opposite her elaborated.

She scoffed. “No, you misunderstand. I don’t require an explanation. I was allowing you the opportunity to rethink what you said and take it back.”

His grey eyes – Rigel’s eyes which she so loved and had found beautiful since the moment he looked up at her for the first time in her arms in St. Mungo’s – hardened like steel. She had seen that same look on her son’s face before too, and now she recognized its origins. But in a nine-year-old it was significantly less intimidating than coming from the wizard seating directly across from her. She would not allow herself to be bushwhacked by this man who had enjoyed the ‘fun part’ and then vanished when the bill for that fun came due.

“He is my son too.”

“Oh, now he’s your son?” She huffed a mirthless laugh.

“I only found out he existed today, Hermione. What did you expect?”

He was right, of course. But in this moment where this argument was anything but logical, she wasn’t about to let him best her with cold, hard facts. This was something that had torn into her, flayed her open, and left her exposed to their entire society for their derision and scorn while he’d borne none of the burden for his actions, for they were his as well! She hadn’t climbed on top of herself and got pregnant!

“I expected a grown man to know what he was doing!” she snapped and saw the light go out in his eyes. “I expected one night where I didn’t have to be perfect for everyone else and I could give up control for once and let someone take care of me! And look where it got me…”

“You think this doesn’t hurt me? You think it doesn’t kill me that I missed out on all this time?!” he roared.

“You haven’t had to carry around the guilt or the shame of that night on your back for ten years, Sirius Black. You didn’t have to hide away from your everyone in this crypt of a house because they all judged you unfairly. You didn’t have to sacrifice anything!” The moment the words were out of her mouth she realized how wrong she was.

He’d given up more than ten years to Azkaban. He’d been cooped up in this house as a fugitive after his escape up until the Final Battle. And that whole time everyone outside of the Order had still believed him to be a killer capable of selling out his closest friends. He had sacrificed plenty.

“You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through,” he said softly, his hands tightened around his mug. “And I won’t apologize for finally doing something for me after all that time! I didn’t get to be a kid either, Hermione. You’re not the only one who missed out.”

“Mum?” the soft voice of their son split the air and Hermione spun around in her seat, nearly knocking over her now-cooling tea.

“Peanut, what are you doing up?” She hoped her face wasn’t a mask of panic. What had he overheard? Oh Merlin, not like this!

“I just came down because I wanted a glass of water,” he murmured softly, and lowered his eyes. He felt guilty. She knew that face. Sirius was presently wearing the identical expression sitting across from her. Stupid, selfish prick! And to think that she’d felt bad for speaking to him that way. If he hurt her son, she would kill him.

“Okay, Peanut.” She reached out a hand for him and led him over to the refrigerator where she pulled out a pitcher of chilled water, and brought down a glass from the cupboard over the sink to pour him a drink.

The whole time he chugged his water, both little hands wrapped around the glass, his eyes lingered on Sirius and her heart was in her throat. She dreaded the talk with her son about his father even more than the talk with Sirius about her son. HER son. When he was done, he handed the glass back and asked, “Why are you both yelling? Are you fighting?”

She sank to her haunches so she could be at eye-level with him and shook her head. “No, Peanut. We’re just having a conversation and we’re not choosing our words very well.”

“It sounds like when you fight with Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron,” Rigel said, ducking his head so that his chin touched his chest.

Hermione felt terrible. She had never wanted her child to see her this way. Never wanted him to think of her like this – unstable and a wreck. She had always been ‘Mum’ to him – organized and put-together, even on her bad days. “We’re just out of practice, Peanut. Your – Padfoot and I haven’t seen each other in a very long time and we’re learning.”

“You know Mr. Padfoot too?” he asked, raising his chin to meet her gaze. Bloody hell he looked so much like Sirius right then. It brought back intense memories of that night when he had opened up to her and allowed himself to be vulnerable. She didn’t want to think about that!

“Yeah, kid. Your mum and I go way back,” Sirius said, breaking the ice and she wanted to stab him in the thigh.

Rigel turned to face him, and his face lit up. “Really? Did you know my mum when she was little?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder just in time to see Sirius wince and rose to her full height. She could appreciate that this must be just as awkward for him as it was for her to acknowledge the age gap between them and the pseudo-inappropriateness of their tryst to the face of the living embodiment of that night. “Sure did, kid. And she was a spitfire then, too.” She could imagine it must be even more difficult to be looking at the spitting image of himself while doing so. She led the way back to her seat and Rigel came up beside her to take one of his own between them.

“Are you Uncle Harry’s godfather – that Padfoot?” Rigel asked.

“Yes.” Sirius nodded. “Has he told you kids about me?”

“Oh, he talks about the Marauders all the time!” their son gushed.

Hermione discreetly pulled her way and cast a silencing charm over the kitchen so that no other little ears would overhear their conversation.

“Does he, now?” Sirius asked. “And what did he tell you?”

“Well, he told me that you all learned to become Animagi to take care of Uncle Remus when he turns into Moony,” Rigel said.

Sirius’ gaze flickered to hers as if inquiring if he were allowed to discuss this loaded topic with a kid. She nodded to him and Sirius seemed to take the hint. Then he launched into the story of how they’d discovered Remus’ secret, and how they’d learned to become Animagi, how long it had taken them and how difficult and dangerous it was. She supposed he was trying to dissuade Rigel from trying it himself, which she appreciated.

They talked about quidditch and their favorite teams. Rigel’s told Sirius about his many uncles and aunts, and his large group of cousins. Rigel told Sirius about how he didn’t really have cousins, but that a chosen family was stronger than one related by blood. Sirius shared a knowing look with Hermione about this as if he agreed. She wished she didn’t feel a spark of warmth at his approval. She didn’t require his validation!

Rigel asked if Sirius had any family and Sirius explained that his Auntie Dora was actually his second cousin because her mother Andromeda was his first cousin. He explained that Mrs. Malfoy, whom Rigel knew as Aunt Cissa, her son Draco, and even little Scorpius were all his cousins, first, second or otherwise. Rigel marveled at this and asked if Sirius came from a large family. Sirius answered his questions as much as was appropriate, and soon her son’s eyelids started to droop. Hermione excused herself to take him back up to bed and tucked him in between Teddy, Jamie, and little Albie.

Then she returned to the kitchen and the first thing Sirius said was, “Thank you for that.”

“For what?” she countered, frozen in the doorway of the sublevel kitchen.

“For letting me speak to him – get to know him. He seems really smart, but I mean, no surprise there,” he said, gesturing to her with a jut of his chin.

Hermione tried not to warm at his flattery and went to heat her tea with a wave of her wand. “Thank you for being patient with him. He gets excited easily and he’ll talk your ear off if you if you let him. I suspect he has a touch of ADHD, but I haven’t actually taken him to a muggle doctor to get tested.”

“Ah,” he said, scratching at his stubbled jaw. “I reckon that’s my fault too.”

“It’s no one’s fault. He is who he is, and I love him that way,” she said, warmth and affection spreading in her chest for her son.

Sirius looked at her for a long moment before he elected to change the subject, “Why do you call him ‘Peanut’?”

She was startled by his question and huffed a surprised laugh before he tilted her head to one side. “Well, I’m afraid it’s a very boring story. When I was pregnant with him,” she began slowly, not wanting to overshare and frighten the poor bachelor away, “I had a never-ending craving for all things peanut-related – candy bars with peanuts, brittle, salted nuts, peanut sauce on my pad thai, and chunky peanut butter.” The let out a dramatic shudder for effect, but the more things she listed, the wider his smile seemed to grow, and she found that it made him look almost friendly, open, and younger.  

“I will preface this by saying that I have never before nor since appreciated the texture of chunky peanut butter, but when I was carrying him, sometimes that’s all I could keep down in a day,” she explained. “Poor Kreacher had to keep it stocked at all times or I would turn into a Momzilla. And I would feel so bad after losing it. But to this day Rigel’s favorite thing to eat are Kreacher’s chunky peanut butter toasties, especially when he’s in a mood.”

Sirius barked a laugh, and she found a warm stirring in the center of her chest that she refused to explore at the moment.

“I’m glad the old elf is so good with him. He was always that way with Reggie growing up,” Sirius shared.

She was pleased to get this little nugget of information. Sirius had always been an intensely private person, and she had always wished she had had more to share with Rigel about his father. Perhaps his arrival might not be so terrible, she thought.

“Yes, but chunky peanut butter? I mean, honestly,” she complained affectionately.

“I like chunky peanut butter,” he confessed with a secret smile and her brain stalled like her neurons all stopped firing for a moment, “and Reggie used to feel the same way about it as you do.”

The temperature in the room seemed to climb several degrees and Hermione wondered if perhaps iced tea mightn’t have been a wiser choice. “I always wondered where that particularly fascination came from, so I’m glad that I know now,” she admitted. “It’ll be something else I can share with him about his father.” She didn’t think he would accept an apology for her callous words just yet, but she could extend the metaphorical olive branch perhaps to show that she felt remorse.

His eyes lingered on her clavicle once more and she scoffed and pulled off her dressing gown. “You keep staring,” she offered by way of explanation. She pulled aside the strap of her camisole so he could see the full tattoo.

“The Orion constellation,” he remarked after a long moment, and something seemed to darken behind his eyes. She knew he’d catch that but hoped he wouldn’t be offended by her choice of name despite its connotations for him personally. “Bellatrix is part of that one too, you know.”

“Ah, yes, but – and I hope you don’t mind my saying this – fuck them,” she said with a cheeky smile and watched his eyes light up with a flare of that old Marauder mischief. It had been a very long time since she saw it. “Here’s Rigel’s namesake,” she pointed out how on her tattoo she’d had that particular star enlarged and created in color – the garnet of his birthstone.

“It’s beautiful, Hermione,” she said, his approval genuine and it made warmth flare in her chest again. “Do you have any others?”

“A fair few. Why?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“You swear, you listen to rock music, you play guitar, you have tattoos, and you’ve taken in Kreacher and let him help you raise your boy,” he counted off on his fingers. “You really are full of surprises.”

“Good ones, I hope.” She didn’t know why she said it or why she flashed that cheeky wink. She couldn’t fathom what compelled her to speak in that low, sultry tone either. But something about this night in this place where it had all begun the first time had her feeling nostalgic. She wasn’t sure she appreciated the parallels. “Well,” the curly-haired witch said as she chugged her now tepid tea and pushed herself to her feet, “I think I’ll turn in. Don’t be alarmed if you hear a ruckus in the morning. The boys are going over to the Burrow nice and early and Molly is stopping by to make sure they’re fed and escort them through the floo so I can get off to work on time.”

“You really have done a wonderful job with everything, Hermione.”

“I appreciate you saying that. It hasn’t been easy. And I have my regrets, but he isn’t one of them. He may be the thing that saved me,” she confessed. He had shared and she would give a little too.

“Thank you for letting me crash here,” he said, rising from the table now too and taking his teacup and the makings to the sink.

“It’s still technically your house, Sirius. You don’t have to thank me.”

“I have many things to thank you for and make amends for,” he said softly and moved to close the distance between them which up until this point had been carefully maintained. “Please let me.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a long moment. Could she let him apologize, let him make amends, let him get to know Rigel, let him into their inner circle? Could she let go and allow herself to put down her guard around him? Hermione didn’t know if she was quite ready for all of that. But perhaps she could take a single step. “All right.”

“Really?”

“What did you think – that I’d kick you out on the street?” she volleyed back with a smile. “You put a roof over my head once. Time for me to return the favor.”

He raised a hand to cup her jaw and looked like he might – like might lean in to kiss her for a moment. She knew that look. She had seen it before in her dreams. She recalled it with crystalline clarity from that night – the last night someone other than her had left her satisfied. And when she shivered at his touch, he dropped his hand and stepped out of her personal space. “Good night, Hermione.” Sirius stepped around her and climbed the stairs two at a time to get away from her.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and raised a hand to her jaw to the place where the feeling of him still lingered. It was warm and the touch of his hand had been gentle. When was the last time a man had touched her that way? Was it really that last night with him? The warmth flared in her chest again and she reminded herself, bitterly, and somewhat petty: it was probably much less recently than the last time he’d touched a woman that way or looked at one. She could not afford to let down her guard around Sirius Orion Black. He was an unrepentant charmer, and he’d burned her once before. If he wanted to be part of Rigel’s life, he would have to earn that privilege. But this thing between them was ancient history, dead and buried. And she would not allow her loneliness and desperation for human connection to rekindle it when it would only lead to further suffering. No.

Chapter Text

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Earlier that evening – 12 Grimmauld Place

Rigel was wakened by the sound of muffled conversation coming from downstairs, and the moment his sleep-crusted eyes parted and he blinked a few times so they could adjust to the low light of the room, he couldn’t go back to sleep. His brain was awake, so he was awake. And then he felt a twinge in his lower stomach that meant he had to wee. He grumbled and carefully climbed over his sleeping friends and cousins. Rigel caught Albie sucking his thumb and bit his lip to muffle his snort of laughter. Albie always wanted to play with the older boys and insisted he was one of them, but sometimes he was still so much like a baby.

It was only because Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny were the founders of the Catchpole Chimaeras that they had been able to bend the rules so that Jamie and Albie could be on the same team despite Albie being too little for their group. Albie had thrown a fit, and insisted he wanted to play with the big kids. Jamie had been so embarrassed, Rigel remembered.

The dark-haired boy quietly tiptoed across the room, avoiding each squeaky board with expertise. He cracked the door just enough to slip out into the hall and softly shut it behind him. The lights were all out in the hall, but just outside the door, plugged into the wall like a nightlight was one of the little rechargeable torches his mum left scattered around in power sockets around the house. She said it was so they could see in the dark without getting scared. But he was almost ten now, and he was not afraid of the dark! The old house creaked and groaned when a strong gust of wind blew through it and Rigel leapt a good meter in the air. He quickly snatched up one of the torches and the moment he unplugged it, it came to life for him, emitting a soft, white glow. He let out a little sigh of relief and began his trek towards the loo first. Then he planned to investigate the noises!

Once done in the loo, and having washed his hands, he grabbed up his little torch and made his way down the stairs as quietly as he could. The noises seemed to be people talking, as he suspected, and the closer he got, the more he could make out the voices – one of them was clearly his mum – and the words. They sounded angry, he noticed. But it was more than that. His mum sounded… sad. Hurt. And it bothered him more than he didn’t know why. So, he crept closer to listen and find out.

“…they’ve been wonderful with my son –” his mum said.

“Our son,” but a man cut her off. His voice was familiar, but Rigel could place it yet. What stunned him more was that this man, whoever he was, was saying that Rigel was his son too. Could this be his father? Where had he been all this time and why was he here now? The boy’s head was spinning with this information overload and yet he wanted to know more. Merlin, he had so many questions for his father!

He never thought he’d ever meet him. For a long time, Rigel thought the man must be ‘gone’ like his mum’s parents. As he got older, he assumed she said ‘gone’ and meant ‘dead’. Rigel had been sad to learn that his mum’s parents were dead and that his father was too. But she never wanted to speak about them, so he stopped asking after a while.

Then his mum said, “Pardon?” And he recognized that voice – it was her work voice, the one she used when she practiced for her job. His mum was a barrister for the Wizengamot, and she argued against all those stuffy old purebloods who tried to make laws that told people where they could live, work, who they could marry, and whether the Ministry would protect them, all because of who they were or the way they were born. His mum’s job was wicked, and she was so smart!

She told him once about the war that she, Uncle Harry, and Uncle Ron had helped win when they were still in school. And Rigel had been amazed and afraid that they had to do so many dangerous things when they were only in Seventh Year. But he was so proud of his mum for being brave and strong. He wanted to be just like her when he grew up. He couldn’t wait to be sorted into Gryffindor and everything! Rigel even hoped he got to sleep in the same dorm as his uncles if he was lucky.

“You called him your son, when he is in fact our son,” the man said. This man really could be his dad! Rigel was nearly dancing on the balls of his feet with overbrimming excitement that just beyond that door could be the answer to so many of his questions!

His mum scoffed and the work voice was back – she called it her ‘battle voice’, and she told him once that she used it when people at work tried to look down on her because her parents were muggles or because she was a woman, or because of her age. “No, you misunderstand. I don’t require an explanation. I was allowing you the opportunity to rethink what you said and take it back.” Those people were stupid. And his dad must’ve done or said something that hurt her feelings because she didn’t whip out the ‘battle voice’ for just anything. Rigel hoped his mum didn’t hex the man before he got to meet him properly.

They were both quiet for a long time before the man said, “He is my son too.” And now Rigel wondered if all adults had their version of a ‘battle voice’. The man’s battle voice sounded scary. But he also sounded so familiar, it was right on the tip of the boy’s tongue.

“Oh, now he’s your son?” His mum laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh like she thought something was funny. It was a mocking laugh, like when Uncle Harry or Ron said something she didn’t agree with, and she was being polite instead of making them feel stupid.

“I only found out he existed today, Hermione. What did you expect?” The man sounded tired now. But Rigel’s mind was buzzing. What did he mean that he didn’t know Rigel existed until today? Where had the man been all this time? Did Mummy not tell his own father about him? Was he already ‘gone’ by the time Rigel was born?

Then his mum snapped, and he’d never heard that angry or sad before in his life. Rigel didn’t know if he would call it yelling or crying. “I expected a grown man to know what he was doing! I expected one night where I didn’t have to be perfect for everyone else and I could give up control for once and let someone take care of me! And look where it got me!”

“You think this doesn’t hurt me? You think it doesn’t kill me that I missed out on all this time?!” the man yelled back, sounded every bit as hurt and sad and angry as his mum.

“You haven’t had to carry around the guilt or the shame of that night on your back for ten years, Sirius Black.”

And then Rigel’s world tipped on its side, and he suddenly realized why the man sounded so familiar. Sirius Black was Uncle Harry’s godfather’s name, the one they all called ‘Padfoot’ in their stories. He was the man who’d shown up uninvited this morning and then come to Rigel’s match to cheer him on. Sirius Black, Padfoot, and one of the original Marauders was Rigel’s dad?!

And what was his mom saying about guilt and shame? Was she ashamed of him? Was Padfoot guilty of something? Had he hurt his mum?! If so, Rigel would kick him dead! And what night where they talking about?!

But his mum went on yelling, “You didn’t have to hide away from your everyone in this crypt of a house because they all judged you unfairly. You didn’t have to sacrifice anything!”

Why did she have to hide? Who judged her and why? What sacrifices was his mum talking about? And why did it feel like part of it was Rigel’s fault? Something painful twisted in his chest and his feelings were momentarily hurt.

But then the man – his dad, the legendary ‘Padfoot’ in the flesh and sitting just beyond that door within reach – spoke up again, and this time his voice was soft like he was saying sorry for something, “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through. And I won’t apologize for finally doing something for me after all that time.” Maybe this was far more complicated than Rigel could understand at that moment. But he wanted to know. He wanted to ask his questions and finally have answers – whole, complete answers instead of the ones he suspected his mum offered up when she was uncomfortable and trying to change the subject.

His dad added, “I didn’t get to be a kid either, Hermione. You’re not the only one who missed out.”

That twisting feeling in his chest tightened and Rigel couldn’t contain himself any longer. He pushed through the door and called attention to himself at last, “Mum?

His mum turned in her seat to face him and she had that look on her face from this morning – one he didn’t see very often – it was fear. “Peanut, what are you doing up?” She looked like she was holding her breath.

He thought up a quick lie, “I just came down because I wanted a glass of water,” and lowered his eyes. 

“Okay, Peanut.” She took him by the hand and led him over to the refrigerator to pour him a glass of water.

But the whole time he was drinking his water, his eyes lingered on where the mysterious dark-haired man was sitting while his thoughts raced faster than a Golden Snitch. Why had Rigel never met him? Why had he stayed away so long? Did he not want to be Rigel’s dad? Why didn’t he marry Rigel’s mum? Did they not love each other? Granny Molly always said that only married people who were in love had babies. Rigel still wasn’t completely sure how babies were made, but so far the only ones he knew that had them were his aunts and uncles and they were all married.

But then… there was his mum. Rigel supposed that his mum wasn’t married, but she’d still become a mum anyway. So, maybe marriage and babies didn’t have anything to do with each other and his gran had been lying to him. That didn’t make him very happy. When he was done with his water, he handed the glass back to his mum and asked the first thing that came to mind, “Why are you both yelling? Are you fighting?” This man might be his dad, but Rigel loved his mum. He was the only man in her life, she’d said. And his uncles had always told him that a man protects his women – his mum, his sisters, his daughters, nieces, granddaughters, his gran, and yes, wife. Rigel’s mum only had him to protect her. And he would, even if it meant pushing away the one shot he had at getting to know his father.

His mum lowered herself and shook her head. “No, Peanut. We’re just having a conversation and we’re not choosing our words very well.”

“It sounds like when you fight with Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron,” Rigel said.

“We’re just out of practice, Peanut. Your – Padfoot and I haven’t seen each other in a very long time and we’re learning.” What had she been about to say – his ‘father’, his ‘dad’? He just wanted to hear it, just once. Rigel wanted them to admit it. To say it clear as day so he could know that at one point in his life, at least he’d had a dad. And they’d even been in the same room together!

“You know Mr. Padfoot too?” he asked, trying to push them into saying the words he needed to hear.

“Yeah, kid. Your mum and I go way back,” Padfoot said.

Rigel turned to face him, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread from one ear to the other. “Really? Did you know my mum when she was little?”

His mum stood tall again and when she looked back at his dad, he could see the discomfort on Padfoot’s face when he answered Rigel’s question, “Sure did, kid. And she was a spitfire then, too.” Rigel wondered if he meant it as a good or bad thing.

He didn’t expect his mum to back towards the table like she planned to include him in an adult conversation, but she did, and Rigel took a seat between them. “Are you Uncle Harry’s godfather – that Padfoot?” he asked. He figured he would start with the most harmless questions and work his way up to the ones that might be harder to answer like, ‘did you run away when you found out my mum was having a baby?’

“Yes.” Padfoot nodded. “Has he told you kids about me?” The man’s eyes seemed to glow, and Rigel finally realized that the reason they’d looked so familiar earlier. They were the same ones he saw in the mirror every morning when he washed his face and brushed his teeth!

Rigel had gotten his eyes from his dad. Something warm spread in his chest like gooey chocolate. He had spent years envious of his friends and cousins because of how he noticed the little ways they looked like their parents and wished he could do that too. He loved his mum, and it was true… he hadn’t gotten a few things from her, like his freckles and his curls, but the rest – Sometimes he looked at photos of them on the walls and wondered if people thought she’d stolen someone else’s baby from St. Mungo’s when he was born. “Oh, he talks about the Marauders all the time!” their son gushed.

“Does he, now?” his dad asked. “And what did he tell you?” The man’s voice was deep and warm, almost like Uncle Moony, and comforting. Rigel felt safe with him. Was this how it felt to have a dad? Was this how Teddy, Jamie, and Albie felt with their dads? If it was, Rigel wanted to feel this way all the time.

“He told me you all learned to become animagi to take care of Uncle Moony when he wolfs out,” Rigel said.

“I’m surprised he told you kids about that,” his dad said.

“Yeah, well, I think he mellowed out once Teddy got here,” Rigel joked.

It seemed to startle a laugh out of the man, and he threw his head back, one arm banded across his stomach, and barked out a laugh. His laugh did sound like a dog! And Rigel found that he liked the sound and the happy look on his father’s face. He wanted to joke with his dad and make him laugh as often as possible. He wanted all the moments he’d been missing out on so far.

“Can you really turn into the Grim?”

“That’s just a rumor. It’s really just a dog. As for the fur, I assume it has to do with hair color,” his dad joked and ran his hand through his long, shoulder-length hair. Rigel noticed the strands of grey and wondered about how old the man was. If he was the Padfoot from all of Uncle Moony’s stories, then that means they would have to be the same age because they went to Hogwarts together. And if Rigel remembered Uncle Moony’s last birthday properly, that meant this man must be almost fifty too!

…and his mum was only 28. That was a big difference. How many years were there between Uncle Moony and Auntie Dora again? He would have to ask Teddy.

“Who is your favorite quidditch team?”

“Puddlemere United, me. All the way.”

“Really? That’s Uncle Harry’s favorite team too! But Uncle Ron loves the Chudley Cannons even though their Seeker is terrible.”

His dad thought he was funny! “Uncle Moony said you played Beater back in school too, is he right?”

“Yes, he is. And Moony came to every game to cheer us on – Harry’s dad and me were both on the team together,” his dad explained.

“Wow! Mum says I’m a great flyer and Uncle Harry says letting me be Beater is constructive. I don’t know what that means, but it’s fun knocking bludgers into people. And I’m good at protecting my teammates and cousins.”

“Oh, you mean the Weasleys?”

“The Weasleys and the Potters, Teddy too. They’re my friends but we were all in nappies together, so we’re like family where it counts,” Rigel explained, being patient with the man.

“The Potters and the Lupins were like family to me growing up too,” his father said.

“Mum says that the family we choose is stronger than the one we’re born into because we had a choice, and we still picked them.”

“Your mother has always been very smart,” his dad said, and Rigel watched the way his parents looked at each other as if they were practically strangers. But underneath was something more and Rigel wished he could make sense of what it was.

His mum’s mouth twitched upward in a small smile and Rigel hoped that meant that she wouldn’t hex his dad six ways to Sunday for putting that pinchy look on her face earlier or yelling.

“Do you have any blood family, Padfoot?”

His dad scratched the nape of his neck and explained, “Well, your Auntie Dora is my second cousin, technically, because her mum Andromeda is my first cousin just like your Auntie Cissa. Cissa’s son Draco would be my second cousin as well. And that would technically make Teddy and Scorpius my third cousins.”

Rigel’s eyes widened. “Wow. You have a big family!” He wanted to ask more about them but didn’t want to seem too pushy or nosy. He wanted his dad to like him. He wanted his father to want to talk to him. So, Rigel pretended that he was getting sleepy and must’ve been convincing because soon his mum was helping him out of his chair.

“Let’s get you back to bed, Peanut, so you’re rested for tomorrow.”

“Mmmkay, Mum.” He faked a long yawn.

“Say good night to Mr. Padfoot.”

“Good night, Mr. Padfoot. It was nice to meet you,” Rigel said and waved as his mum ushered him towards the steps and back up to bed.

Once his mother had tucked him back into bed, Teddy and Jamie stirred a bit but remained asleep. Rigel knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight with all the thoughts racing around in his head. He didn’t want to wake them up, but he couldn’t wait to tell them all that he had a dad! And that Granny Molly had been lying about where babies come from.

The next morning – 12 Grimmauld Place

Molly Weasley bustled through the floo into the Granger home bright and early and she could already hear a commotion happening upstairs. She hustled down to the sublevel kitchen and set down her things to get breakfast ready and once she had the eggy bread, sausage links, and stringy bacon sizzling away, she enchanted some cutlery to set the table itself.

Kreacher appeared behind her, startling her, and begun muttering to himself under his breath, “Weasley witch coming in bright and early, disrupting the house’s peace, and creating chaos in Kreacher’s kitchen!”

Molly rolled her eyes and hustled back up the kitchen. Really, at nearly 60, all these stairs weren’t easy on her joints. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called out form the ground floor, “Where are my favorite boys?” The redheaded witch listened out for the sounds of boyish screaming and laughter followed by four little sets of feet thumping down the ancient stairs. Oh, goodness she hoped none of them fell!

Then the chorus of “Gran!” “Granny Molly!” “Gran-Gran!” began and it was music to her ears. Really, some witches were born to be mothers but once all of her children had outgrown her and moved out, starting their own nests filled with their own little ones, she had felt adrift. But then the grandkids had started to arrive and suddenly her nest was filling up again with the sounds of little ones’ laughter, tears, and the wonder of learning about magic for the first time. Molly Weasley lived for nurturing little ones. And this little batch of troublemakers was no exception. If she could survive mothering Fred and George Weasley, and co-mothering the Golden Trio through a war, this group of little wizards would be a cake walk, as the muggles liked to say.

The four boys reached her at the same time and nearly knocked her over with the force of their hugs. She picked little Albus up and perched him on her hip. His hair was still mussed from sleep, and he yawned adorably. “Morning, Gran.”

She leaned in to press a kiss to his freckled cheek, still rounded with puppy fat. “Good morning, my darlings.” The three older boys beamed at her lovingly and she gestured to the stairs which led down to the kitchen. “I’ve already got breakfast going on the stove.” They shoved each other and sprinted down the stairs ahead of her and Molly stepped back to avoid getting knocked over.

“Me first!”

“No, me!”

“You got first dibs last time!”

She drew her wand and levitated platters of steaming sausage and bacon onto the table. “All of you line up and wash your hands or you won’t get a bite to eat!” The grandmother called out.

They raced to do what she said, little eyes already wide and mouths parted like baby birds ready for feeding. Honestly, growing boys were always hungry! Once they were all washed up, they returned to the table, and she set little Albie down on Rigel’s step stool so he could reach the tap and wash his hands too. Molly assisted him with washing his face for good measure and dried him off with a tea towel.

Then he hopped down to join the other boys who were already using their little sticky fingers to drag slices of eggy bread onto their individual plates, spearing sausage links and pieces of bacon for their breakfast. Kreacher brought over a pitcher of pumpkin juice, one of orange juice, and a last of fresh milk for the table along with a breakfast tea service and returned to the cooker to begin cleaning up.

“Thank you, Kreacher, for your help,” she said kindly.

The surly old elf just nodded firmly and returned to his chores. Rigel and Hermione were really the only ones he was kind to. The rest of them just got the barely civil version of Kreacher that they’d become accustomed to during the war. But she supposed it was an improvement on past hostilities when Walburga Black’s portrait still hung in the front hall and terrorized anyone who spoke too loudly. Back then, the house elf would just regurgitate back what he heard his Mistress saying and it had been horrid. By and by, he had come a long way in ten years, and he doted on the boy, so Molly would forgive him almost anything for that.

Just as Molly was preparing herself a cup of breakfast tea, she heard heavy footsteps descend and spotted Hermione already dressed for work in a crisply-starched white dress shirt beneath a charcoal-black, fitted pantsuit, all accented with the brooch Bill and Fleur had gifted her on the day she completed her NEWTs pinned to her right lapel and a bold magenta pocket square poking out of her left breast pocket. She had a set of matching magenta travel robes draped over her arm when she stepped down into the sub-level kitchen.

“Morning, Molly.” The witch made a beeline for the coffee brewing on the counter behind them. Molly always forgot about the coffee, darn it all!

“Good morning, Hermione, dear. Slept well?” she asked, stirring a second lump of sugar into her tea.

Hermione paused for a moment before she nodded. “It’s going to be a good day.”

“Full docket?” Molly asked.

Hermione nodded and poured herself a mug of coffee. Molly could see the dark circles she tried to hide with makeup or glamours. She worked so hard and while she had Kreacher and the extended family they’d formed around her, it wasn’t always a replacement for a good coparent and partner at home. Molly knew this and knew for a fact how blessed she’d been in Arthur Weasley. They had a large family that was often loud and boisterous and prone to finding their own trouble. But because of him, it had never felt like work a day in her life. “I’ll tell you more about it when I come to pick up Rigel after work,” she said, checking her muggle wristwatch. Then she transferred the contents of her mug into a travel cup and hurried to where her son was sitting to give him a kiss. “Have a good day with your gran, Peanut.”

Rigel swallowed before answering, “Kick arse and take names, Mum!”

Molly balked at this before she saw the way Hermione’s eyes lit up with mirth at her son and the elder witch decided to drop it for the sake of keeping the peace.

“Kisses, my gremlins!” Hermione hollered loudly and kissed each of the other boys before striding towards the door.

“Mistress!” Kreacher croaked to get her attention. She stalled in her tracks and turned to look down at the house elf who stood waiting with a packed lunch.

“Oh, thank you, Kreacher. You’re a lifesaver.” She fawned over him and the crotchety old thing turned a remarkable shade of puce before toddling off towards the boiler room and slamming the door behind him.

A boyish chortle came from the table and Molly spun around in time to see little James tuck a sausage link inside a folded-up slice of eggy bread, douse it in syrup, and funnel it into his face. “James Sirius Potter! You will choke!” the redheaded witch chastised.

Rigel pushed a glass of milk closer to his cousin with a smile and went back to tearing into his bacon.

“On that note, lady and gentlemen, I’ll be off! Be good!” she called out to them.

The boys chorused back, as was their tradition, “And if you can’t be good, don’t get caught!”

Molly chuckled into her tea and shook her head fondly at their antics.

“Good men,” Hermione left off with a cheeky wink and headed for the floo.

Moments later the floo went off and there were thuds on the stairs. Molly looked up from her plate to see Sirius Black standing in the doorway in all his sleep-rumpled glory. And even at 48, he was still undeniably handsome, she had to admit. “Good morning, Molly.” He wore that signature grin of his that would make a lesser witch weak in the knees. Thankfully she was already seated.

“S-Sirius, what are you doing here?” she balked, her eyes comically wide.

He started at her question halfway to his seat and canted his head to one side. “You saw me at the match yesterday, didn’t you?” he asked.

“W-Well, yes, but I meant here specifically.” The elder witch smoothed her hands over the tabletop.

“It is still my house, Molly.” His smile was guarded but he resumed his path towards the table and took a seat between Teddy Lupin and Rigel Granger.

Her heart felt like it might stick in her throat. He had spent the night under the same roof as – Well, they’d all had their suspicions, especially as the boy got older and began to resemble – But it just couldn’t be! And if he spent the night in Grimmauld Place, did the mean –?

Did little Rigel know the truth?

Was Sirius really the confirmed father?

Hermione had never actually said the words before one way or the other, but now –

Were they an item?

What did it all mean?

Her mind was racing too fast. But then her eyes locked on little Rigel seated beside Sirius and she watched the way they reached for the stringy bacon at the same time. Sirius snatched up a piece and placed it on the boy’s plate with, dare she say it, a fatherly smile. She’d seen the like plenty of times before – first on Arthur’s face, then on her own sons’, and Harry too!

Molly didn’t want it to be true, because if it were true then that meant that Hermione had – And she’d only been, what, 18 at the time? Oh, that brute must’ve taken advantage of her! He had no business – no right – to be sitting at this table making nice with the children when he was some – some kind of lecher!

Rigel and Sirius cut into their sausage links the same way, and when Rigel reached a hand up to scratch behind his ear, Sirius did the same thing a moment later in precisely the same fashion. They rubbed their noses, sipped their drinks, and even chewed in the same way.

Oh, sweet Merlin. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Once the boys were finished eating, she waved them off upstairs to bathe and dress for the day. She wanted to have a little chat with Sirius Black. “Sirius, may I have a word?” she asked, trying to keep her tone level and diplomatic. She could still recall his temper when provoked and didn’t want to be on the receiving end.

He put down his tea and that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet. “Of course.”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise – seeing you back after so long,” she began, tiptoeing around the point.

“I missed home, and I wanted to see my boys, Moony and Harry.”

She noticed he purposefully avoiding mentioning his son! “Oh, so this is just a visit?” Molly asked. “Are you planning on doing some more traveling soon?”

“No concrete plans yet,” he said curtly. “Why do you ask?” His grey eyes narrowed as if he suspected she had a deeper reason for inquiring about his plans.

Bollocks. “We-Well, I was curious on how long you planned on staying this time.”

“And again, I ask ‘why’?” His tone hardened.

Well, the time for beating around the bush had passed, apparently. But Molly hadn’t fought in two wars for nothing, and she wasn’t a pushover either. “Alright, Sirius Black, the reason I ask is because I care for that witch, and her son, well the two of them have had to overcome quite a lot to get to where they are – happy, stable, and thriving. And if you’re just going to show up to rock the boat, then I’d ask that you don’t interfere.”

“Molly, no disrespect, but where do you get off telling me to stay away?”

“I think I’ve more than earned the right after the past ten years, Sirius.” She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. “You see, I – we were all there to fend off the reporters, to hold her while she battled through the nightmares and the depression following the war, and when –” She cut herself short because she didn’t think Hermione would appreciate her sharing about one of the darkest moments in her life following the war. Sometimes Molly still blamed herself for not noticing how bad she’d gotten sooner.

“We took her to every healer’s appointment, we celebrated all the milestones while she was pregnant, and still getting her NEWTs. We took care of her and her son when she needed us – every late-night study session, every illness, every birthday and anniversary. We have been her family and her support system,” Molly said, her voice firm.

“I love that witch as if she were my own and I’ll be damned if I let you swoop in with your smiles, and your charm, and your bullshite and throw her life off track again. So, if you’re planning to get involved while you’re in town and then disappear again for another ten years, just stay away.”

By the time she was done, Sirius was glaring daggers at her. But she was used to his ire. His ire she could handle. What she wasn’t prepared for was for that mask to crumble so that all she could see was genuine regret, remorse, and shame hidden underneath. “I know I fucked up, Molly. You have no idea how much I regret that. But I’m here now and I’m not planning on leaving any time soon,” he said.

She could tell that he meant every word. Whether he could honor his promise was another matter entirely. But the Sirius she had known once, a lifetime ago, had always been unfailingly loyal. Molly only hoped that person was here now and not the fun-loving playboy who might break her daughter’s heart. Or that of her grandson.

The elder witch got to her feet and waved her wand to begin cleaning up following breakfast. Once she’d packed away all her things, she tucked some cheeky leftovers into the refrigerator for Hermione and Rigel and turned to face Sirius who had gone back to his tea and newspaper. “Oh, Sirius?”

“Yes?” He eyed her over his paper.

“I hope this goes without saying, but just in case… if you hurt that little angel, what I do to you will make what I did to Bellatrix look like child’s play. Are we clear?”

His lips tugged upward in a smile that was almost approving, and he nodded. “Crystal.” For some reason, it felt like he was really saying ‘thank you’.

“Good. Now I’ll get the boys out of your hair,” she said and took her leave.

An hour later – The Burrow

“Now you boys stay within ten feet from the ground, or I’ll put you on de-gnomeing duty until you’re Grandpa Arthur’s age!” she warned lovingly.

“Yes, Gran!” they called back in unison which only heightened her suspicion. But she’d been around the block more than once before and she’d placed a charm on their brooms so that they wouldn’t go any higher.

Molly smiled to herself and then turned on her heel and made her way towards her husband’s shed where he’d been amassing and tinkering with muggle electronics for decades now. “Arthur Weasley!” she called out, her tone shrill. She passed through the protective wards he’d erected to keep anyone under the age of 17 out of his private collection.

Arthur startled from his project and turned off his electric screwdriver. “Mollywobbles? What’s this all about? Did one of the boys get hurt?” He bolted from his seat in a panic, green eyes wide in concern.

“What?!” she balked, “No, of course not. I spelled the brooms so they couldn’t get more than ten feet off the ground. And they’ll figure it out any minute, those boys, so I have to get back.”

“Oh, good then.” Her husband heaved a sigh of relief and settled down gingerly on his padded wooden stool. How could he be so calm right now?!

“That’s not what I came in here for!” the elder witch snapped.

“Mols,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “Why don’t you tell me what you did come in here – bent on giving me a heart attack – for then?”

She scoffed. “I went to pick up the boys this morning from Hermione’s house, and I like to make sure they have some food in their bellies. Her too.”

“She was too skinny the last time we saw her,” he said with a nod of agreement.

“Focus!”

Her husband held up his hands in supplication. “Sorry, continue please.”

“Well, you’d never guess who else came down to breakfast once she left for work.” She waited for him to do just that and when he remained silent, she supplied, “It was Sirius Black!”

“You make it sound like Voldemort showed up for tea. I don’t see why you’re so worked up over this.”

“You didn’t see what I did, love. He sat down right next to little Rigel and the two of them were identical – the way they eat, the way they sip their tea, the way they cut their food, and scratch themselves. It’s all the same!” She slapped her hands against her thighs for emphasis.

“Molly, what else did you expect? We’ve all suspected for years,” Arthur said, his tone full of exasperation. But he rose from his seat to cup his hands around her shoulders. “Did you really not know?”

The redheaded witch grumbled, “Well, yes, we suspected. I have eyes. But to sit there across the table from them and have it confirmed. Oh, Arthur… She was barely an adult herself. You remember how she fell apart. And now he’s back and living under the same roof as them!”

“It’s his roof, Mols. We can’t very well storm the castle and demand he leave,” her husband reminded her, and pulled her against his chest so that her cheek was snuggled against his sternum, and he could rub soothing circles over her back and arms.

“I know that. I just – What if he hurts her again? What if she tries to hurt herself again? Oh, Arthur, you weren’t there to see her. Ginny and I found her and it was terrible. I felt like we let her down.” She placed her hand over her heart. “I don’t want to ever see her brought that low again, Arthur. And I don’t want to fail her.”

Her husband shook her and looked down at her fiercely. “You listen to me, Molly Weasley, because I’m only going to say this once. You did not fail her or let her down. She did what she did because she was struggling and felt like it was the only way out. What she did wasn’t because of you and it wasn’t your fault. You are not to blame. You and Gin saved her, put her back together, and made it so that she could still be here for her little boy.”

Molly sniffled against a wave of fresh tears. “I’m so worried that he could set her back to square one.”

“Then we’ll keep an eye out. But, Mols, love, she’s a grown woman. She has to make her own decisions.”

“Oh! And that’s another thing!”

“Merlin, what now?”

“Don’t sass me, Arthur Weasley!” She swatted him in the chest. “He is 20 years older than her! How could he take advantage?! He should be ashamed of himself.”

“Mols, we weren’t there. We don’t know the circumstances. But the fact of the matter is, she was a legal adult then, and it was her decision at that time too. Was it the wisest one? Perhaps not. But it was hers to make, love. And it’s been ten years, so it’s a little late to take it back now, don’t you think?” Her husband eyed her in that way when he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

She knew Sirius Black had ben a traumatized and tormented soul long before he was ever condemned to Azkaban. She also knew that while most people spent their twenties growing up and figuring out who they were, Sirus had been locked behind cold, barren walls and being tortured daily with his own worst memories and fears. She knew life had been cruel to him, had taken from him more than it had given. Molly could understand that he’d surely been stunted when he finally escaped only to spend years as a fugitive before throwing himself into the Battle of Hogwarts.

Looking at it now, she could see that he had no time to process any of his grief or trauma. And when he’d left them all to do so, it had been so he could make up for the time he’d lost and do some growing and healing of his own. Had he made the wisest choice that night? Certainly not. But Molly could give him the grace to see that perhaps he’d been hurting too and needed to feel something. Perhaps Hermione had been convenient in that regard. They had made a mistake, and perhaps Molly had judged him so harshly because it seemed that Hermione had been the only one to face the consequences of those choices.

“I’ll try and give him the benefit of the doubt,” she finally said.

“And space, Mols.”

“But!”

“Molly, please.” Her husband pleaded with her. “Doesn’t Rigel deserve an opportunity to get to know his father if this might be his own chance?”

She looked into his green eyes – the ones she’d fallen in love with back in Hogwarts, and that still felt like home decades later – and already knew her answer. She loved that little boy and wouldn’t keep him from bonding with his father if Sirius were interested. “Fine. But one toe out of line and I’m hexing him six ways to Sunday, Arthur, I mean it!” she vowed.

“There’s my Mollywobbles.”

“Oh, hush,” she blushed and let him squeeze and shower her in kisses.

————

“So, you have a father?!” Albie balked from where he sat astride his broom.

“Yes, Albie, keep up,” Jamie teased.

“Are you sure?” Teddy asked and his blue-green hair flashed neon yellow in the way that meant he was surprised.

Rigel nodded. “I heard my mum talking to him last night in the kitchen when they thought we were all asleep. And she sounded angry.”

“Angry – why?” Teddy asked, his hair shifting to red. He was just as protective of his godmother as Rigel was of his mum. It was one of the things that made them as close as they were, how much they both loved Rigel’s mum.

“Well, I don’t understand why exactly, but it sounded like she blamed him for something, and he was hurt that he ‘missed out on so much time’,” Rigel quoted his father and even used air quotes which made him wobble on his broom unsteadily.

“Feels like we’re missing some information,” Jamie remarked.

“No shit, Jamie,” Rigel grumbled.

Albie snickered the way he always did whenever the older boys swore. “You said ‘shit’.”

Jamie huffed a laugh and ruffled his little brother’s hair fondly. Then he turned back to his friends and asked, “So, Padfoot – the Padfoot – is your dad? Do you realize how bloody wicked that is?”

Rigel ducked his head to conceal his blush and gestured to Teddy with his thumb. “His dad’s a Marauder too, or did you forget? And your dad’s the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.”

“But your mum is the ‘Golden Girl’ and the ‘Brightest Witch of the Age’ and now you have a famous dad too,” Albie whined. “You’re gonna be cooler than us at school.”

Teddy just laughed and shook his head. “You’re all ridiculous.” Then he turned to Rigel, “What do you want to do?”

That was the thing, wasn’t it? Rigel had no idea what to do with this information now that he had it. What did he want?

He wanted to get to know his dad.

He wanted to keep his father in his life, if he had a say in the matter.

But even more than that, and perhaps it was selfish of him to think it, but he wanted a whole family – a complete one. And he tried to remember what his mum had taught him about families all looking different and that not affecting how ‘complete’ they were. But he was a little boy, and he wanted his father. He wanted him to teach him about manly things someday like shaving, and – well, he couldn’t think of many others right now, but someday he would. And he wanted his father there for it!

And then Rigel thought of the looks his mum and dad had shared when he sat at the table between them last night. He saw the way his father seemed to be asking permission to share things with him. He saw the way his mum would flash his dad a smile like the ones she gave Rigel when she was proud of him – when he did a good job.

He had never seen his mum like that before with any other wizard. She had gone on a couple of dates and come back in a worse mood than when she left. And Rigel couldn’t understand it at the time. She was the most beautiful and brilliant witch in the world. She was a war hero like his uncles. She had broken records with her scores in school. And now she was an amazing barrister in the Wizengamot making laws to make their world a better place for all living things.

But she didn’t even have a boyfriend. It made no sense to him. And he knew, logically, that none of those blokes could replace his dad. But at least they might’ve made his mum happy, less lonely. Rigel loved his mum, and he wanted her to smile more. He wanted her to be happy the way that Uncle Harry made Auntie Gin did, or Uncle Ron with his barmy Auntie Luna. Even his grandparents Molly and Arthur had one another. They all had that person that made them happy, sometimes upset, sometimes confused or even frustrated. But ultimately content. He wanted that for his mum.

She deserved to have that. And part of Rigel wondered if maybe she hadn’t found it in anyone else because the person who was meant for her had been gone all this time. Gone and now he was back…

He had a moment like that cartoon where the lightbulb appeared above its head when he got an idea. Rigel smiled at his closest friends and said, “I want to make my mum happy again.”

Later that evening – The Burrow

The boys played several rounds of quidditch once their cousins had shown up, then took a break for a massive picnic lunch that Granny Molly had whipped up. They had helped around the house with some chores, done some exploring, and Grandpa Arthur had taken them down to the river for a swim. They had been urged to nap, especially the younger ones. And once Rigel had woken from his, it was almost time for his mum to pick him up.  

Grandpa Arthur had turned on a muggle record player he’d tinkered with and managed to enchant to work with magic instead of electricity. And some of the girls were singing along to the song that Granny Molly seemed to like if her humming was any indication.

“So don't misunderstand me,
You put the light in my life.
Oh, you put the spark to the flame,
I've got your heart in my sights.”

The kids were all settled in the family room with snacks. A summer rainstorm had rolled in and kept them from playing outside for the rest of the afternoon, much to Rigel and Teddy’s chagrin. But something occurred to Rigel that he recalled thinking the previous evening and he went up to his Gran and asked, “Gran, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, love,” she said, looking up from where she was kneading dough for a fresh loaf of bread on the floured kitchen counter.

Rigel hopped up on one of the stools so she could have her undivided attention. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, but it was as if part of his brain was cautioning him that this was what his mum liked to call a ‘grown-up’ conversation, and this might not go over well.

“Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it.
But when I was down,
I was your clown.
Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it (nobody knows).
But right from the start,
I gave you my heart.
Oh, ho, I gave you my heart!”

He wrung his hands in the hem of his tee shirt. “W-Well, I heard my mum talking to Mr. Padfoot the other night and he called me his son,” he blurted and felt his face warm like he had a fever.

The dark-haired boy saw her hands stall and she seemed to be choosing her words carefully the way his mum sometimes did when he thought she was trying to explain something complicated to him in a way he would understand. And he was suddenly glad the music in the other room was too loud for their conversation to be overheard.

“What was your question, love? Were you curious or confused?” Granny Molly asked.

Rigel shook his head and then nodded fiercely. “I thought about it, and I listened to what they were saying. I think Mum knows I was listening in for a bit. But she didn’t get mad at me or anything. I was just so curious. I’ve never had a dad before. And all my other friends and cousins have one… or if they don’t they at least know who he is. Maybe their dad died in the war or got sick or something, or their parents are divorced. But they all have answers. I guess I wanted answers too because I have so many questions sometimes I feel like my head might explode.” His chest was heaving, and he felt lightheaded like he hadn’t taken a breath in a while.

His grandmother huffed a soft laugh and picked up kneading her dough. But this time her eyes were locked on him and she said, in that reassuring voice of hers, “You’re just like your mother was as a little girl. She was always carrying around books that were bigger than her and had questions about everything – people, places, and how the world works. Never be embarrassed of that.”

The little wizard cracked a smile at his grandmother and felt momentarily reassured. “Well, it made me think about something you told us once – about how only married people who love each other can have babies.”

Her hazel eyes widened at his question, and he knew this was it. She was going to punish him now. He would have to de-gnome the garden all alone and sit in the attic with the ghoul in the dark.

“What did you want to ask, love?” she pressed.

“I wanted to know where I came from if my mum and dad were never married and can’t stand each other,” he blurted.

Grandpa Arthur walked into the kitchen at that moment to grab himself a butterbeer and overheard the conversation because he burst into raucous laughter. Granny Molly swatted at him with her flour-dusted hand leaving behind a white handprint on his checkered flannel. “If you’re not going to help, then leave,” she grumbled at him while he shuffled out laughing.

Just then the floo went off and his mum’s voice filled the space, “Where is my little man?”

“Auntie Mione!” several voices chorused.

“Gremlins! Hello, Arthur,” Rigel heard her greet Grandpa Artie. “Where’s Rigel?”

“In the kitchen with Molly.”

“Thanks.” The clip of his mum’s heels proceeded her into the kitchen, and she beamed at him when her eyes settled on him. “There you are, Peanut. Did you have a good day?”

He leapt off his stool and threw himself into her arms, snuggling his face into her chest the way he loved to do when she’d been at work all day. “Missed you, Mum.”

“Well,” she laughed merrily, “if this is the way I’m going to be greeted whenever I come back after a long day, I’ll have to be sure to work overtime.”

“No,” Rigel said with a pout. He was glad the others were in the next room because they would’ve teased him or called him a baby for sure, but he didn’t want to share his mum with anyone else more than necessary.   

“Oh, Peanut, it was just a joke. I promise,” she said, running a hand through his curls in the way he loved. Then she looked up at Granny Molly and asked, “How was he?”

“A little angel, for a change,” his grandmother teased.

Hermione chuckled and said, “Well, that’s good, because I picked up ice cream from Fortescue’s on the way home!” She pulled a bag from her purse and enlarged the contents.

Rigel’s eyes bulged and he asked, “Did they have the chunky peanut butter and toasted marshmallow from last time?”

His mum shuddered and handed the bag over. “I don’t know how you eat that stuff, but apparently it’s a big hit so Ms. Fortescue plans on keeping it on the menu for a long time.”

He shrugged at her and chortled at her response. “I like it. It’s like my brain has an itch and chunky peanut butter is the only thing that scratches it sometimes.”

“You have a way with words, Peanut,” she said. “Let’s go share with the others.”

He was so excited to see his mum that he hadn’t even registered that his grandmother hadn’t answered his question until hours later when he was lying awake in bed obsessing over the fact that he had even more questions and still no answers.

Chapter Text

-------

July 19^th, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

Sirius woke in his childhood bedroom with a stiff back and a crick in his neck. He missed the hotel suite he’d had in Portofino. Or the penthouse apartment in Johannesburg. Even that bungalow in Belize had been better than this nearly half-century-old mattress. He’d have to redo this room if he planned on sticking around. He pushed himself up with a pop in his joints and got up to shuffle into the hall towards the bathroom with his toiletry bag and wand.

He had already heard the sounds of life coming from the lower floors of the house and wondered if he were cooping himself up, up here, withdrawing from people like he used to during the Second War. Sirius was determined to get out there, be more social, and get to know his kid… even if they still hadn’t had the conversation that he was the father. He was leaving the quaffle on Hermione’s side of the pitch for that one.

“Mum, can I have the chocolate sauce?” Rigel’s little voice carried through the halls. Merlin, but that boy had lungs on him. Good thing Sirius’ old silencing charms were still holding somehow.

“It’s in the pantry, Peanut.”

“Yes!”

“As if you need more sugar,” he heard the little swot comment and Sirius was momentarily reminded of a similar conversation with his own mother at that age. Although she’d been far less amused and far less diplomatic with her unsolicited commentary.

“You said my body’s cells take sugar and oxygen and turn it into energy,” came their son’s cheeky retort.

Sirius wondered if he could reasonably be blamed for the boy’s cheek. Was cheek an inherited trait or more a learned behavior? He’d have to pick up a parenting book one of these days. Or maybe the little witch would know. He shook his head to clear away the thoughts of her, realized he was still standing out in the hall in only his sleep trousers, and padded into the bathroom directly across from his room because there was no shower in his en-suite bathroom and he wasn’t in the mood for a soak right now. 

“You don’t seem to have a problem with that, Peanut,” were the last words that carried up the stairs to him before he shut the door. 

He stripped down, tossing his sleep trousers in the hamper in the corner – a wicker contraption that appeared to be more style and less substance. But he supposed it was as much the small details as the larger changes that could make his family mausoleum feel like a real home again. He set down his bag of toiletries and pulled out a muggle razor and a can of shaving cream. He cleaned up his beard and rinsed off his razor, set it aside, and went to ready the shower.

Sirius took a good look at himself in the mirror, turned this way and that. He was still solid, though he’d never quite gained back all the muscle mass he’d had before Azkaban. And his face had never quite filled out again. But he supposed that was the difference between being a whole, un-fucked-up young man in his twenties, and being an ex-convict who was approaching middle age. He had come to terms with the graying hair at his temples and the few stark strands littering his facial hair. He’d once considered dyeing it but thought that was a slippery slope towards being a ponce. He was determined to age gracefully unlike Moony. Sirius snickered at the thought of his oldest friend. The years hadn’t been so kind to Remus, but Sirius supposed that was also a byproduct of his lycanthropy. It was a miracle, frankly, that in all the years they’d spent the full moons together – and Sirius had missed out on a fair few both by choice and circumstances beyond his control – he hadn’t been infected himself.

It could be worse; he reminded himself and stood in profile while he allowed his hand to run down the front of his torso to his mostly flat tummy. Perhaps there was some flab there now, but maybe it was just loose skin. He dreaded the day he would look at his reflection and no longer recognize the person he saw there. Sirius flexed a bit in the mirror and then caught his own eye and let out a mighty snort of laughter at his foolishness. He was Sirius Black. Still every witch’s wet dream. And he wouldn’t allow himself to become even more vain in his old age.

He washed for the day, letting the warm water relax his aching back and neck and when he was done, dried and styled his shoulder-length hair, pulling it back in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. Then he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to exit the bathroom. His hand closed around the knob and as he pulled, the door pushed inward and the last person he expected stumbled inside and collided with his bare, still-damp chest. He staggered back a step to catch them both so they wouldn’t tumble to the floor and put his arms around instinctively to catch her.

Hermione squeaked in surprise and put her hands against Sirius’ chest to push away from him. But instead, they just ended up locked in some strange half-embrace, all wide eyes, parted mouths, and chests heaving. His skin was still warm from his shower and hers was lovely and rosy from her blush.

“I – I – I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just – Rigel’s in the one downstairs,” she said sheepishly.

His eyes widened in understanding, and he dropped his hands to his sides and stepped out of her path. “Right. Sorry.” Sirius chuckled and awkwardly stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him. Now he was standing in the hall and blushing. Sirius Black did not blush. He scoffed and stomped into his room, annoyed with himself for some reason he wasn’t ready to put words to.

He went to the window that overlooked the street and took a glance at what some of the others were wearing to gauge how hot it might be. Based on what he saw, he opted for a lightweight cotton tee-shirt, some loose-fitting denims, and a pair of muggle trainers he’d bought in Paris a couple of years prior. Then he cast a breath-freshening charm on himself, tucked his wand into his belt loop, and left to find his own breakfast.

He was surprised to see that Rigel was back at the table, and Kreacher was just plating up a fresh batch of bacon. “Welcome back, Master Sirius,” the old house elf greeted him, and he was surprised at his civility. Perhaps Hermione and Rigel had been a positive influence on him.

“Good to be back, Kreacher,” Sirius decided to let bygones be bygones and continue on in the same vein. He took a seat at the head of the table, which he noticed that Hermione avoided doing the couple times he’d shared the space with her, and asked, “Is there any –?” He barely got the words out before a fresh carafe of black coffee was being levitated over to the table.

“Does Master need any cream or sugar?” Kreacher asked.

“Just sugar, thanks.” Sirius turned what he hoped was a warm, fatherly smile on Rigel. He hadn’t much practice. The last time he’d been around a boy even close to this age he’d been fresh out of Azkaban, filthy, starving, and half-mad with the desire for vengeance, startling his poor godson and his closest friends in the Shrieking Shack. “Good morning, pup.” He didn’t know why he used the term. For so long it had belonged strictly to Harry, but somehow, he didn’t think that Hermione would appreciate it if he called Rigel ‘son’ before they’d had ‘The Talk’. Plus, it had come naturally to him.

Rigel canted his head, and it reminded him an awful lot of a reflection he’d once seen of Padfoot, and asked, “Why ‘Pup’?”

“Oh,” Sirius began, and he had a niggling suspicion he was blushing for the second time that morning, “Well, it’s what I used to call your Uncle Harry when he was little. And he’s outgrown it now, so I figured you could use it.” He knew he was rambling and grasping at straws. Rigel was his son, blood of his blood and fruit of his loins and all that. He was his pup. But he couldn’t just tell the boy that over his morning waffles. “If you wanted to, that is.”

The little wizard seemed to give it a lot of thought for a moment before his face split in a beaming smile, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I like it.” Then he asked, “Is it because you’re a dog?” Smart as a whip. Just like his mum.

Sirius barked a laugh and began preparing his coffee. “You’re a very smart boy.” He wandlessly summoned a coffee mug from one of the cupboards and caught it in his outstretched hand, and then poured his coffee, followed by several heaping spoonfuls of sugar. The whole time, he knew his son was watching him and perhaps he’d wanted to show off for the boy just a bit.

“Mum says that it’s not enough to be smart, but to know how to use those smarts wisely.” Rigel was focused on cutting his waffles into perfect wedges and drowning them in chocolate sauce.

“Your mum is very clever to make that distinction,” Sirius said with a nod.

Just then, the witch in question reentered the sublevel kitchen and went to the cupboards beside Kreacher. The elf handed her a plate with a very stuffed, very large omelette, and grilled tomatoes. “Thank you, Kreacher,” she murmured softly which the elf seemed to accept with a curt nod. Then she plucked a mug by hand – an old, chipped thing missing its handle but still somehow part of the collection – and came to sit beside their son. “Ah, chocolate with a side of waffles, I see.” she teased. “Good choice.”

Rigel shrugged and quipped, “I have good taste in breakfast foods.”

“Just don’t forget your milk and your fruit,” she suggested, and brushed his curls out of his eyes, and then went to serve herself some bacon.

The little wizard pulled himself up on his knees to reach for the bowl of fresh fruit in the middle of the table. He brought the bowl closer so he could dump a small portion on top of his chocolate and waffle mountain. Then he set it back in place and went to town shoveling it into his mouth with his spoon, staring pointedly at his mother while chewing with his mouth open.

“Showing off because we have guests? Well, I will see your half-masticated chocolate, waffles, and fruit and raised you my bacon, veggie omelette, and grilled tomatoes,” she said, before shoveling a large helping into her mouth to do much the same.

Sirius’ right eye twitched at their childish antics, and Kreacher started muttering disapprovingly, but Rigel snorted and soon they both devolved into laughter. Both of them clamped a hand over their mouths and fell against each other in laughter, trying to simultaneously breathe through their snorts, chew and swallow without choking, and not spit food across the table. What on earth was wrong with these two?

The older wizard distinctly recalled a moment during the little witch’s Fifth Year when she’d come with Harry and Ron to visit over Winter Break because he was still cooped up in this house and technically a fugitive. She had given the boys such a tongue-lashing for chewing with their mouths open at the table that Sirius and Remus both had been startled by the vehemence of her rant, and how she had managed the tear the boys a new one without making use of a single hex, curse, or swear word. Sirius remembered telling Moony later that he’d felt the spirit of Lily in that room in the moment and been all nostalgic for the Hogwarts of their youth. His old friend had laughed and agreed that had Lily lived long enough to meet her, she would’ve adored the little witch.

This witch and the one sitting before him teasing their son at the breakfast table were not remotely the same creature. Once the wheezing and snorting had settled down and they’d resumed eating like normal people, Sirius sipped his coffee and dug into his own bacon and waffle sandwich. He gestured to the two of them with the hand holding his coffee mug and asked, “Is this a typical occurrence at the breakfast table?”

Rigel canted his head to one side again and Sirius felt a twinge at how much he resembled Reggie at that age. And then he noticed how Hermione arched a brow at him in challenge. “If you mean making mealtime fun, then yes.” She gestured to their son’s plate. “Whatever it takes to get him to sit still long enough to fill his belly, I consider a win. And I’m an opportunist these days. I’ll take a victory where I can get it.”

Sirius was startled by the laugh that bubbled up out of him. But sure enough, Rigel’s plate was clean, and he was already going for a second helping of fruit. “You might have a point there,” Sirius murmured, learning something new about this little family unit.

“I’d like to think so,” Hermione retorted and handed over a paper serviette to their son. “Peanut, you’ve got a little something on your… well, everywhere.”

Rigel beamed at her. “I’m saving it for later.”

“Oh, har har,” she deadpanned and prepared her own coffee. Then she went back to demolishing her omelette with gusto.

Sirius watched them both – almost nothing alike in looks, but so similar when it came to personality, senses of humor, and levels of intelligence. Thanks to this brilliant witch, his son might be the Brightest Wizard of the Age someday. Sirius couldn’t take any credit for that.

He watched the way the fork passed her lips and tried not to let his eyes linger, but the observant witch caught him anyway. She set down her utensil, swallowed, and picked up her mug that truly was falling apart. “Why keep the mug if it’s falling apart?” he asked, blurted is more like. He seemed to have even less impulse control than his nine-year-old son these days.

Hermione set the mug down gently and replied, “It was my mother’s favorite. I kept it after she passed.”

He noted the brief moment of hesitation and made a mental note to ask her about it in private. It seemed that it wasn’t a topic she discussed in front of their son. But then Rigel surprised them both by calling out, “Granny and Grandpa Granger are gone to Heaven now.”

The curly-haired witch looked down at the boy with a puckered brow and a look of concern clear in the depths of her firewhiskey eyes. “Yes, Peanut. But that’s not polite breakfast table talk.”

“Yes, Mum.” There was a moment’s silence before he asked, “Can I have more milk?”

Sirius stood up immediately and offered, “I’ll get it.” He could’ve summoned it the way he had his coffee mug, but he needed a moment’s reprieve from the obvious tension at the table. He found himself curious but knew that Hermione didn’t trust him yet enough to discuss a topic that was clearly very personal to her. Perhaps Harry might be able to shed some light. He fetched the milk from the refrigerator and brought it back to the table to pour his son another glass and then returned it to the cooler. Then he retook his seat and finished his breakfast. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, I have work, so usually Molly or Andromeda and Narcissa will take turns watching the kids when they have time. And they all have open space, that the kids won’t feel cooped up,” Hermione said. “What about you? What are you planning to do while you’re in England?”

Sirius was stumped just as he had been when Moony asked. How could he tell her that he’d dropped all his plans and wanted to stay around indefinitely so he could bond with Rigel and ingratiate himself into their lives in whatever way possible? “W-Well, not much. Might work on my bike. Might meet up with Moony or Harry for lunch later.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said with a smile. “Harry’s birthday is coming up in the next couple of weeks too.” Of course it was! How had he managed to forget? Maybe all the booze, recreational drugs, and time spent in Azkaban were finally catching up with him and he was going senile. “I have to meet up with Gin, Luna, and the others so we can plan the menu.”

“Do you guys already have something planned?” Sirius asked.

Rigel piped up, “Uncle Harry always has his birthday dinner at the Burrow so Gran can spoil him.”

Sirius looked at each of them, his eyes flickering between them as if to gauge their sincerity. “What – really? Every year?”

“Yes,” Rigel said, his response enthusiastic as if often was.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Oh, since the war, I suppose,” Hermione replied.

“And no one ever thought he might want something, I don’t know, different? More exciting than a family dinner at the Burrow?” Sirius asked, honestly depressed that his godson had spent the majority of his birthdays in his twenties as if he were an old fart. “He should be going out, getting pissed with his mates, and chatting up –” He cut himself off at the look on Hermione’s face.

She looked down at Rigel as if to chastise him for the appropriateness of his rant. But, hey, Rigel was already asking grown wizards if they ‘got pissed at the pub’ so perhaps if she were looking for bad influences, she could look in the mirror. “Harry got married young and then he was a parent with responsibilities,” the curly-haired witch reminded him. “He didn’t have the time to be going out getting rat-arsed with his mates and chatting up strange witches at the pub to take them home every weekend.”

Rigel looked between them as if it were a tennis match, absorbing every word. “Mum, what’s ‘rat-arsed’ mean?” he asked.

“Colloquial synonym for ‘pissed’, Peanut. Drunk.”

“Ah. And what about ‘chatting up’?” This kid was as insatiable for knowledge as he was for breakfast. And how did he know what words like ‘colloquial’ and ‘synonym’ meant at nine?!

“Oh, I’m sure your – Padfoot can explain all about pick-up lines later, love.” Hermione flashed him a saccharine smile that was anything but and rose from her seat taking her plate and Rigel’s to the sink where she enchanted the sponge to begin cleaning up.

Okay, so he’d pissed her off with his careless words. And perhaps he’d also been trying to live vicariously through Harry because he’d spent his twenties behind bars and wanted better for his boy.

But that line about ‘chatting up’ was clearly a dig at him. Sirius knew he had a reputation. But Hermione couldn’t call herself innocent either.

She tried to strut out of the kitchen thinking she’d gotten the last word, but then Rigel piped up once again, “Mister Padfoot – why would you want to take someone home from the pub?” Oh man, that made him feel ancient. He’d have to work on that.

Sirius smiled at Hermione and said, “Why don’t you ask your mum?”

The witch stumbled over her own feet in the doorway. Check and mate, little witch. “Peanut, let’s get ready to see Auntie Andi and Cissa.”

“Okay,” Rigel said, clambering down from his seat and sprinted towards the stairs.

Hermione put an arm around his shoulders and glared at Sirius over his head.

Later that afternoon – Katie Bell-Weasley’s Office

“So, Sirius is back – how is that going?” Katie asked from where she was seated in the wingback chair opposite, one leg crossed over the other and a dicta-quill levitating beside her over her spiral notebook.

Hermione had her shoes off, feet tucked up underneath her while she tried to find the words to tell her – sister-in-law, for all intents and purposes – that the estranged father of her child was now living under her roof and driving her batty after only a couple days. “That’s a difficult question. Pass.” She brushed her fingers through her curls until they caught in a snag.

“Alright, how about Rigel? How is he handling the change?”

“You know Peanut,” Hermione began. She found it infinitely easier to talk about her son than herself. “He takes everything in stride. Kids are so resilient. You remember how we all were.”

“I do, but we adapted because we had no choice and you three especially were in constant danger,” Katie reminded her, her voice was patient rather than reproving. “Our kids haven’t had the childhood we did.”

“I’m grateful for that every day.”

“So, how is Rigel adjusting to having a two-parent household all of a sudden?”

Hermione turned to look out the window of the glass solarium where Katie had built her personal office in the private practice she’d started after working several years with St. Mungo’s. She’d always like it here too. And George doted on his wife to find this lovely cottage for her to hold her practice, money being no issue these days after the Weasley Wizards’ Wheezes empire had truly taken off post-war in a world that needed healing, where laughter was often the best medicine.

“Mione?” Katie called her out of her musings.

Hermione could only shrug. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Have you spoken to your son about he feels about his father?” Katie’s brow furrowed in confusion.

But Hermione could only look away in guilt. “I haven’t had the chance to sit them both down and have ‘the talk’, okay? It’s only been one day! I – I guess I’m just worried Peanut will hate me.”

“Oh, Mione, you’re that little boy’s whole world.”

The curly-haired witch crossed her arms, and she scoffed, “Only because he has no other choice.”

“Don’t be like that. He loves you.”

“I’ve always been so big on teaching him about honesty, trust, and integrity. What is he going to think when he finds out I’ve been lying about his father?” Hermione volleyed back. “I’ll probably seem like the world’s biggest hypocrite and then my son will never trust me again.”

Katie changed tactics. “As you said, it has only been one day. Have you spoken to Sirius about this, at least?”

“Not yet,” Hermione mumbled, blushing.

“Maybe start there, and you two can present a united front to Rigel. Decide how to move forward together if, indeed, he wants to be involved in his son’s life. And then give yourself a break. Parents are still just people, Mione. And people aren’t infallible. We’re all flawed. We make mistakes. It might be awkward now, but I promise that someday your son will understand that you only did what you thought was right for him. The kinder choice for both of you.”

Hermione spluttered, “This isn’t about me, Katie. This is about Rigel.”

“And yet I’m your mind healer, not his. Now, what about the nightmares?” Katie pressed onward to the next topic.

Meanwhile – The Leaky Cauldron

Sirius had been able to get Moony and Harry to meet for lunch, and Ron had tagged along. The twins had stopped in to pick up their order and ended up joining and now it was a group outing.

“So, you haven’t actually told the boy yet?” Moony asked.

“Yeah – who does he think you are?” Fred asked.

“Does he think you’re just crashing there because you’re Harry’s godfather or something?” George snickered.

Sirius grumbled, “I don’t want to force the conversation before Hermione is ready. She’s his mum – his primary parent that he knows and trusts. She should get to make the call, not me. He doesn’t know me from the next bloke. I’m just the guy who he’s heard stories about growing up. Merlin, he called me ‘Mister Padfoot’ this morning!” He lowered his head to the table with a heavy thunk.

Moony patted him on the back. “Pads, he’s just a kid. He’s being respectful. What did you expect with a mother like Hermione Granger – a little street urchin who goes around addressing people with ‘Oi, you!’?” This drew laughter from the other men at the table.

Sirius raised his head from the table, the paper coaster stuck to his forehead now, and said, “Oh yeah? Well, this morning she introduced our son to such colorful phrases as ‘rat-arsed’ and ‘chatting up women’ to ‘take them home from the pub’.”

Harry and Ron fell all over themselves laughing at their best friend. Remus was in shock. And the twins just seemed impressed.

“At breakfast?” Ron asked, still chortling.

“Yes, and then she made a dig at me insinuating that Rigel should ask me about chatting up women in pubs,” Sirius pouted.

Remus guffawed. “Whatever could’ve led her to believe such a thing of this paragon of virtue before us?”

Sirius shoved him and Moony nearly toppled off his wooden stool if not for Harry to stabilize him. His old friend glared at him. “I get it, okay? I have a reputation. And I’ve done nothing to diminish it either. But I’m a grown man and he’s a child. I just - I don’t want him to look at me that way and be ashamed of his father.”

All the others at the table went silent and looked at him. After all, each of them were fathers too. And all of them had at least one son of their own. They could understand what it was like for Sirius to want to look good to his son.

“Reputation or not, you’re a good man, Padfoot,” his godson said, and everyone’s eyes locked on the Boy-Who-Lived. “And if you want to be in your son’s life, then just show Mione the Padfoot we all know and love.”

The tender moment was broken when Ron remarked, “…Oh, I think Mione’s seen enough of your godfather, don’t you?”

This startled a laugh out of Sirius and the rest of them devolved into cackles before Sirius bunched up his serviette and threw it at Ron’s face which only made them all laugh harder.

Meanwhile – Department of Magic Law, British Ministry of Magic

Hermione was eating her lunch at her desk while reading up on a new brief that she was collaborating with the DRCMC for illegal dragon breeding. She had a long paper serviette tucked into the collar of her blouse to prevent a lo mein accident as she was prone to do when she got engrossed in her reading. She was mid-chew and midsentence when an interdepartmental memo came in, in Tonks’ unmistakable scrawl.

‘Friday night girls’ night at that pub in Soho we spotted last time. Meet at the apparition point at 10.’

“10pm at night?” Hermione whined. After a long day of work, she barely had the energy to bathe and change into her massive grannie pants and oversized shirt to spend some quality time with her son before konking out at 10pm. But it had been a while since she’d been out with the girls. She turned over the scrap of parchment and wrote back:

‘I’ll need a kip at home. Who all is coming?’

Later that evening – 12 Grimmauld Place

It turned out that one of the perks of having a co-parent, if indeed that’s what Sirius was, was having backup childcare on short notice. She had fetched Rigel from Andromeda’s and caught up with her and Narcissa for a bit. Then she came home to shit, shower, and shave, put her hair up in enchanted rollers and a bonnet, set an alarm on her wand, and slipped to her room for a quick nap.

Hermione woke at the sound of her wand buzzing and grabbed it from its place on her nightstand before it vibrated itself onto the floor. She got up, feeling better than she had when she got home, and went to the bathroom to begin to get ready for a night out. She’d already selected her dress – a skimpy little number that Ginny had bought her ages ago after Rigel was born, and she’d hidden in the back of her closet certain that she’d never have occasion to actual wear it. It had remained under stasis charms in a garment bad ever since and over time she had forgotten about it. That was until Gin floo called her at work and threatened her with bodily harm if she didn’t see at least one photo of the night out and Hermione in ‘the black shag-me-silly dress’, as the ginger menace had dubbed it.

Still in her bonnet, oversized shirt, and granny pants, she went into her ensuite bathroom, pulled out her frankly pathetic makeup bag and sat herself down on her high stool to begin getting ready. The witch even waved her wand at her muggle stereo and put on some music to get herself pumped. She could do this. Tonks had made a comment about getting her laid in some dimly lit, grimy pub loo, but Hermione was convinced she was past that. She was a mum, for Merlin’s sake! But her lady parts had fairly throbbed as a result of simply thinking about some wicked, filthy tryst in a toilet stall.

As she began to apply a smoky eye, she let her imagination wander. She envisioned herself pressed up against a graffitied stall wall, her dress rucked up around her waist, and her very much not granny pants pulled to one side. Hermione imagined it would be hot, fast, and dirty, and some faceless man would whisper filthy things in her ear, pull her hair a little, maybe leave a nice, red handprint on her arse while he shagged her senseless. And when they had both climaxed, preferably more than once on her part, he would go his way and she hers with no strings, expectations, or complications. She would return to the bar for a shot or maybe some water to cool off and continue to dance the night away with her girlfriends with the knowledge of her secret hookup playing on her mind throughout the night and making her feel like some sex goddess. It would get her through till the next time… perhaps once she was an empty nester.

That sobering though brought her back to the present and she cleaned up the eyeshadow fallout from her cheekbones and set about cleaning her brush before applying the rest of her eye makeup – a black, winged liner, waterproof black mascara. The whole effect really made her eyes pop, brown with flecks of amber and honeyed hues. As she was planning to wear all black, even down to her peep-toed heels, she went with a bold, red lip – cherry red – and set the whole thing with some setting spray before moving on to her hair.

She pulled off her bonnet and carefully undid her enchanted rollers that had managed to tame her wild, bushy curls into glossy, voluminous waves. A gift from Narcissa and Astoria for her baby shower that she put through its paces, especially for work. She remembered that the gift had stood out because it had been one thing solely for her, and not just baby related. ‘Something to make her feel human again and remind her she was still a woman and not just a mother,’ the two smug witches had said while she’d been the size of a planet and on the verge of hormonal tears. She tucked them back into their drawstring bag and put them away in one of her vanity drawers. Then she pinned up her curls into a mussed bedroom style she’d spent ages perfecting with Ginny and Luna when they’d come across it in Witch Weekly a year ago. ‘Something to Woo Your Wizard’ the article had been titled. Hermione snorted. What wizard? But she shook her head to clear away the pessimistic thoughts.

When she pushed the last pin into place and turned her face one way and then the other to examine her masterpiece, she allowed herself to feel just a little excited. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be defiled in a pub toilet, but she still had it. Whatever ‘it’ was. She rose and went to change her clothes last.

She tossed her sleep shirt and granny pants onto her unmade bed telling herself she’d make it in the morning. The only ones who came into her room were Rigel and maybe Kreacher, but even that was rare as she preferred to straighten up her bedroom herself and the elf had learned to respect her personal boundaries during their years together. Hermione went to her dresser and dug around for the singular pair of sexy knickers she owned, also conveniently in bra lace. It was sheer and skimpy and wouldn’t suck in her ‘mama pouch’ as Tonks like to call it when they all bemoaned their post-childbirth bodies. But it was sexy, and it came with a matching strapless bra that conveniently cinched in the front.

One thing she had been pleased with was how her body had become curvier – more mature and womanly – after her pregnancy. And yes, her feet had also gone up two sizes and never shrunk back down, but even she had to admit when she waved her wand to zip her dress and admired her reflection, that she had a nice rack. And her arse, well that had always been one of her best physical attributes, she felt. The dress had an asymmetrical scooped-cowl neckline, a cinched bodice, and then the cowl-rouching theme carried down onto the short skirt. It layered and draped nicely over her upper thighs and concealed some of the jiggle and met at the high point of her left hip. It pushed up her breasts and made them look fantastic. And just for a cheeky nod, she pulled on sheer black thigh-highs before slipping into her heels. The heels had been a gift from Fleur for her last birthday and were charmed within an inch of their lives, so the wearer felt like they were walking on clouds all night.

Hermione grabbed her clutch and shoved her wand, muggle ID, her muggle wallet, lipstick, breath mints, and her mobile phone into it, pleased with her undetectable extension charms. She also tucked a pair of flats inside and a cardigan just in case. “Alright, Hermione Granger. Remember, you are still a young, attractive woman!” she finished her little pep-talk.

------

Rigel was sitting in the family room in his nest of pillows and blankets watching the telly while his dad sat with him with his nose in a book on the couch behind him. He was rewatching one of his favorite films, “Shrek,” and could practically recite it from memory at this point. He talked along with Shrek, “I don’t care what everyone likes! Ogres are not like cakes.”

“Just how many times have you watched this one, pup?” Padfoot asked.

Rigel shrugged and responded, “It’s my favorite. Shrek’s accent makes me laugh.”

“I’m sure yours would make him laugh too,” Padfoot teased.

“I don’t have an accent,” Rigel mumbled.

“Everyone has an accent, pup. You just can’t tell when you’re surrounded by people who sound the same as you,” his father said. “You ever notice how Uncle Moony sounds a little different than Auntie Dora?”

“Oh, yeah!” Rigel beamed and hit the pause button on the little telly remote he was holding so he wouldn’t miss any of his favorite film. “Do people have different accents because of where they live or because of who teaches them to speak? Do you think Teddy will sound like Uncle Moony someday?”

He watched his dad put down his book to give him his full attention and it made something warm tingle in Rigel’s chest. Then Sirius faced him head-on. “You’re a curious kid, huh?” His dad sounded amused. Rigel took it as a good sign. “Well, I reckon it’s a little of both. And your accent can even change over time. But kids usually develop their speech patterns based on where they live in the world and who they spend the most time around. Kids learn by mimicry.”

“What’s ‘mimicry’?”

“Copying. Kids watch and learn from the world around them,” Sirius explained.

“Oh. I guess you’re right. Thank you, Mister Padfoot,” Rigel said, and his dad’s eye twitched like he was upset about something. Or maybe like his feelings were hurt. Rigel didn’t know which it was, but he hoped it wasn’t because of something he did. He turned around to continue watching his film when his dad spoke again.

“Hey, pup?”

“Hm?” Rigel turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“You can just call me ‘Padfoot’ if you like,” his dad offered.

That warm feeling spread in Rigel’s chest again and he smiled up at him and nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Padfoot. I will.”

His father smiled back at him, and he noticed how it made the skin by his eyes crinkle. Rigel had the passing thought that he liked his dad’s smile and wanted him to smile more. He wanted to call him ‘dad’, but maybe the man just wasn’t ready. Rigel could learn to be patient. He wasn’t always the best at it, but he would try for the chance to get a dad.

------

The sound of thunking came from the direction of the stairs and both wizards turned around in time to see Hermione step beneath the open archway. Her eyes fell on Rigel where he sat wrapped in his nest of pillows and blankets, and she held up her arms and did a little twirl. “Well, what do you think? Will I do?”

Sirius’ was sure all of his neurons stopped firing simultaneously because his eyes were glued to that witch in her little black dress that fit like a glove. Sweet Salazar’s rod, was that what she’d been hiding underneath all those oversized tee-shirts, raggedy denims, and scuffed up muggle trainers?

“Wow, Mum, you look so pretty!” Rigel bounced excitedly on his bum.

The witch blushed prettily and smoothed her palms over the flare of her hips. Wider since he last saw them – held them, even. And sure, she might have a little more meat on her bones, but Sirius had always preferred his birds well-fed. He was relieved for a moment that Hermione Granger had never possessed a talent for legilimency and hoped she hadn’t learned in the past ten years because his mind was racing with thoughts of the most impure nature imaginable. She had an amazing rack, and now that it wasn’t covered by a terrible bathrobe, he could appreciate the constellation of freckles across her clavicle and the long silver necklace that just kissed her cleavage. On a simple silver chain sat a circular, sickle-sized garnet pendant and he wondered where and when she’d got it, as it was nearly the only piece of jewelry she was wearing. It must have some emotional significance for her.

With most of her skin on display, so were what he assumed were the majority of her tattoos and Sirius had to admit, if only to himself, that he was mildly surprised there were so many. Rigel’s namesake on her left clavicle. But he also noticed that all of those he could see were muggle tattoos like many of his, and therefore unmoving. There was a phoenix in flight on her right upper thigh. He spotted a series of animal footprints – paw prints, and maybe a hoof – on her left bicep. He’d have to ask about it later. There were a series of dates in roman numerals on her right, inner forearm. He recognized the date of the Final Battle, and if he was doing the mental math correctly, what he suspected to be their son’s birth date. There were a few others, such as a pair of song lyrics that he recognized and others he didn’t. “The girl in the corner is everyone’s mourner; she could kill you with a wink of her eye” from a Sweet song put out in 1973 winked cheekily at him from the back of her right shoulder. “I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey; Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and dismay” from a Bowie song released in 1972 stood out from between her shoulder blades. He thought he spotted an Austen quote running vertically down the outside of her left thigh that read, “My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me”.

Well, damn Kitten, he thought to himself. He thought he might have a new hyperfixation.

The dress was molded to her curves, and when she gave a little twirl and their son applauded, Sirius was busy appreciating her other… assets. She was a petite witch, at least compared to him. But the cut of her skirt, and the way her legs were encased in those sheer thigh-highs made him want to tear them off of her with his teeth. Would she be into something like that? He wondered. And more importantly, if she were, would she appreciate it coming from an old dog like him? She’d ‘appreciated’ him once before. Sirius had to shake his head to clear the brain fog even as the thought of bending over the desk he’d seen in her study lingered in his mind in stereo. Would she be a silent lover or a screamer? She had been very quiet once, long ago. But perhaps that had been a byproduct of her own inexperience and the circumstances of their coupling. Perhaps she just hadn’t wanted to wake the house. Yes, he wanted to bend her over her own desk and shag her in nothing but those thigh highs and heels. She could keep them on for him.

He nearly let out a groan but disguised it at the last second with a cough. Then he rose to his feet to greet her and hoped that the looser fit of his trousers wouldn’t expose his raging hard-on. “You look lovely, Hermione.”

“She looks like a princess!” their son agreed.

“Aww, anyone would be flattered to receive such lovely compliments from such a little gentleman,” Hermione said and moved to hug their son. She had to lower herself to her haunches in four-inch heels and a tight dress to wrap her arms around Rigel. So, when she moved to stand, she teetered a little and nearly toppled over.

Sirius was there to catch her by the elbow. “Easy there, Your Highness.”

The curly-haired witch huffed a laugh through her nose. “Thank you. And you’re sure you don’t mind watching him?”

The dark-haired wizard shook his head and pulled his hand back, stuffing them both into his trouser pockets. “Not at all. The little peanut and I are going to catch up. Have a lad’s night of our own.” Sirius turned to smile down at Rigel over his shoulder. He could tell that his son, like many only children, was accustomed to being the center of attention and thrived on it. “Isn’t that right?”

“Right! Lad’s night means no girls, especially mummies!” Rigel said, puffing out his little chest.

Hermione bit her red-painted lip to keep from laughing, Sirius could tell and then put up her hands. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I know when I’m not wanted.” At that, she turned to saunter out of the room, her hands up in front of her in surrender. But in those heels, it was more of a strut. She pulled a black, gauzy wrap and threw it around her shoulders.

Sirius couldn’t tell until the last minute when Rigel was pouting that this was a game of theirs – her bluffing that she would leave without kissing their son goodbye and their son bluffing that he didn’t care. Both of them trying to outlast the other like a game of low-stakes chicken. But in the end, Rigel caved, sprang to his feet, and cried out, “Mum, wait!” and sprinted from the room to catch her before she left.

“Ha, I win!” she crowed, and Sirius heard the sound of wet, sloppy kisses. “I love you, Peanut.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

“Now, remember the rules – don’t stay up too late, brush before bed, and don’t hurt Padfoot.”

Sirius scoffed at this. Hurt him? She couldn’t be serious… Right? Should he be worried?

Rigel gave a concerning little giggle that chilled the grown wizard to the bone and whispered loudly, “No promises.”

“No body, no weapon, no witnesses, no crime,” she chirped, then called out loudly, “Have fun, boys!”

His son returned to the room with his hair mussed and red lipstick prints all over his face. Sirius gave a loud barking laugh at the sight. “You okay, pup?”

“She always wins,” the boy grumbled and plopped himself back down in his nest of pillows and blankets. He found the remote and resumed his movie.

Sirius retook his seat and was determined to pay better attention this time. He’d said it was his favorite, after all. But he couldn’t get his mind off the fact that Hermione Granger was going out to the pub with her girlfriends dressed like that. The blokes would be dropping dead at her feet. Would she bring someone home? Did she bring dates home? He doubted she was the kind of mum who would compromise her son’s comfort and safety for a convenient shag. But Sirius couldn’t deny that the thought of it made him seethe.

By the end of the movie, the kid was cheering a dragon who seemed to be involved in some interspecies romance with a talking donkey, and the ogre – and titular character – got the girl. A princess, to be precise, who belched, beat the piss out of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, and gave up a life as a queen to live in a swamp with the ogre of her dreams. However, the message, Sirius could acknowledge, was pretty decent. And when Shrek told Fiona that she’d always been beautiful to him, the old animagus almost got misty-eyed. Almost! He looked over to see that Rigel was starting to nod off into his pillows and went to take the remote from his little hand.

Merlin. Had he ever been that small? It seemed like a lifetime since he’d last spent this much time around a child. The last one that had been a permanent fixture in his life was his godson when he’d been a mere year and a half old. Then life had fallen apart around him and gone to utter shite. But now Padfoot had a second chance, and he was determined not to blow it.

He turned off the VCR and telly, scooped up the boy – his boy; the thought alone still boggled the mind – and made for the stairs. He hadn’t thought of asking which room was Rigel’s, but he supposed there wouldn’t be that many options. After his third try, he found it on the third floor, two doors down from Hermione’s with only a linen closet between them. Sirius gently pushed it open with the toe of his boot and stepped inside, immediately surrounded by the scent of his pup. Something warm and gooey took root in his chest that had been dormant for many years. Paternal instinct. He wondered if this was how Prongs felt the moment Harry was born, or Moony with little Teddy.

The room was painted a myriad of blues, starting at a grey, pre-dawn hue towards the baseboards and got progressively darker towards the ceiling. Up on the ceiling a mural of the heavens was created, complete with well-known constellations. Sirius could pick out Rigel’s namesake as part of Orion, and there was Alphard’s star on the Hydra constellation in the corner. He spotted Leo next and tried to ignore the guilty pang at seeing Reggie’s namesake depicted there. His eye fell on Polaris where it stood out brightly as part of Ursa Minor. And there in the center was Canis Major. Sirius had no idea if it had been intentional, but it made his heart swell to think that someone, perhaps even Hermione, had made it so that he could watch over his little boy even from half a world away.

A small snore brought him back from his musings and Sirius watched his son snuggle into his chest. Was it possible to love someone he’d just met? Did he love this child already? They were essentially strangers. But Sirius thought that perhaps he might. He could love this boy. His boy. His pup. And at least within the safety of his own mind he could admit to himself that it scared him a little. He hadn’t loved anyone in a very long time – the Marauders, his brother and cousins, Harry.

He walked over to the bed and with a flick of his wrist, levitated the duvet so he could lay his son down and tuck him in. He noticed a plastic cup on the nightstand and filled it with cool water for him just in case. Then he turned out the lights and froze, looking down at his son as he rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, his soft snores starting up again. He brushed the ebony curls back from his brow and looked down at his little freckled face. He was beautiful. And to think that he had any part in creating something so pure knocked him for a loop.

Despite all the confusion and struggle and guilt of the past couple days, Sirius wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. He hoped it was the first night of many. He knew he loved his son at that moment. Sirius leaned in to press a soft kiss to his son’s temple and whispered, “I love you, pup.” Then he pulled back, turned out the lights, and made for the open doorway where he spotted Kreacher lurking. He nearly jumped out of his skin but managed not to scream and risk waking Rigel.

The house elf gestured for Sirius to follow with a wave of his hand and the wizard went along out of curiosity. They reached the other end of the hall and Rigel’s door was shut; the room silenced so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Sirius looked down at the old house elf that had borne witness to so much of his family’s fucked-up history that it was a marvel and a surprise he was still here looking after its last straggler members. “Yes, Kreacher?” he prompted, tired and impatient.

“Master Sirius, will you accept the boy?” Kreacher asked.

In his parents’ day, such an impertinent question would’ve warranted one of Walburga’s legendary ‘punishments’. For now, Sirius was just stunned the elf had it in him to ask, “I already have. If you’re asking if I’ll go down to Gringott’s or the Ministry and make it legally binding, I think his mother and I have to discuss that first.”

The house elf nodded. “Mistress Hermione is a good mother for the Little Master. Young Master Rigel is rambunctious like you were, but thoughtful like Young Master Regulus. But he is also intelligent like his mother. Young Master works hard to make Mistress happy. He can see that she is not. That she is lonely.”

“He’s a child. It shouldn’t be his job to take care of her,” Sirius thought aloud.

“It takes a village to raise a child well. But even in that village, it is still only the two of them sometimes,” Kreacher explained. “So, Kreacher is asking if you will leave again.”

“I don’t plan on it. I will stay as long as they want me,” Sirius said with conviction.

“Thank you, Master. Kreacher will turn in for the night if he is no longer needed.” The house elf headed towards the stairs.

“Kreacher,” Sirius called out.

“Yes, Master?”

“The stars in Rigel’s room – Was it Harry or Remus?” He didn’t know why it mattered so much, but he tended to hyper fixate on things at the oddest times. He always had. He had to know.

“Kreacher had shown Mistress Hermione the family tapestry when she was carrying the boy, so Kreacher suspected the truth,” the elf explained. “So, when Mistress Hermione settled on a name for the Young Master, Kreacher was stunned that she honored the Black family naming traditions. The day Young Master Rigel was born, Kreacher went to the nursery Mistress had created with her friends – Mister Potter and Mister Weasley – and put the constellations in the sky.” Kreacher shrugged and ducked his head so that his chin was touching his chest. “Kreacher wanted the Young Master to always know that his family was watching over him, no matter what. And that he was part of a family too. A good family.”

Sirius scoffed, “I think you’ve romanticized the House of Black in your old age, Kreacher.”

“The House of Black is good and noble,” the elf insisted sternly. “Master Alphard, Lady Dorea, Mistress Andromeda, Mistress Narcissa, Lord Malfoy, Young Master Regulus, Young Master Rigel, and you, Master Sirius.”

Sirius was stunned to discover that Kreacher felt this way. But he couldn’t help the tingle of his sinuses that signaled a fresh wave of tears. “I’m not a good man, Kreacher. I’ve tried to be, don’t misunderstand. But I have failed in that regard spectacularly over and over again.”

“It is never too late to start again, Master. Now you have a good reason.” Kreacher gestured to Rigel’s bedroom door before taking his leave.

Just then, a patronus of a familiar wolf zipped up the stairs and surprised them both. Even more surprising was that it was Tonks’ voice that came out of it rather than Moony’s, as expected. “Sirius, sorry if I’m waking you up, but we might need a hand at this bar. Tequila Mockingbird in Soho at the corner of Frith and Old Compton. Some chavs are hassling Hermione, and we can’t get to her so we can leave.”

Chavs? “What the bloody hell?” Sirius growled. He immediately went towards the stairs to grab his jacket and boots. “Kreacher,” he barked. “Hold down the fort, yeah?”

“Always, Master.” The house elf nodded, and he felt the wards tighten around him as he accioed his boots, tugged them on, and grabbed his signature leather jacket, already pocketing his wand and muggle wallet. 

A few hours earlier – Tequila Mockingbird

The moment Hermione walked into the bar in Soho on the arms of Tonks and Luna. Ginny had stayed at home feeling under the weather with the pregnancy. The remaining Weasley Wives were in attendance with the exception of Charlie’s wife, Saoirse, who was currently at home with one of their kids who was down with a bout of Black Cat Flu.

Angelina and Katie were at the bar already while Penny and Fleur were holding a table for them in a quiet corner. Hermione suspected the discreet use of a muffling charm for if it got too intense. They were all mums now, of course, and Hermione felt past her prime just looking around at all of the nubile young ladies in their early 20s with no responsibilities or small children waiting at home. They were the ones covered in glitter, netting, and little else except sweat dancing with abandon. Part of her envied them.

“Let’s get drinks!” Tonks leaned in to shout near her ear to be heard over the thumping bass.

An hour and several rounds of drinks later, Hermione was feeling lighter. She was dancing sandwiched between Luna and Tonks and while she adored the others, she felt like they understood her best with her oddities and ‘hang-ups’. They had them too and while Luna was technically one of the Weasley Wives as the tabloids had coined the witches who married into the large brood of Weasley sons, she would always be the kind of person who marched to the beat of her own drum. Hermione appreciated that about her friend.

The theme of the night had been ‘let’s try and get Hermione to go home with some random bloke’ but she had tuned them out or laughed them off each time, trying not to bristle at their persistence or their questions about her non-existent love life. They were all happily married, and she was, in turn, happy for them. But it only served to point out her unending single-tude. She hated to feel like one of those people who needed a partner to feel ‘complete’ and all that faff. And truthfully, when she was engrossed in her work – which she loved and felt truly fulfilled doing – and being with her friends and family, she didn’t have the time to feel lonely. But during those quiet moments late at night when she was alone in bed or in the bath with only her thoughts – or the recurring nightmares that all these years later still made appearances – for company, she wished she had someone to turn to and share.

She supposed that was the thing she envied when they’d all started pairing off. And there was nothing that happily married folks loved more than trying to play matchmaker with their single friends. Hermione was over it. “What about that guy in the blue?” Tonks said, gesturing with a jut of her chin towards a middle-aged man at the bar in a blazer, button-down, and denims. He had a bit of a gut and a receding hairline. But overall, a nice-looking face, a decent smile.

And he probably only made love under the covers in missionary with all the lights off and only after dark once the kids had gone to bed. He probably stopped every five seconds because he couldn’t maintain a hard-on. His idea of dirty talk was probably telling her how much he loved her, a small, bitter part of her mind snarled. All she’d get for her time with that one was a couple of decent dinners, sure, but underwhelming shags that would leave her feeling even more frustrated and even less desirable than if she hadn’t bothered at all. “No, thanks. I’m not looking, Tonks. I’m just here to enjoy some adult time with my friends,” Hermione said.

“Mione, you can’t win the race if you don’t run,” Luna reminded her.

Emboldened by alcohol, the curly-haired witch shrugged and whined, “I just want to be railed within an inch of my life. Gods, it’s been ages!”

Tonks and Luna exchanged a look when the music chose that moment to quiet down for an announcement at the bar, and Hermione was humiliated. She felt her face heat and she turned on her heel and nearly stumbled over herself to flee for the ladies’ room. Oh, Merlin! She should never have come out! She knew this fast life wasn’t for her. She was at home in her ratty pajamas, cozied up in the library with a good book, or playing music with her son, godson, and nephews. What had she been thinking?

She went into the bathroom and tried not to cry; she really did. She braced her hands on the sink and listened out to make sure she was alone before pulling her wand to shut and lock the door. Hermione tried to remind herself of the affirmations Katie had helped her with and met her reflection in the mirror: “You are a strong, independent woman. You fought in a war and won. You have saved lives. You have given life. And you did it all yourself. You are smart, you are driven, and you are bigger than any voice telling you that you’re not worth it. Even if that voice is you.” Hermione took some paper towels from the dispenser, dampened them with cool water under the tap, and pressed them first to her face – careful of her makeup – and then to the nape of her neck where she felt too-warm.

Her yelling about a dry spell couldn’t be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened in a pub. Hermione was determined to go back out there, hold her head high, and enjoy the rest of her night with her friends sans pressure. And she would tell them definitively to leave off with the matchmaking efforts because she wasn’t interested. She unlocked the door, stowed her wand, and made to leave the loo when she was bombarded with other ladies who’d been lined up trying to get in. “Sorry,” she said and ducked her head sheepishly as she picked her way through them.

However, what stunned her was the gaggle of young men – some noticeably too young for her – trying to get her attention. The curly-haired witch looked around thinking they must be trying to get to the women who’d been standing in line for the loo. “Who, me?” she asked, pointing a finger at herself.

“Yes, you, love!”

“Over here, darling!”

“Love, my name’s Nate!”

“Love, look over here!”

Was this how celebrities felt when they were ganged up on paparazzi? She’d thought that she’d have some measure of anonymity in the muggle world, and surely none of them recognized her as the Golden Girl here. Though she supposed she was a witch, and she’d come out in a large group with a half-dozen others. It was a possibility.

“Love, was it true what you said on the dancefloor?”

It was overwhelming with them all shouting over each other at her.

“Oi, get away from her, you tossers!” came the familiar shout of one Nymphadora Tonks using what the others liked to refer to as her ‘Head Auror Voice’.

The men cleared out at the sight of the purple-haired, combat-boot wearing woman draped in leather mumbling angrily to themselves about ‘nosy bints’.

Tonks and Luna were there with Angelina and Fleur on their heels. “Wotcher, Mione?” Tonks asked.

Hermione just shook her head. “I’m okay. They were a little pushy, but no one laid a hand on me.”

“Do you want to go?” Angie asked, her brown eyes filled with concern.

Hermione shook her head again. “I just want to have a drink – something sweet – and dance the night away with my friends with no men and no pressure.” She said this with a pointed look at Luna and Tonks and the witches ducked their heads with guilty looks on their faces.

And for a little while, it was just that – them being young and free just for the night. But then the vultures started circling again trying to edge closer to the witches dancing together. Tonks excused herself pleading a need for fresh air and Fleur took up her ‘post’ around Hermione to keep the vultures at a respectable distance.

“Try ‘zis one, ‘Ermione,” Fleur offered her a tiny shot guess of something yellow and smelling of citrus.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“Ze bartender called eet a lemon drop.”

Hermione gave it a curious sniff before she swigged it, and it warmed her immediately and zinged sharply across her tastebuds. “Mm, that’s delicious!”

“Right?” Luna called back, doing one of her own. “I think I found my new favorite muggle drink. But it’s better in smaller doses.”

“Agreed.”

A new song came on that made some of the younger crowd groan and evacuate the crowded dance floor, but Hermione doubled over with laughter the moment it came on and began jumping around to sing along with it. Some songs were lyrical masterpieces that evoked the strongest emotional responses known within the scope of human capability, and some were for lifting you up when you were down. This was the latter and it was what she needed on a night like this.

“Stacy's mom has got it goin' on.
Stacy's mom has got it goin' on.
Stacy's mom has got it goin' on.
Stacy's mom has got it goin' on!”

The others filtered over to join her – Penny, Katie and Angie – where she was twirling Luna around and watching the way the lights overhead caught in her mirror ball earrings and golden tresses. Her old friend let out her melodious laughter and soon caught onto the song and why Hermione was in stitches.

“Stacy, can I come over after school?
We can hang around by the pool.
Did your mom get back from her business trip?
Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip? You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be.
I'm all grown up now,

Baby, can't you see?”

“Muggle music is always so creative,” Angie remarked with a pleased smile.

“And fun!” Fleur called over the guitar.

But soon the girls had started singing along with the chorus and made their own replacements for their own amusement.

“Rigel’s mom has got it goin' on!
She's all I want,
And I've waited for so long.
Rigel, can't you see?
You're just not the boy for me.
I know it might be wrong but,
I'm in love with Rigel’s mom!”

Hermione spluttered and she felt her cheeks heat again. But soon she was singing along with their changes and letting the feeling of being surrounded by the sisters of her heart uplift her and lighten her heart. Who could be lonely like this?

Tonks reappeared and waggled her eyebrows while she sang along, “Rigel’s mom has got it goin' on!”

Just then, the crowds seemed to part and as Fleur spun her on her heels – bless these cushioning charms! – Hermione saw none other than Sirius Black standing there with wide eyes and a slackened jaw. Maybe it was the alcohol getting to her, but the first thought that raced through her mind was how absolutely, positively fucking edible he looked standing there in that leather jacket with his black hair loose and tousled. The speakers of course, as if it were their decision, chose that moment to blare the next bridge:

“And I know that you think it's just a fantasy,
But since your dad walked out,
Your mom could use a guy like me!”

Hermione was startled by how on-the-nose they were presently, and she heard a snort from behind her left shoulder. Tonks. She hissed at her, “What in the sugar-frosted fuck in Sirius Black doing here? He’s supposed to be watching our son!”

“Oh, so are we finally coming out and saying it, Mione?” came Tonks’ cheeky retort.

The single mother’s face flamed, and she felt her heart thundering against her sternum at the confused and irritated look on Sirius’ face. Oh, bollocks. He was angry. Well, now what?! “Please tell me you didn’t invite him,” Hermione groaned.

“I admit nothing,” Tonks sing-songed and continued to sing at the top of her lungs, her and the other girls riling up the rest of the people on the dancefloor around them to sing the song with their little alteration.

“Rigel’s mom has got it goin' on!
She's all I want,
And I've waited for so long.
Rigel, can't you see?
You're just not the boy for me.
I know it might be wrong but,
I'm in love with Rigel’s mom!”

Luna took that moment as the music softened and the outro began to lean in, to whisper in Hermione’s ear, “You did say it had been a long time since the last time you had a satisfying… encounter. Just how long exactly?”

Hermione whipped around and glared at her friend, “Luna, no.”

“Luna, yes!” Fleur called out, taking the younger witch by the hand and dancing her over towards the bar.

“Have fun,” Angie called back, pulling Penny away.

Katie looked momentarily conflicted but chose to grant Hermione privacy to make her own decisions. She might’ve been Hermione’s shrink, but they were friends and family first. Some might call it a conflict of interest, but Hermione would never have been wholly comfortable discussing her more personal issues with a stranger. A family friend would know all the little quirks and nuances that made up the complete picture of Hermione Granger.

------

Sirius stumbled into the bar fully prepared to have to get rough with some young bucks and play knight to Hermione’s damsel-in-distress, a role he’d never envisioned her embodying. But she was the mother of his child and his godson’s sister, for all intents and purposes. He wasn’t very well going to stand back and do nothing. He’d spent a good, long while already doing that. Tonks had called, and he answered without a moment’s hesitation.

The closest apparition point was a few blocks over and so he’d had to walk. And on the walk over, he’d had time to think. What would he do? What would he say? What explanation could he give for why he was essentially infiltrating a time-honored tradition like ‘girl’s night’? Would Hermione take it the wrong way – think that he was being high-handed by assuming she needed rescuing? Tonks, a fully seasoned auror, had called him directly. She wouldn’t have done that without cause, right? He stalled, nearly walking into the street and getting taken out by a lorry.

Well, bugger. Then he saw the neon sign ‘Tequila Mockingbird’. Punny. Ha. He enjoyed a good name-based pun as much as the next person. Sirius pushed his way inside and the speakers were blaring some godsawful alt-punk drivel that he recognized from a few years back. He had skipped the station whenever it had come on, listening to it full through once and having a laugh at the subject matter, before moving on.

But then the lyrics hit a little too close to home for comfort and the crowds parted. He laid eyes on her and nearly wet himself. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed, her skin dewy like she’d been dancing all night, her dress was hugging all of her curves in the most delectable way, and with those bloody heels she looked like she had legs up to here. Her red-painted lips were parted, and her head was thrown back in mid-laugh before she noticed him.

Merlin. She was stunning. When had she become such a bloody knockout?

“Probably sometime in the last ten years when she was still growing up, you dirty old mutt!” He thought he hallucinated Prongs’ voice chastising him for the lewd images racing through his mind just then.

Then Tonks came over with a swish in her hips and a smug look on her face and he knew this had to be a set-up. Sure, Hermione was getting ‘the look’ from more than a few guys, but they weren’t making a move. He couldn’t pummel a bloke for looking! Hell, he was looking!

“Wotcher, cousin?”

“You made it sound like an emergency, Dora,” he growled, getting angrier the longer he was here – the longer he was forced to confront some disturbing realizations of his own concerning the mother of his child. “Why am I here?”

“Well, only you can answer that.”

“She’s going to think I’m bloody mental, Dora.”

“You missed it, but an hour ago she shouted out so the entire club could hear that she wanted to be railed within an inch of her life because it had been ages,” Dora said, and he somehow knew it was a direct quote. His cock tightened against the zipper of his trousers, and he had to bite his cheek to stifle a groan at the imagery.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Sirius snapped.

“I don’t know, but perhaps the last time was ten years ago,” Dora suggested with a shrug and a cheeky wink before she turned to go back to their group, “Maybe you should ask and find out.”

“Dora!” Sirius called after her, but it was too late and now Hermione was staring with that adorable little pucker between her brows like she was trying to work something out she couldn’t quite understand. Wait, had he just referred to the little witch as ‘adorable’? Oh, great big bloody buggering fuck!

Somewhere, Prongs and Lily were laughing at him in the afterlife. Thanks, guys. Cheers.

Hermione did what he didn’t have the bollocks to do and strutted right up to him, hands poised on her hips and lips pursed. Even in those shag-me heels she still only came up to his chin. But she still tilted her head back and glared at him. “Sirius, if you’re here, who is watching our son?”

“Kreacher,” he blurted then rubbed the nape of his neck. “Look, can we talk somewhere a little quieter?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

She appeared to be weighing her choices before she said, “I – I’ll have to tell the girls I’m leaving so they don’t worry.”

“Oh, I think they know,” he said, and gestured to the half-dozen witches with a jut of his chin. He waved to them and several of them waved back. He pantomimed that he and Hermione were leaving and received understanding nods. Then he looked down to the little witch and asked, “Shall we?”

Chapter Text

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July 19^th, 2008 – Soho, London

Hermione followed him out into balmy summer night air and fanned herself. As a breeze passed over them, she sighed in relief. “Oh, this is lovely,” Hermione cooed as she fanned at the nape of her neck. “I didn’t realize how stifling it was in there.”

Sirius hummed his agreement and slowed his pace to walk beside her. He made sure he was on the outside of the pavement closer to the kerb and that he kept his eye on her in the periphery. She carried herself with a sinuous, loping gait that was an equal mix of animal grace and sensuality. She was at home in her own skin. He appreciated that in a woman. Nope! He had to shake off that thought and remind himself that Hermione Granger didn’t need to be ravaged by an old flame, if that’s indeed what he was. A one-night stand was probably a more apt description if he were being honest with himself. Their one night had simply had unintentional consequences for each of them and they might very well be in each other’s lives for the foreseeable future because of it. And that’s part of what he wanted to talk about. Only he wondered if she was in the right headspace to do that, presently. “Hermione?” he began, unsure how to start. “First, I wanted to apologize for showing up and cutting your night short. That really wasn’t my intention.”

“Oh, I was upset… but even I’m not so far gone that I couldn’t piece together that it was probably a set-up,” Hermione said, her words beginning to slur just a little. “However, I am relieved that at least Rigel is safe at home and Kreacher would rather die than let anything happen to that boy.”

Sirius let out a snort. “It is a surprise, the way the old elf dotes on him. But I’m glad to see it.”

“It certainly was. I remember the way he used to be years ago during the war – ‘filthy mudblood’ this and ‘shameful blood traitor’ that.” Sirius winced after each insult and hoped she didn’t notice. He wondered what had happened to all the family portraits. He would have to ask Hermione in the morning when she’d sobered up a bit. “It was getting tedious there for a while, to be honest,” she scoffed but he noticed she was wearing a soft smile. “He helped keep me sane.”

The dark-haired wizard wondered if the guilt he felt every time he was reminded of the effects of his long absence would ever fade in time. It felt like acid bile coming up after a long night out partying. And it churned in his gut unpleasantly. But part of him felt like he hadn’t quite paid the toll for this yet – for her. For Rigel. “I’m so –” Sirius began, but noticed she held a hand up to silence him.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing forever. Please,” she pleaded. “Let’s be adults about this. We made choices and they had consequences. It is what it is. But, truthfully, nothing in my life has been easy or simple since the day I set foot on the Hogwarts Express at 11. Why on earth would this be?” Hermione offered him a self-deprecating smile and a shrug.

“I would like to make it easier on you, if you’d let me,” he tried again.

“Easier, how?” she asked with a tired sigh while they crossed within the crosswalk heading towards the apparition point.

“Well, I know that tonight didn’t exactly work out the way I wanted. But I had intended to show you that I can be reliable. I can be a good father, if given the chance.”

“You’ve been here for less than a week, Sirius. It’s going to take more than one night of half-arsed babysitting to show me that you’re ready for the responsibility of being a father,” she snorted, and when she stumbled slightly over an uneven bit of pavement, he caught her by the elbow, and she smiled at him sheepishly.

“You okay?” he asked, even as he felt the blow of her words like a punch.

“I will be. Just need a shower and sleep,” the curly-haired witch said. Just then they were interrupted by a loud gurgling coming from the direction of her stomach. Hermione threw her head back and groaned, “I’m so bloody hungry. I could eat a horse.”

“No wonder you’re stumbling around,” he teased. “Didn’t you eat at all?”

“And fit it where in this dress, I ask you?” came her cheeky retort.

He guffawed. “Touche, Miss Granger. Let’s see what we can find.” His eyes tracked the places that might be open at this time of night, even in London, and landed on a Tesco’s at the next intersection. “Aha!”

Her eyes followed the trajectory of his extended arm, and she squealed. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for some crisps right now.”

Sirius smirked and leaned in, to whisper, “Careful, Miss Granger, someone might overhear and get the wrong idea.”

She scoffed, “That’s their bloody problem.”

They walked through the automatic sliding doors, and she made her way over to the hot food counter with long, determined strides. She grabbed an entire rotisserie chicken, a tray of chips and two liter bottles of Pepsi. She paid there and then swung her bag over towards an aisle with seemed to contain nothing but crisps. She secured two large bags of something called ‘Walkers Max Double Crunch Loaded Cheese & Onion’ crisps.

Then he followed her to another aisle where she snagged the largest size of chunky peanut butter they carried and a packet of chocolate biscuits and marched towards the till. Even drunk, she thinks of Rigel. There were only other late nighters like them at this time in the queue, and she tapped her toe impatiently. “If my chicken is cold by the time we get home, I’ll raze this place to the ground and salt the earth behind me.”

Sirius startled at the vehemence in her tone. Clearly, she wasn’t a happy drunk. “You’re a barrister, Miss Granger.”

“No weapon, no witnesses, no body, no crime,” she replied as if from rote.

“Is that what you tell your clients?” he teased.

“No, it’s what I tell my son and his little cousins,” she volleyed back.

He nearly choked on his tongue. And this witch was worried about him being a bad influence on their son? He could see her smirk from where he stood behind her. She was also a playful, snarky drunk apparently. After she paid for her purchases, they went in search of the apparition point he’d used to come after her so they could head back to Grimmauld Place.

But when they landed a block away, the house looming before them, Sirius steered her towards the small park across the street. “Can we sit and talk?” he asked.

Hermione cast a warming charm over her food and allowed herself to settle on a long, wooden bench facing Grimmauld. She patted the space beside her, keeping her paper bag between them like a buffer. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

He didn’t know why he was suddenly so nervous. Perhaps he was afraid she’d shoot down his idea. “I wondered if we could take the weekend – the three of us – to get to know each other again.” Sirius didn’t turn to look at her because he knew that if he did, he would lose his nerve and he needed to get this out.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I have to say I’m surprised to hear it.”

“Really?” he balked.

“Not in a bad way. It’s a very pleasant kind of surprise.” She held up her hands in surrender.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“But I worry about the impact it might have on Rigel.” He heard the trepidation in her voice even now. Even sloshed.

“I want to be there for him if you’ll let me,” Sirius said.

The silence stretched out between them for a long moment before she asked, “For how long? Until you get restless, and you have to take off and disappear again? Maybe another ten years?” Her tone wasn’t angry or accusatory this time. It wasn’t even hurt. But it was guarded, just as Remus and the others had warned him she would be.

“Hermione, come on. That’s not fair.”

“I thought you’d be the last person I’d ever have to explain to that life isn’t fair,” the witch retorted, and she sounded so tired. “I have to put Rigel first. I have to consider the effect each and every decision I make will have on him before I make it. My life isn’t only my own. Are you ready and able to make that kind of life-altering transition?”

“Well, I –”

“Let me ask you something, Sirius.” She turned to face him and looked deep into his eyes, hers glowing in the moonlight like firewhiskey in a glass. “If the roles were reversed, would you trust me with your son?”

He sat there in silence for a long time as she dug around in her bag and pulled out one of her bags of crisps, tore into it and because crunching away with little moans and growls of satisfaction.

“I’d like to think that given time, yes,” he finally said.

The little witch sighed heavily and said, “Look, I don’t want to keep him from you. I’ve always wished I could give him a proper father. It was the one thing that I could never provide no matter how hard I worked or however often my heart was in the right place.” She rolled her eyes. “But I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want him to feel abandoned or discarded. So, please understand why I’m hesitant to let you all the way in.”

Sirius nodded at her logic. “I get that.”

“But if you want the weekend, we can do that. We don’t have anything scheduled until his weekly practice on Sunday morning.”

The dark-haired wizard took a moment to organize his thoughts and explain, “I want to give him the chance to get to know me too. And to ask all the questions I’m sure he’s kept bottled up just in case he ever met his father someday.” He watched her duck her chin at this and reached out to brush his knuckles against her cheek and jaw. “Hey, no. Don’t do that. This was my fault. You were right. I was older and more experienced. I should’ve known better. I know you don’t regret him. And you’ve done such an incredible job raising him. But you should’ve had the time to live for you after the war.

“After all the years you spent fighting and keeping Harry and Ron alive. You deserved some time just for yourself. I got that. So, if there’s anything I can do now that I’m here to make that happen, I would consider it an honor. You’ve given me the chance to be a father, which I never thought I’d be. And thanks to you, Rigel won’t grow up like I did – cynical, jaded, and fucked up. He’s full of light and goodness. You did that. I can’t thank you enough.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and her gorgeous, expressive eyes shone with unshed tears. When had he noticed that about her eyes? She swallowed hard and whispered, “I guess that’s all I really wanted – to have someone acknowledge that it wasn’t easy and that I did a decent job anyway. Thank you.”

“I will tell you anytime you need to hear it how amazing you’re doing,” he said with a stroke of his thumb against her cheekbone. But her cheeks went rosy and then he pulled his hand away. “Erm, shall we head inside?”

“Yes, my feet might be going numb now,” Hermione moaned and rose from her seat, stuffing her crisps back into her large paper bag.

After her shower and a change of clothes, Hermione had put her curls up in her sleep bonnet, taken a sober-up potion, dressed down for bed, and turned down the lights. She had laid in the dark for approximately five minutes before she realized she was still too keyed up from her night out and her evening snack-run with the father of her son. Then that conversation! She had been nowhere near sober enough for it, honestly. But she was starting to realize that either Sirius Black had no tact, or they simply had the worst timing on the face of the earth. With a huff, Hermione kicked off the covers and decided to make herself a cup of tea. Maybe a snack. She had gone to all that effort to find food after the club. She might as well eat it while it was still fresh.

The curly-haired witch accioed her wand, put on her slippers, and shuffled out silently into the hall. She kept an ear out for her son for a long moment and when she could only make out his soft snores, she descended the stairs towards the sublevel kitchen. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised at all to see Sirius sitting by the large windows that overlooked the back garden. Once, a lifetime ago it seemed now, they’d sat in the same spot and confided in one another about their thoughts of the future by the glow of the hearth. She had never told anyone that it was perhaps the reason she wanted the fireplace removed from the kitchen and the entire wall blown out. Hermione hadn’t wanted those memories to haunt her every time she stepped into this room. But it seemed that nostalgia was unavoidable tonight.

Sirius was in his cups and in his thoughts, a million lightyears away with his stormy eyes glazed over and unfocused and a tumbler of firewhiskey perched on his knee. She didn’t want to interrupt him, so she quietly shuffled over on slippered feet towards the cupboards and the brown paper bag that was still sitting on the counter where she’d left it. Really, leaving messes for Kreacher. She knew better than that! The curly-haired witch made herself a plate and smiled at the fact that her warming and stasis charms had held up, so her chicken was still fresh, and her chips hadn’t gone limp and soggy. Hermione stored the massive jar of chunky peanut butter in the pantry at eye level for both Rigel and Kreacher and tucked the bags of crisps and packet of biscuits in the cupboard within reach.

She didn’t believe in being one of those almond mums like her mother had been, constantly watching, and counting her calories and offering unsolicited, passive-aggressive commentary onto family, friends, and strangers alike. As health professionals, Hermione supposed she could understand her parents’ fixation on her overall health, but it had honestly given her a very unhealthy relationship with food for many years. And then the year on the run when the trio had been practically starving hadn’t helped any.

Post-war, it was another hurdle she worked to overcome with Katie’s help. And it had been Kreacher’s persistence and Molly’s patience that had helped start the healing process in earnest while she was carrying her son. They had often reminded her that there was no right or wrong, as long as she was nourishing herself and by extension her child. Hermione worked every day since he was born to make sure Rigel had a healthy relationship with food. And the little boy even enjoyed helping her and Kreacher in the kitchen and greenhouse sometimes. Really, he just enjoyed getting messy and Hermione adored him for that, even when he was covered in mulch or jam.

She lit her wand with a dull lumos and set it down on the tabletop and took her seat, working into her chicken and chips with her fingers, a cloth serviette beside her plate and a glass of cold water to top her off. With the combination of the fresh air during their walk, the shower, the sober-up potion, and now the late-night snack she was feeling herself again. Either the light of her wandtip or the sound of her eating must’ve startled Sirius out of his daze because he turned to look at her and offered a subtle quirk of his lips that she hesitated to classify as a smile. Because why would he be smiling at her when she skulked around the kitchen in the dark, hunched over her plate like Gollum, and devoured her food with her hands? All this on top of the fact that she was dressed in an old quidditch jersey of Harry’s, her old faithful granny pants, and a sleep bonnet that, with the volume of her curls, made her look like a head of broccoli according to her son.

“Still hungry?” he asked.

Hermione nearly winced but reminded herself that he didn’t know her history with food. “Never really got to enjoy my meal, did I?” she volleyed back.

“Mind I join you?”

“Please,” she said, gesturing to the table around her.

Sirius came over and instead of sitting opposite her, he took the seat directly beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“Nah,” she said. “The house gets too quiet sometimes when it’s just the three of us. Well, four of us, now.” She didn’t tell him about the fact that even a decade later, she still had night terrors about the war. Bellatrix’s cackle. The pointed tip of a curse dagger. Greyback’s golden eyes. The leathery wings of a tormented dragon. Yaxley in the Ministry. Ron being splinched. Running through the forest from Snatchers. Dobby apparating them away to Shell Cottage. Nagini lunging at them in the Great Hall. The sound of an inhuman shriek in the Chamber of Secrets when they destroy the Cup – It had all begun to run together. But the one that revisited her on the worst nights was that tub at the Weasleys. And the feeling of that nick against her wrists. The biting sting of it followed by immense relief.

Hermione shook her head to clear the fog away before it pulled her in too deep. Only then did she notice Sirius watched her with concern clear in his eyes. He didn’t ask, but for a terrifying moment she thought that perhaps he didn’t have to because he knew. After 12 years in Azkaban, two wars, the loss of friends and family, and his horrendous childhood which she’d only gleaned bits and pieces of from Harry and Remus over the years, she imagined Sirius might have some of the same troubles with sleep. Her pulse slowed and her breathing returned to normal, so he wiped off her hands on her serviette and took a shaky sip of her water.

Soon his eyes warned as he watched her come down from an almost spiral. She pushed her plate closer to him as a sort of piece offering and he hesitated for only a moment before he took a piece with his fingers and brought it up to his lips. Hermione watched his lips close around his digits and the way his tongue peeked out to lap at the oils left behind. She felt the twisting of a coil deep in her gut that she chose to ignore. It had been a long time indeed and she wasn’t interested or prepared for such thoughts. Not about Sirius Black.

“No utensils?” he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Was this the same man who had lived in a cave off of rats as a fugitive just to be close to his godson? “Too posh for finger food?” she teased right back, not wanting to remind him of darker days.

He shrugged. “I suppose I have become posh in my old age.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Sirius. You’re not old. You’re… well-seasoned.”

He snorted into his firewhiskey as he raised it to his lips with a smirk. “Now you’re making me feel like the chicken.”

“Well, I’m sure you could go out to any pub or nightclub in the UK tonight and find more than one someone who will admit to finding you tasty,” she said with a suggestive waggle of her brows. Merlin, what was wrong with her? It was like word vomit!

He seemed surprised by her compliment but accepted it with a light chuckle, nonetheless. “You’re good for an old dog’s ego.”

“Well-seasoned.”

“Ancient.”

“Experienced.”

“Decrepit.”

“Like fine wine.”

“Like sour milk.”

They laughed together and Hermione had to cast a silencing charm over the kitchen so they wouldn’t wake Rigel or Kreacher. It felt… nice to laugh with him. To have a conversation with another adult that hadn’t seen her at her lowest points and didn’t treat her like spun sugar. After a long moment she said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… getting me out of there tonight,” she said sheepishly and popped another crisp, crinkle-cut chip into her mouth. He canted his head to one side and looked at her in confusion for a moment before she explained, “It was getting a little out-of-hand when the girls kept trying to set me up. Then those blokes outside the loo swarmed me. And next thing I know, Tonks goes and calls you. They can be pushy.”

“Have you ever told them to, I don’t know, piss off?”

“Not in so many words. I just – They’re all happily married with partners and families, and I suppose it’s understandable that they want to see everyone around them similarly situated. I suppose it comes from a good place, and all that rot. But I’m not ready for dating or anything that serious.” She watched his lips twitch, and she pointed a chip at him in warning. “Don’t do it. Not the most obvious joke. I beg you. Not tonight.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “They’re not going to stop unless they know you’re… serious about it.”

Hermione threw the chip at him, and he tilted his head back and caught it in his mouth, chewing with a smug smile on his face. “Fine, that was a good catch. Good boy.” She jested and he let out a barking laugh and pumped his fists overhead victoriously which in turn made her laugh too.

“You bought more peanut butter for Rigel,” was what he said next, and the transition was jarring.

“Y-Yes,” she said. “It’s not something Kreacher can find in the Wizarding World when he does the weekly shopping, so we tend to keep two lists on the refrigerator that allows us to keep track. I do the muggle shopping once a week. So, if there’s anything specific you’d like or need while you’re here, please just add it to the list. Either one.”

“Thank you.” He seemed to be pulling at straws because the next thing he said to break the silence was, “He must love the stuff if you have to buy that much every week.”

“Rigel’s always had a healthy appetite. Even before he was set loose on the world,” she chortled and took a drink.

“What do you expect? He’s a growing boy.” Sirius smiled.

“Yes, well, if he grows to be anywhere as big as you the boy will eat me out of house and home.” She watched his chest puff at that comment. “He was even a big baby.”

“Really?” His eyes were alight with curiosity, and he leaned in closer with his elbows on the table to absorb any nugget of information she could offer.

“Thanks to Kreacher and Molly, I was very well-fed during my pregnancy. He was nearly five kilos when he was born, which if you don’t know is well above average. And long. He’s going to be tall according to the healers and pediatricians. Thanks for that.”

He chuckled under his breath and said, “I come from a long line of very tall people, among other things. Sorry, love.”

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but he’s also quite intelligent and very good-looking,” she bragged. “I like to think I had a little something to do with that.”

“We make beautiful babies,” he said with a shrug. And she could tell that he hadn’t meant to say it but once it was out, he couldn’t very well take it back.

So, the two of them just stared at each other for a long moment before she cleared her throat and he looked away, each determined not to comment on each other’s rising color. She finished off her plate in silence before taking it to the sink and leaving with a soft, “Good night, Sirius.”

“Good night, Hermione.”

She wished he would go back to calling her ‘Miss Granger’ for all the twisting of that blasted coil in her core. Hermione hightailed it up the stairs to her room and considered another shower to cool herself down.

The next morning – 12 Grimmauld Place

Rigel woke with a spring in his step after a good night’s sleep. He had spent the whole night watching his favorite movie and spending time with his dad. His dad didn’t seem like much of a talker, but Rigel supposed that neither was Uncle Moony, and Auntie Dora liked him just fine, or Uncle Ron and Auntie Luna. Auntie Ginny did most of the talking when it came to her and Uncle Harry. Then Rigel thought about his mum and dad. If no one was going to do the talking, how were they supposed to become friends? And if they didn’t become friends, how would they learn to fancy each other? If they didn’t start to fancy each other, how would they kiss and get married and live happily ever after like in the movies?

Rigel could admit to himself that maybe basing his whole plan to get his mum and dad back together off of a Disney movie might be a stretch. They were not a prince and princess, they were a barrister and – he didn’t know what his dad did for work, actually, but he planned to find out! The point was that the rules would clearly be different. There were no animal sidekicks or musical numbers to do the romantic stuff for them. His mum and dad would have to make the romance happen themselves. Rigel wished he could be hopeful, but they hadn’t seen each other since before he was born and didn’t seem like they missed each other all that time.

The little wizard wouldn’t allow himself to be deterred! He grabbed his fluffy red towel and slippers and went to the bathroom across the hall to wash up. He wouldn’t admit it to his mum because she tended to treat him like a baby, but he missed bubble baths. He missed playing with his toys in the tub. He missed bathtime being fun instead of just another chore he had to do, like brushing his teeth, or emptying the rubbish bin. Sometimes he was excited about getting older because that meant he was getting closer and closer to going to Hogwarts, learning how to do magic, and seeing all of the amazing things that his mum, aunts, and uncles told him about the old castle. But sometimes he missed being little because he knew that soon he would have to leave, and his mum couldn’t very well come with him to school.

He didn’t like the idea of not seeing her across the table at dinner and breakfast or having her there to tuck him in at night. He would miss helping in the garden, and learning how to bake with Kreacher, or going to the muggle library with Mum and getting to pick out any book he liked. She never told him only one. It was the one thing she always allowed him to ‘spurge’ on. He thought that was the right word – spurge. Maybe not. He would ask her at breakfast. He would miss being able to ask her a question whenever it popped into his head and hearing her explain it to him in a way he could understand.

Except now he had a mum and a dad, and he would have to go to Hogwarts and leave them both behind. His dad had just got here! There wasn’t enough time! He felt like he might cry as he made sure the bathroom door was locked behind him. He flipped the switch for the vent fan to keep the room from getting all steamy and stuck his hand under the spray of the shower. He pulled back with a little squeal and adjusted the temperature immediately. Still too cold. He turned on the radio his mum always left on the far counter so it would never get wet. He still remembered his mum’s explanation about water and electricity with a shiver of fear. So, Rigel dried off his hand before he put in his mixtape that Auntie Dora had made him for his last birthday of some of his new old favorite songs.

------

Hermione was already in the kitchen making breakfast when Sirius made an appearance while Kreacher was out in the back garden weeding, watering, and pruning away to his heart’s content. The elf was actually humming to himself.

Sirius announced himself with a bright and cheerful, “Good morning.”

“Morning, Sirius,” she said over her shoulder the Ramones played low in the background. “Coffee is on the hop and tea is on the table.”

“I thought you only drank coffee,” he remarked and went to serve himself some.

“The tea is for Rigel,” she explained. “He’s been getting a taste for it thanks to Teddy and Remus.”

“Ah,” Sirius said with a knowing smile. “Moony really is the most unassuming werewolf I’ve ever met.” He thought of the massive collection of second-hand jumpers his old friend had favored back in school and the old man cardigans he’s grown into since, the corduroy trousers and the orthopedic loafers. The wizard probably still folded his socks before bed. He’d have to ask Dora.

“Remus can be scary when he needs to,” Hermione immediately came to his defense.

Sirius bristled as an unexpected wave of jealousy washed over him. “Oh, really? When?”

“When someone threatens to hurt his family, of course.” Then she added for a little levity, he suspected, “Or if someone touches his chocolate stash.”

Sirius chuckled and took his coffee mug over to the table to begin pouring in the sugar. “Where is Peanut?” he asked.

Hermione turned to look at him with a smile. “Probably up there having a concert with the shower head and hogging up all the hot water. Which is why if you want a hot shower in the morning, you’ll try and beat him to it.”

“Noted.”

“Hungry?” she asked.

The wizard was honestly surprised to find her so hospitable, but he supposed she’d always been a congenial sort. Sirius also liked to think that their late-night talks were doing some good. Little by little they aired out their grievances, giving voice to their concerns, and clearing up misunderstandings and misconceptions. There was a growing sense of hope inside him that perhaps someday in the future, maybe when Rigel was all grown, they would be able to sit around this table with their grandchildren and hold a friendly conversation. A hope that if it wasn’t the most conventional – which had never been an issue for Sirius – that they would have a family of their own that Rigel could be proud of. Noticing that he’d taken too long in his musings and left her hanging without an answer, he nodded jerkily and said, “Yes, always.”

She guffawed and it warmed his heart to hear it – a real laugh, and nothing like the polite tittering too many women used because they thought it was more pleasing to the ear. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see,” she remarked cheekily. “Is it too early for a full English?” She turned to look at him and awaited his opinion with an arched brow.

Sirius smirked. “Never too early, love. Especially not after a night of partying. Helps soak up all the alcohol.”

He noticed the pinkening of her cheeks when he used the term of endearment. It wasn’t even a term of endearment. He was a native Londoner of a certain age, and it was practically like calling someone ‘miss’ or ‘ma’am’. But she must not have thought he would use it with her. And apparently, she seemed to enjoy it. He briefly considered making a conscious effort to use it with her more often, before his conscience steered him in the other direction. He wasn’t here for that. He was here to build a relationship with his son.

“Oh, I took a sober-up before bed for that,” she said. “But my little gremlin does enjoy a good fry-up. And something tells me we’re going to need our energy today.”

The little witch always seemed to have a plan. That, at least, didn’t seem to have changed. “What’s a gremlin?” he asked.

“A campy, low-budget horror film from the 80s with problematic racial undertones, but we saw it once with Harry, Ron, and the kids at the cinema and we figured it was less likely to give them nightmares than a showing of The Exorcist. They demanded a ‘wicked scary film’,” she explained with a fond eyeroll. “Still came sneaking into my room at the end of the night saying they were scared, though.”

Sirius found himself warmed by the detailed picture she was painting of the memories she shared with the kids, their son especially. “I’m still waiting on an explanation of what a gremlin is,” came his cheeky reminder.

She scoffed and accioed what appeared to be a muggle mobile phone from somewhere in the house, most likely her room, without the use of her wand or any words. She had certainly grown more powerful since they’d last seen each other, but it wasn’t terribly surprising for someone heralded as ‘the Brightest Witch of the Age’. “Little creatures like demented Furbies that mutate if you get them wet or feed them after a certain time,” she tried to explain.

“What in the hells is a Furbie?” Sirius asked, eyes wide and full of even more questions than before.

“Oh, Rigel has one. He can show you later.”

“What?!” he balked, getting to his seat and ready to charge upstairs and protect his son from this fur baby gremlin creature thing.

“Relax, Sirius. It’s a stuffy of a fake puppet they created for the film,” she explained. “It’s a muggle film. It’s not real.”

He visibly relaxed when he heard the sound of small footfalls on the steps and stepped out of the way to avoid being mowed down by the little gremlin-tamer in question. However, the boy seemed somewhat put out when he stopped in his tracks and opened his arms as if he would wrap them around Sirius’ waist. “Good morning, Padfoot.”

“Don’t look so petrified, Sirius. He just wants a hug,” Hermione said, snickering from her spot at the stove where she was plating up the latest patch of sausage links from the griddle.

Sirius looked at her expression, her body language, taking it all in before he made a move. He had put his foot in it so far and made mistake after mistake. If she wasn’t ready for this, he wouldn’t push her boundaries. But the wizard looked down at his son, his facial features more and more familiar each day, and couldn’t resist stooping just a bit to lift the boy into a hearty embrace.

“Oof,” Rigel giggled and wrapped his arms around Sirius’ neck, burrowing into him face first. 

Sirius found himself getting choked up in that moment as he took in the scent of his son, his pup. Chocolate, something citrusy which must be his soap or shampoo, and something that was an interesting amalgamation of Hermione’s scent and, well, his. Sirius had a brief moment where his mind wandered off on a tangent of curiosity and wondered if Moony scented Teddy in the same way. Was there just an animal part of them that could pick their pup out of line-up by smell alone? He wrapped his arms tight around his boy and tried to resist the tingling in his sinuses that indicated he was moments from crying. “Good morning, pup.”

He heard Hermione drop her spatula with a clatter and the older wizard set his son down and looked over at the mother of his child who was watching them with wide eyes. Her brown eyes were shining with unshed tears and while little Rigel looked at the both of them with confusion and concern evident on his face, the boy asked, “Mum?”

Hermione removed the pan from the heat and fled the room at a brisk clip, a hand clamped over her mouth and murmured, “Pardon me.”

Rigel looked after her for a long moment before he turned to Sirius and asked, “Padfoot, did I do something wrong?”

“No, pup. She’s – She’s going through it.”

“Through what?”

“I’m afraid it’s likely my fault she’s upset, though I don’t know why.”

Rigel’s brow puckered like he was angry for the briefest moment and Sirius wondered if there was something that preceded square one. But his appetite and attention span distracted the boy long enough for him to take a big whiff of the delicious scents coming from the stove and he asked, “Is breakfast done?”

Sirius blinked slowly before leaping into action. Breakfast. He could handle breakfast. He was a 48-year-old man. And feeding one’s child seemed like one of the basics one should learn if one wanted to be considered a parent worthy of the name. “Let’s see where your mother left off.” He approached the stove and looked around for the spatula she’d been holding moments ago, realizing that in her rush to leave the room she must’ve taken it with her Merlin knows where.

The sunny side up eggs were still half-cooked and rapidly cooling in the pan. The platter of sausage links was most likely headed in the same direction. Sirius pulled his wand and hit the protein with a warming charm and brought it over to the table. Then he tossed out the abandoned eggs and decided he would start over himself. “Eggs, pup?”

“Yes, please.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Coming right up.” Sirius went into the refrigerator and pulled the carton of eggs out to crack them into the cast iron skillet over the stove, grabbed an oven mitt and fresh spatula from the cannister sitting on the counter by the stovetop, and went to work.

Rigel bounded over to the stove and startled Sirius when he set up a step stool for himself and stood beside him, shoulder-to-well, hip. “Mum usually puts salt, black pepper, garlic powder, and paprika in the eggs so they have good flavor,” he chirped, and beamed up at Sirius. The boy clearly took after his mother in that regard, she was a helper. And she could never resist getting involved, even as a child. Hells, it was because of her sticking her nose into someone else’s business that he had escaped Fudge, the Dementors, and avoided being carted off to Azkaban all those years ago.

“Where does she keep the spices now?” Sirius asked.

Rigel pulled open a drawer to his left and plucked out the one’s he’d named earlier, setting them on the counter within reach of Sirius’ free hand. He’d have to remember where they were for next time. And then he was struck by the thought that he’d even considered there might be a next time. That it had happened so naturally. That his brain had made that leap without any hesitation at all. He would stand in this kitchen and cook for his son again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week or a month. And he wasn’t terrified at the prospect. It seemed like such a little thing, but Sirius had never nourished his child before. It suddenly grew to be so much bigger than it was.

Sirius watched the eggs sizzle, two for each of them. He would allow Hermione to prepare hers to her preferences if and when she came back down. For now, he would make sure their son was fed and distracted enough not to fixate on that look on her face before she’d fled the room. “Alright, plate?” he asked.

Rigel jumped off his little step stool, snatched up his plate from the table, and scampered back over in no time flat, holding up his plate to Sirius who slid the eggs from the skillet onto the ceramic. Then the boy walked carefully back to the table while Sirius plated up his own eggs and restored the spices to their proper place. Then Sirius levitated over the rest of the fry up to the table – bacon, sausage, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, beans, and toast.

He took his seat and summoned the pot of coffee so he could refresh his. “Mum loves coffee too,” Rigel said, trying to make conversation.

The older wizard chuckled at his attempt. “Most adults do, pup.”

“Why? I tasted it once from Mum’s cup when she wasn’t looking. It tasted gross!” Rigel gagged dramatically.

“It helps wake us up and keep us awake for hours when we have things to do and not enough time for sleep,” Sirius tried to explain. “It’s the caffeine.”

“Caffeine keeps people awake?”

“Mhm. And it’s in your tea too,” Sirius said. “Less concentrated, but yes.”

Hermine came back in moments later and stopped in the doorway when she saw them sitting at the table eating together. “Welcome back, love,” he greeted her politely, mentally kicking himself when he saw that rush of color in his cheeks again. “I didn’t want your eggs to get cold, so I didn’t make yours. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, sorry, yes. Thank you. That’s fine,” she stammered, seemingly unable to pick a response and follow through with it. “I ran off with the spatula too.”

“That you did.”

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’m being silly.”

“We all have our good days and our bad days, love. That’s just being human.” He offered a shrug and a soft smile that he hoped came across as reassuring.

The witch went back to the stove to quickly prepare her own eggs, and she opted for an omelette. He would store the information away for later. She’d been making sunny side up when she ran off. Seemed that’s how Rigel enjoyed his, based upon the rapidly clearing plate in front of the little boy. Sirius also preferred them sunny side up with the yolk just a little runny so he could dunk his toast – His eyes lingered on the way that his son did the same.

Hermione turned to the table with her own plate in hand and took a seat beside Rigel, cattycorner to Sirius. “Is it good, Peanut?” she asked.

Rigel nodded at her, his cheeks full, and his eyes bright. “Mhm,” he hummed and shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

“You don’t need to store up food for winter, love,” she said, and gently poked one of his full cheeks.

Their son let out a little growl that made something inside Sirius warm all over with pride. Perhaps it was the part of him that was the animal. Padfoot. She had raised him to be tough as well. A little fighter. Yes, a true Gryffindor through and through. Sirius tucked in to his breakfast and enjoyed the warmth at that table.

------

Hermione didn’t know what had her in such a funk that morning. She slept well for the first time in weeks. She’d got a full six hours, even! Perhaps it had been the lingering dreams when she’d shot up in bed that morning of Sirius whispering filthy praises in her ear, of his arms wrapped tight around her, or the sound of his grunting her name as he pounded into her. It had been part memory and part fantasy melded together into some sort of fever dream, most likely exacerbated by the fact that the length of her dry spell was hitting record highs these days.

She needed to get properly shagged. Dicked down until there was a Hermione-shaped indent in the mattress wherever she ended up with this faceless, nameless mystery lover. But having the man under the same roof going with her on late-night, post-club snack runs, making small talk over firewhiskey in the dark, telling him about her pregnancy or some of her favorite memories of Rigel… it was all far too intimate far too fast. They were strangers! They might’ve known each other at one time (in the biblical sense, as her mother would’ve said), but that wasn’t really ‘knowing’ someone. And that was a decade ago.

But then he surprised her by asking for a chance to form a connection with Rigel. He’d asked for the weekend and in her semi-drunken haze she’d foolishly agreed. What had she been thinking? Did that mean just the three of them alone with no human buffer? She’d started panicking when Peanut had come sprinting into the room and thrown his arms around his father. The sight of them, arms locked around each other, and Sirius on the verge of tears had almost undone her. He probably thought she hadn’t seen, but she had. And it had tugged at something in her heart – it was that old guilt, like somehow she’d been the one responsible for taking Rigel’s father from him. It was foolish and Katie would tell her as much if they were in the middle of one of their sessions. But she couldn’t help it.

They were so alike. Molly had observed the way they carried themselves, their food preferences, even the way they ate their food and then saw fit to tell Hermione all about it. For strangers, it was baffling. Hermione began to grow paranoid and raced out of the kitchen before she could have a breakdown in front of them both and make a scene. But she’d raced up to the nearest toilet, thrown up strong locking and silencing charms, and allowed her knees to buckle beneath her while she hyperventilated and had to talk herself down from a panic attack.

Sirius wasn’t here to take her son away from her. He would never do that.

Rigel still loved her. And he wouldn’t hate her when he learned the truth.

Their son was an intelligent boy and more than that, he had a strong sense of empathy and emotional intelligence. He might not understand all the reasons she had for telling white lies just yet, but Katie was right. Someday he would.

Hermione was afraid of all the questions. She was afraid about having all her bad decisions placed under a microscope. But most of all, she was afraid of her son losing faith in her. She raised a shaky hand to wipe away her tears and released she was still gripping the spatula tightly and had probably scattered bits of egg on the stairs on her way up here. Merlin, damn it all. She pushed herself to her feet and went to the sink to press cold water to her face and try to bring down the splotchy redness that was already spreading because she’d been on the cusp of frustrated, anxious tears.

She gave Sirius her word. She’d give him the weekend and the opportunity to tell his side of things. She could do this. “You can do this, you daft cow,” the curly-haired witch chastised herself before straightening her spine and turning for the door.

By the time she’d reentered the sublevel kitchen, she’d been mildly surprised to find her boys at the table enjoying their breakfast. A record scratched in the back of her mind – ‘her’ boys? She tried to ignore the possessive pronoun and decided she’d unpack that later. Hermione chose to focus instead on the fact that he’d made Rigel’s eggs perfectly and the boy seemed to be devouring them. When she looked over at Sirius’ plate, she noticed, however surprising as it was, that he preferred his eggs the same way. Well, bugger.

She tried not to let the little things bother her as she nibbled at her omelette, her appetite having vanished. But it was difficult not to be a little greedy. For the longest time while she’d had to share her son with his various aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, at least she had been his one and only parent. Her word on his upbringing was final. Uncontested. And Hermione worried that she wouldn’t know how to share the reins with someone else. Would Sirius challenge her on every little thing and end up driving her barmy? Would she ever be able to trust his judgment without throwing his leaving back in his face? She wanted to be fair. Of course, she did. But she looked at Rigel and his father and saw just how alike they were. And part of her, a small part, snapped that it just wasn’t fair!

“So,” Sirius broke the silence to make conversation, “any plans today?”

Hermione shook her head. “We have some errands to run locally, but other than that our schedule is wide open, Mister Black.”

“Mum, why do you call him ‘Mister Black’? Aren’t you two friends?”

“Hmm, I guess because we haven’t seen each other or spoken in a long time, Peanut. It’s like becoming strangers all over again,” she explained.

“You should shake hands and become friends again,” Rigel suggested. As if it were so simple. Perhaps in the mind of a nine-year-old, it was.

She was surprised when Sirius extended his hand to her across the tabletop, his eyes slightly narrowed, daring her to rise to the challenge, and his lips quirked up ever so slightly. Was he trying to call her bluff? “Very well. Have it your way, Peanut.” She took hold of Sirius’ hand and felt something almost like static electricity pass through them. His fingers flexed around hers and she felt every callus, every scar, and the warm of his palm pressed against hers so that she could just make out his pulse. “Nice to meet you again, Mister Black. My name is Hermione Granger.”

“Likewise, Miss Granger.” His voice was low and raspy, his gaze direct and unflinching.

“You may call me Hermione.”

“And you may call me Sirius.”

“Good, now be friends,” Rigel chirped.

Hermione chuckled and shook her head as she went back to her breakfast, her appetite somehow restored if even a little. “Yes, sir, Mister Peanut, sir.”

“Now, back to my question – what errands would those be?” Sirius asked.

Hermione gestured to the muggle grocery list on the fridge door via magnet. “We have to go do the weekly shopping if you’d like to join us.”

“Yes!” Rigel fairly bounced in his seat, and she tried to rein in her body’s physiological response to the idea of the three of them together doing something as mundane and domestic as grocery shopping. Sirius wasn’t going to make off with her boy in the middle of Sainsbury’s!

“Alright, let’s leave in half an hour,” Hermione determined once they were all done eating and she’d waved her wand to send their plates, cups, and utensils to the sink for washing. “We’re going to walk to Sainsbury’s so put on your comfortable trainers, not those combat boots Auntie Dora bought you!” she called after her son who was already sprinting towards the stairs.

“Aww, but Mum!” Rigel whined.

“It’s too warm for dragonhide leather boots anyway.”

“Fine.” He stomped the rest of the way up the stairs to his room to get ready.

Sirius simply smirked and asked, “Is he always like that?”

“Oh, I think he’s just feeling brave and showing off because we have a new face in the house,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Though I’m not looking forward to finding out once he hits the teen years.”

“Oh, allow me.” The dark-haired wizard surprised her by stepping around her and beginning to wash the breakfast dishes by hand.

“Thank you. I’ll just… go get ready, then.” She pointed to the stairs before taking her chipped, handleless coffee mug upstairs with her.

An hour later – Sainsbury’s, Camden Town

Rigel was perched on the end of the trolley, holding on with both hands, while Hermione pushed the vehicle with precision. Sirius had been made the Keeper of the List, but he suspected it had just been meant to make him feel important.

“What’s next?” the witch asked.

He’d been momentarily distracted from his vantage point by the view straight down the front of her lilac sundress. Sirius shook his head to clear away the lewdly meandering train of thought and referred to the list. “Oh, erm, eggs, yogurt, milk, mozzarella cheese, parmesan cheese,” he recited, noticing that she even tended to organize her shopping list by aisle.

“Dairy aisle, Mum!” Rigel called out.

“Which way, Peanut?”

“Uh… oh! Right at the end of this aisle and then three over towards the big chillers!”

“Freezers, love.”

“Freezers,” Rigel mulled the world over as if tasting it and then leaned in, to whisper, “Muggles are so clever since they don’t have magic to keep things cold or hot for them.”

“They have to think outside the box, for sure,” Sirius agreed, and he spotted Hermione trying to conceal a smile. Was that pride? He knew she took pride in making sure their son was just as educated and familiar with the muggle world she was born into as the magical one he was. Sirius was surprised at the flare of warmth that knowledge caused, that she might approve of him.

“Maybe their minds are their magic,” Rigel posited.

“That’s a good way to think about it, Peanut.”

“What are you planning to make for dinner?” Sirius asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as they swept through the dairy aisle like they were on a mission. Each time, Rigel climbed down off the back of the trolley to grab something at his mother’s precise directions.

“Coq au vin. Have you ever had it?”

“Yes, at a place in Marseilles. The sunset on the harbor was gorgeous with all those boats coming and going,” Sirius mused aloud. “Still the best I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I won’t try to top it.” She chuckled as she looked at the list he still held in his hands. “But it is one of his favorites. Mostly because it has not only chicken, and I also throw in an entire package of bacon on top of that. One thing you will learn about Rigel quickly is that he’s a bit of a picky eater. But, surprisingly, he likes this.”

“Wonder where that comes from,” Sirius mused, then asked, “Were you a picky eater as a child?”

She shook her head. “No. But my parents were both health nuts to the extreme. Very little sugar in our house growing up. As you can imagine, the meals at Hogwarts were a revelation.”

“Oh, I agree.”

“What about you?” she asked, turning his question back on him and he was honestly surprised she wanted to know.

The dark-haired animagus shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t really have the option. My mother wasn’t like you. She prepared the weekly menu in advance, and catering to children who may or may not be picky eaters wasn’t high on her list of priorities. She made sure that the menu was nutritious and worthy of a refined palette so we wouldn’t grow up to embarrass her at dinner parties.” Hermione was quiet for so long that he looked down at her to see her brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought and struggling not to speak. But the suspense was killing him, so he asked, “What are you thinking?”

As if his question lowered the drawbridge, she replied swiftly, “That your mother sounds like a terrible person and a worse parent.”

Sirius blushed. “Yes, well, it doesn’t take a mind as brilliant as yours to deduce that, love.” Bugger. He’d done it again.

Now she was blushing and nibbling on her lower lip. It made something warm and wicked tighten in his groin and he wanted to tug that lip free and run the pad of his thumb over it. “What’s next on the list?” she asked, pulling him from his musings.

“Chicken thighs and thick-cut bacon,” he read off her organized list dutifully just as Rigel came running over with his little arms full of yogurts and two pre-packaged bags of shredded cheese.

“Butcher aisle, next,” Hermione announced, and Rigel hopped back onto the back of the trolley before they took off. She sent Rigel off with Sirius in tow to grab bacon while she went to the butcher counter to get her chicken thighs.

“What kind of bacon do you like?” Rigel asked while looking back over his shoulder at him.

“Oh, I’m not picky about bacon, pup. All bacon is good bacon,” Sirius replied, but for his bravado all of his attention was on the sensation of his son’s small hand clasped in his, still so soft and little. Had he ever been that small? He must’ve been, because at only 11 he had been on a train to Hogwarts and made the best friends he’d ever made in his life. Well, most of them – He forced himself to focus on the present.

“…tell Mum that all the time, but she’s a little picky when it comes to ‘quality’,” the boy said and put his nose up in the air, imitating his mother’s crisp RP accent that she slipped into whenever she was trying to impart some piece of information to those around her.

“At least you know she cares, pup.”

“Of course, she cares. Mums have to care,” Rigel said with a shrug and released Sirius’ hand to find his preferred cut of bacon.

Sirius’ mind snagged on the naivete in his son’s words. If only Rigel knew that not all mothers were like his – knew how blessed he was to have someone as loving and attentive to his wants and needs as Hermione Granger. How different might Sirius’ life have been with a mother like her? How different might he have been?

“Got it,” Rigel chirped and grabbed up a large package of thick-cut bacon, turning to make his way back towards his mother where she stood waiting in line at the butcher counter. She was just being handed her plastic-wrapped chicken thighs and thanking the butcher when Sirius and Rigel made it back to her.

“Perfect timing, gentlemen,” she said to them. “Anything else on the list?” She looked to Sirius at this.

He looked at her list. “Nope, looks like every –”

“Snacks!” Rigel called out, interrupting them both. He jumped back onto the trolley and gripped tight, staring his mother down. The two of them seeming to be making a contest of it, and when she blinked, Rigel threw his head back with a howl that was almost reminiscent of Moony during the full moon, and crowed, “I win!”

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled.

Sirius sidled up next to her, stuffed the list into his trouser pocket, and asked, “Do you routinely lose staring contests to a nine-year-old?”

“Nah, but it makes him feel good about himself and I’d never take that away from him,” she confessed with a sneaky smirk as they headed off to where the biscuit aisle first.

One thing Sirius made note of what that while Rigel might take after him in many things, especially in physical appearance, he shared many personality traits and preferences with his mother. In this instance, it was their shared affinity for sweet snacks. Sirius, himself, preferred salty ones. By the time they reached the queue, their cart was loaded up with sweet delicacies – chocolate-dipped pretzel rods, raspberry- and cinnamon apple-filled paczki dusted in powdered sugar, and little chocolate truffles they were already calling dibs on between them. It felt intimate to see them this way, unguarded in the way that they would be with close friends or… family. But he liked it.

Later that evening – 12 Grimmauld Place

All in all, it was a pleasant, comforting meal, and he wouldn’t admit it to her, but it might just be on par with the coq au vin he’d enjoyed in Marseille. However, Sirius wondered how much of that had been colored by the fact that he’d spent the day with his boy and watched them laugh, play, and cook together just so he could enjoy a home-cooked meal with them in their house. Their house. It sounded so odd to think it, even though technically it was true.

But once they’d all retired to, funnily enough, the family room after dinner, Rigel hadn’t wanted to play with his board games or watch the telly, he seemed to have his heart set on interrogating Sirius, asking him about everything from his favorite meal to his favorite color, the date of his birthday, to the best place he’d ever traveled. Rigel seemed to be alike to his mother in that way too – the part of them that was insatiably curious.

“Mum says when I’m older, Uncle Charlie has permission to take me to the dragon reserve in Romania to visit the place where he used to work.” Rigel beamed. “I can’t wait! Did you know that Uncle Harry had to fight a dragon once?”

“Your Uncle Harry is spinning yarn again,” Hermione said with a fond eyeroll. “He flew away from that dragon and then came back to steal its egg.”

Rigel pouted. “What about the dragon in Gringott’s? That was real, right?”

Hermione turned sheepish and looked away to mumble, “Unfortunately, that one was very real. And not something I wish to ever repeat if I can help it.”

Sirius chuckled, remembering the story well and how livid he’d been at the time. Now he was just amazed at all their luck and what his godson and his friends had managed to survive and achieve during the war. “I heard about this,” he remarked.

“Isn’t it wicked?!” Rigel cheered. “My mum is the coolest!”

“I couldn’t agree more, pup.” Sirius looked at her when he said this and was pleasantly surprised by the way he could make her blush. “Remind me again whose idea it was?” he teased.

“T-There were extenuating circumstances, and it was a split-second decision that might’ve turned out very badly for us!” she said, eyes flickering between Sirius and Rigel.

“You guys broke into and out of Gringott’s, Mum. No one else has ever done that,” Rigel said.

“I heard that she also broke into the Ministry with your uncles,” Sirius piled on, enjoying his son’s excitement. “Twice.”

“What – really?!” Rigel’s eyes were comically large.

Hermione got up from her seat and said, “It was dangerous, and you are never to do what we did. Do I make myself clear? We were young and foolish and trying to be braver than we were.”

“Mum, I don’t know if you realize how bloody brilliant you guys are,” Rigel chirped, bouncing in his seat. “How many people can say that their parents have their own chocolate frog card?”

Sirius chuckled at her rising color. “Oh, come on, Hermione. You’re his personal hero.”

“Yes, well, I’m honestly surprised that he can still be shocked with all the stories his aunts and uncles have filled his head with,” she murmured, rising to go to the loo.

Sirius was left with his son who clambered up onto the couch beside him and asked, “Did you fight in the war?”

“Yes, I did. And the one before.”

Rigel’s brows furrowed. “We learned about the wars in school, you know. I know that we’re still too young, so the teachers aren’t telling us everything. But Uncle Harry and Ron and Mum were all fighting in First Year. That’s not that much older than me.”

“That’s true,” the elder wizard conceded. “But they only did that because they had no other choice. And I think given the choice, they would’ve preferred a peaceful childhood where they got to be young and carefree like you lot.” Sirius had years to think about it during his travels, and Harry and wrote to him often to explain to him what he’d been learning with his mind healer post-war. How it had helped him to speak to someone about his demons and his trauma. Many of his generation had, no doubt. But Sirius had mused that while his years post-Hogwarts had been a nightmare, at least the majority of his school years had been idyllic. His godson and friends hadn’t gotten that luxury.

“Mum goes to Auntie Katie’s office sometimes to talk about her feelings or her bad dreams,” Rigel said. “And she says it makes her feel better afterwards to get it all out.”

“Smart lady, your mum.”

“Did you see a mind healer after the wars?” Rigel asked.

Shite. This kid was going directly for the nitty gritty. “I didn’t. I took the time to travel and be by myself, get to know myself and that helped me. Everyone heals differently, I suppose.”

The boy just nodded at him like he understood. And Sirius thought he might. But then Rigel shocked him by asking, “Is that why you were gone for so long?” Sirius felt like they were toeing the lie of a much deeper conversation, and that Hermione should be present for it.

“W-Well, like I said, I had to take some time to get away and get better,” Sirius explained and pointed to his temple, “Up here,” and then at his heart, “and in here.”

His son’s face went contemplative and sad. “I’m sorry,” he said in a little voice.

Just then, Hermione wandered back in and noticed the tension in the room and the stricken look on their son’s face. “Peanut? Love, what’s wrong?” she asked, cooing softly before she glared at Sirius.

“Erm, he started asking questions about my time away,” Sirius began, and she must’ve misunderstood because she blanched and gasped.

“And you thought it was a smart idea to tell a little boy about the horrors of Azkaban?” she snapped.

“What – no!”

“Azkaban?” Rigel asked, his eyes landing on Sirius who wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He was mortified. It was clear that none of them had ever had that talk with the boy. And it pained him that he might have to see the look in his pup’s eyes change to one of pity or horror. “I… was in Azkaban for a long time, pup.”

“Sirius!” Hermione hissed at him in warning.

“You bloody brought it up, woman!” he snarled back at her.

Realizing what she’d done, she put a hand to her mouth and plopped down on the couch beside their son so that Rigel was sitting in between them. “Oh, Merlin… I didn’t think –”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” Sirius grumbled.

“I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“Don’t you start too.” He took a deep breath and explained the very bare bones of his story, that he’d been betrayed by a good friend and blamed himself for the deaths of Harry’s parents. That self-blame was misconstrued as true guilt, and he was locked away without a trail until he escaped. The last of his tale was enough to bring that familiar light of curiosity and thirst for adventure back to Rigel’s eyes.

“You escaped Azkaban?” the boy gaped.

“Well, it’s not quite as impressive now as it once was, but yes.” Sirius scratched at his stubbled cheek sheepishly.

“Mum, he’s almost as amazing as you.”

Hermione huffed a breathy laugh through her nose and remarked, “You have quite a way of looking at the world, Peanut.” The witch seemed to have found her courage again because she straightened her spine and said, “Rigel, love?”

“Yes, Mum?”

“Padfoot and I have something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” she began and looked to Sirius for his tacit permission, almost.

Well, fuck. It seemed it was a night for revelations, and they’d be having the dreaded Talk now.

------

Rigel tried to focus but it felt like his mind was racing in a million different directions at his mum’s words. He’d been so excited when she’d told him they would be spending the weekend just the three of them. He’d wondered if this was it – was this their way of getting him ready to spill the beans? But now that the moment might finally be here, he had so many questions his head was starting to hurt. So, instead, Rigel tried to focus on three.

Three hoops in quidditch.

Three lights on a stoplight.

Three questions for his dad.

He could do this! Rigel would be sorted into Gryffindor someday. He could feel it in his bones.

“Padfoot and I have something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” his mum said.

He nearly shouted it, “I know he’s my dad!”

The two adults seemed taken aback by the volume of his outburst. But he’d been holding it in for days and he thought he might explode.

“W-What – How did you –?” his mum stammered and then her lips pressed into a flat line, and she guessed, “You overheard us talking in the kitchen.”

Rigel felt guilty all of a sudden. He knew he shouldn’t have been listening in on adult conversations, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He simply nodded and waited to see how much trouble he’d be in.

“Well, what all did you hear?” she asked softly.

The grey-eyed boy blinked at her owlishly in surprise. Was he not in trouble? “I heard Padfoot say I was his son too,” he admitted and watched that pinchy look appear on his mother’s face. “I always wondered what it was like to have a dad, and I wanted to know more about him, Mum.” Then after a moment he asked, “Are you angry?”

His mum reached out to brush his curls back and the touch soothed him. “No, Peanut. I’m not angry. And it’s perfectly natural that you would be curious.” She took a moment to find the words to ask, “Do you have questions? Sirius wanted to talk to you about this and answer any questions you might have.”

Rigel turned to look at his dad and the man looked sad, but there was something else Rigel didn’t have the words to express yet. Instead, he took the moment to softly ask, “Why did you leave when you found out about me?”

His dad could’ve walked away or shut him down or even refused to answer. But he held Rigel’s gaze and answered truthfully, “I didn’t know you were on the way, pup. You were a surprise to both of us.”

The boy’s brows furrowed, and it came back to the question he’d had for Granny Molly. Where did babies come from? He felt like he was missing the centerpiece in a puzzle and none of his other questions would be answered to his satisfaction without it. Rigel decided he would circle back to it later and asked, “Didn’t you want to be my father?”

Padfoot looked over his head this time towards Rigel’s mum and then replied, “I didn’t know at the time, but to be honest, I don’t think I would’ve been a very good father. No. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t done my healing yet.”

Rigel nodded. He could understand that. Whenever his mum was having a bad time, she usually always felt better after a visit to Auntie Katie’s office. She did her healing by talking it out. His dad did his by getting away and having alone time. “Didn’t you love Mum and want to stay?” he asked, his voice tiny and afraid of what his father’s answer might be.

“Bollocks, this is harder than I thought it’d be,” Padfoot said, and Rigel looked up at him in surprise.

His mum took over at this point. “Look at me, Peanut, and listen very carefully. Your father and I were both hurting after the war, and – and the night you were made we were each looking for peace and comfort. Some kind of love.” She took a moment and asked, “When you have nightmares and you come to my room because you know you’ll feel less afraid after a cuddle, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It was the same for us. We were both in pain, and looking for someone else to hold us when we had no one else.” His mum’s face was afraid again and a little sad, but at least the pinchy look was gone. But now that gaping hole in his understanding was front and center.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Peanut?”

“I have another question.”

“I’ll do my best to answer.”

“The other day when I was at the Burrow, I asked Granny Molly where babies come from because something she said didn’t make sense,” Rigel began and watched his mother’s cheeks turn pink and she her eyes got really big. “Granny Molly told me once when I asked that only married people who love each other very much can have babies. But that still doesn’t explain how. And it doesn’t make sense if you and Mister Padfoot aren’t married and didn’t really love each other.”

His mum looked over at his dad and Sirius cleared his throat and asked, “Do you really want me telling him this?”

“Not really, but I can’t do it,” his mum replied.

“And he’s just going to keep asking,” his dad said.

The way they completed each other’s thoughts reminded Rigel a little bit of how Uncle Fred and Uncle George talked when they were excited about a new invention and bouncing ideas off of each other. The others called it ‘twin-speak’, and Rigel observed that perhaps mums and dads could learn to do it too.

His mum added, “Just keep it clinical.”

“Right, fine,” his dad agreed and looked down at Rigel. “I think what your grandmother forgot to mention is that unmarried folks can make babies too. And, no, they don’t have to be in love. When you get older, you will learn more about how adults’ body parts can fit together. Sometimes that leads to a baby because, almost like Kreacher’s greenhouse, men’s bodies produce seeds and if planted inside a woman’s body, it can become a baby. You grew inside your mother’s belly until you were ready to be born.”

“Oh, I know about that part,” Rigel said.

“You do?”

“I overheard Auntie Gin talking to Auntie Luna and Granny Molly about it taking ages with Albie,” he said.

His mum started coughing like she’d choked on her tongue. “I might need to have a little chat with your grandmother,” she growled.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Peanut?”

“If you’re not married, do I still have a dad?” he asked. He knew what answer he wanted. But he needed it to be clear.

“Yes, love. Married it not, it doesn’t change the fact that Sirius is your father,” she said with a bright smile and looked over his head to direct that smile at his dad. “And he wanted to have this talk with us because he really, really wants to get to know you. He wants to be part of your life. But we want to know what you want, Peanut. Are you okay with this?”

Rigel launched himself at his mother, tackling her onto the couch so that she ended up flat on her back. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” He burrowed his face into her chest the way he had his whole life because it was where her scent was strongest, and he’d always found it comforting.

“Oof! Peanut, I love your enthusiasm, but I think you dislodged my lung,” she rasped and ran her fingers through his curls. Then she whispered to him, “Why don’t you hug your father?”

Rigel nodded and with a mischievous grin, scrambled up off of her to climb into his dad’s lap. He sat there perched on the man’s knee – this man who was still a stranger in so many ways – and looked up into his eyes which now he knew were the same as his. He sat and whispered, “Can I call you ‘dad’ now?”

Padfoot released a breath that Rigel hadn’t known he’d been holding and scooped the boy up into his arms, holding him tight. Rigel looped his arms around his father’s neck and squeezed him back. He felt his dad breathing in the scent of his curls before he asked, “Can I call you ‘son’?”

“But I thought you liked ‘pup’?”

“You will always be my pup and my son.”

Rigel felt his eyes and nose prickle like he might cry and sniffled to try and stem the tide. But he lost that battle and started whimpering into his dad’s chest.

“Oh, bugger. Hermione! I think I messed up,” his dad said.

“What – why?” his mum asked.

“He’s crying.”

“Honestly, Sirius. Kids cry. It’s perfectly natural. Hells, if more adults had a good cry more often, maybe the world wouldn’t be so full of repressed arseholes,” she mumbled.

“Mum?” Rigel pulled back from his dad’s chest to ask.

“Yes, Peanut?”

“What’s an arsehole?”

------

It was remarkable how much Rigel resembled a younger Regulus or even Sirius as he sat there between his parents with his little feet tucked up underneath his bum, and his hands in his lap – wringing the hem of his tee-shirt, which he’d noticed was a nervous tick he must’ve learned from his mother. However, the resemblance in that moment went beyond the physical, when Rigel looked up at Sirius with his large, doe eyes and asked, “Why did you leave?” and “Didn’t you want me?” It was heart wrenching to look into his boy’s eyes and know that once he’d felt similarly about his own parents. His soul echoed his son’s sense of loss, fear of rejection, and that longing for acceptance. For love.

And all Sirius could say time and again was that he didn’t know. He didn’t know. He’d been kept in the dark. And he wouldn’t deny that he was a bit bitter and resentful of Hermione and the others for it, for denying him this. Or perhaps for believing that he wasn’t ready for the responsibilities of being a parent. Hermione had been half his age when she’d done it! And granted, she’d had a village around her to help. Rigel had turned out great as a result. But Sirius wouldn’t deny, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that it stung a bit to realize that they’d all kept this massive secret from him and deprived him of an experience that might’ve been wonderful for him. And then Sirius realized how selfish that train of thought was – to think of this tiny human as a crutch he might’ve relied upon to heal him. Perhaps they’d all been right to keep him away. He’d done his healing elsewhere. And Rigel hadn’t had to contend with a broken father who might’ve in turn broken him.

“Didn’t you want to be my father?” Rigel asked in a small, hurt voice.

Sirius chanced a glance over their boy’s head at his mother for silent support. He didn’t know what to do – what to say to make this hurt less. So, he went with his gut like he always had. “I didn’t know at the time, but to be honest, I don’t think I would’ve been a very good father.” He heard the tiniest gasp from Hermione and tried to refrain from looking at her because he wanted to focus on his son. “No, I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t done my healing yet.” And perhaps it was selfish because while he’d been off ‘healing’, Hermione and all the others had been here doing theirs. All while celebrating the milestones of their lives – weddings, babies, graduations and promotions, anniversaries and funerals alike.

Rigel surprised them further by asking about love. The ever-elusive, often misunderstood notion of ‘love’. Sirius had felt it before, for friends and family, sure. But that romantic kind of life, like the kind Prongs and Lily shared where they just knew they’d found their match – their ‘person’ – No, Sirius hadn’t ever been that fortunate. And after a while, with so many years of his prime sacrificed in one way or another, and so much baggage on his shoulders weighing him down, Sirius had come to accept that perhaps it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Plenty of people found fulfillment in their other passions – careers, charitable endeavors, hobbies, etc. And now Sirius was on his way to building something real with his son. He had his friends and family, and a chance for more. A legacy to leave behind someday. He’d never lacked company in that way when the itch presented itself for scratching. But Rigel would have to come first. That’s what a decent father would do, right? Reorganize his priorities and make a plan for how to move forward. Hells, Hermione could give him a few pointers, he was sure!

Hermione had come to his rescue then, for the thousandth time in his life. And it forced him to think back on all the other times.

The night they all met in the Shack. What a shitshow that turned out to be!

She and Harry had gone back in time to save him from the Dementors.

In the Death Chamber at the DoM, she’d sent a tripping jinx at his mad cousin so her killing curse went askew and hit one her fellow Death Eaters instead.

She’d never come right out and said it, but Sirius suspected she’d shielding him from more than one rogue curse that day on the battlefield.

Their night together that followed when he’d felt so hollow and hopeless when she’d managed to rekindle smoldering embers in his soul.

And finally, letting him go off without any strings attached and not calling him back in all the time he’d been away even though it might’ve been easier for her to do so with their son and all.

He was sure there were many other such instances, small and unnoticed, where her presence had made a difference. But in this moment, those were the ones that stood out to him. She had given him this – a whole, tightly-knit, complete family by choice and somehow invited him to be part of it even after years of absence. Hermione Granger. Thank you.

But then their little boy had shocked them all by asking the million-galleon question: ‘where do babies come from?’ Sirius had watched Hermione’s face go ashen like she was extremely uncomfortable, and he couldn’t blame her. So was he.

“I asked Granny Molly where babies come from because something she said didn’t make sense,” Rigel began.

Oh, bollocks. How could she screw this up? The woman had birthed an entire quidditch team, for Godric’s sake! Surely, this was the one topic she’d be likely to have a bloody mastery in after all this time. Sirius watched Hermione’s face flame red, and her eyes got huge in a way that was reminiscent of their son. Then something occurred to him. Perhaps they hadn’t had that talk yet. It came across as strange to Sirius because from his earlier memory, Orion and even Kreacher had explained the mechanics of sexual intercourse, at least as far as being a tool for reproduction was concerned. After all, he’d been raised with the understanding that someday he would be the heir to his house and title and part of his specific duties would be to marry and continue the direct line. But as he looked at Hermione’s face, which now read as ‘embarrassed’ and Rigel’s wide doe eyes, he understood that they hadn’t raised him at all like Sirius and his brother had been raised. The way that many purebloods were.

“Granny Molly told me once when I asked that only married people who love each other very much can have babies,” Rigel went on and Sirius’ urge to wring the aging witch’s neck increased with each nonsensical word he was subjected to. He might’ve found this hysterical if it wasn’t happening to him! “But that still doesn’t explain how.”

Sirius could see Hermione’s face turn impossibly redder in his peripheral vision and he felt for the witch, of course, he did. He couldn’t imagine having to sit through this talk with Walburga, no matter his age. And now Rigel was going about it methodically like a young Hermione might’ve done once upon a time. He had to commend the boy. He was clever, and his reasoning was sound. Molly had really screwed them over, though, by filling the boy’s head with that nonsense. He’d always known her to be somewhat of an old-fashioned, conservative sort, but this was beyond the pale.

“And it doesn’t make sense if you and Mister Padfoot,” his son went on, and he wanted to wince at the formality of that bloody ‘Mister Padfoot’ moniker again, “aren’t married and don’t really love each other.” Check and mate. The boy had them there. Now what?

Sirius felt put on the spot and looked at the mother of his child to ask, “Do you really want me telling him this?”

“Not really, but I can’t do it,” she confessed.

Meanwhile, their son’s head whipped back and forth between them as if he were watching a tennis match. “And he’s just going to keep asking.” Sirius relented, knowing full well that any child of his, combined with the genetic material of the Brightest Witch of the Age, would have endless curiosity and the tenacity to keep hammering at that nail.

“Just keep it clinical,” Hermione advised.

He could do that. Just the way he’d been taught. Right? Then he thought of an analogy might play better and save them all a lot of mortification and time. He thought back to the renovations of the back garden and Kreacher’s vegetable patch and an idea came to him. “I think what your grandmother failed to mention is that unmarried folks can make babies too. And, no, they don’t have to be in love,” he began. Sirius didn’t want to throw Molly Weasley under the bus because she’d been good to his kid and his godson to boot. And he owed her for that, if nothing else. “When you get older, you will learn more about how adults’ body parts can fit together.” He thought he heard Hermione choke on her own saliva but decided to trudge ahead. “Sometimes that leads to a baby because, almost like Kreacher’s greenhouse, men’s bodies produce seeds and if planted inside a woman’s body, it can become a baby.” There, that wasn’t so terrible. Still accurate, but none of the nitty gritty he was sure Hermione had preferred him to avoid. “You grew inside your mother’s belly until you were ready to be born.”

“Oh, I know about that part,” Rigel chirped, chest puffing out a little bit and Sirius briefly wondered if he’d ever looked like that at school.

“You do?” Hermione balked while the redness in her face began to recede so that she no longer resembled an ornery tomato.

“I overheard Auntie Gin talking to Auntie Luna and Granny Molly about it taking ages with Albie,” he replied.

Sirius thought he might faint. He was a grown wizard. He had never fainted before. At least not in a very long time. He thought perhaps the last time might be the day his godson was born.

“I might have to have a little talk with your grandmother,” Hermione growled. Had he been hearing right?

Then his son was holding him, and he was able to embrace him in the full knowledge that they were father and child. He breathed in the scent of his dark curls and never wanted to let him go. Rigel cried in his arms and asked to call him ‘dad’. Not ‘father’, but ‘dad’. Sirius felt the sudden urge to weep as well. He peeked over Rigel’s head at Hermione and saw her watching them with a hand pressed to her heart, a soft smile tugging at her lips, and her eyes fairly with emotion. Merlin, she was lovely. He had to tamp down those thoughts and think about Rigel instead.

Much later that night – Back Garden

After Kreacher had scuttled off to his boiler room and Hermione had retired for the evening citing an early start the next morning, Rigel and Sirius were left to their own devices. Sirius wondered if his son had a bedtime and should’ve asked, but he assumed that Hermione was making exceptions this weekend and he was secretly thankful for how amenable she’d been with him so far. He only hoped he could show her in time that he was here for the long-haul and would be a good, reliable, present father to their son.

Sirius had gotten the idea from Harry of all people when he’d written to his godfather about the year they’d been on the run hunting horcruxes. But he summoned Hermione’s old tent from the depths of the old house and erected it in the back garden with a wave of his wand. Now he laid on a cot parallel to Rigel’s, both of them looking up through the roof of the tent which Sirius had charmed to be transparent, at the stars. He didn’t know how Hermione had managed it, but somehow though all the pollution around London, she’d cleared just a tiny bit away and given their son the heavens.

“There’s me!” Rigel chirped and pointed a finger at this namesake.

“You’re right.”

“And there’s you!”

Sirius chuckled at this enthusiasm and mused that perhaps this was another thing he’d inherited from his clever mother – that demonstrative intelligence, or perhaps it was simply Sirius’ tendency to show off. “Can you recognize any others?” he asked his son. There was a time when Walburga had drilled him and Reggie this way and Sirius wanted this experience to be softer, more patient and kind than his astronomy lessons had been.

“There’s Alphard. I was named after him.”

“He was my favorite uncle,” Sirius shared and turned sideways to look at Rigel’s profile.

“Uncle Harry is my favorite,” Rigel shared. “But don’t tell Uncle Moony. Or Ron. Or Fred and George. I don’t want to hurt their feelings. I love them too. But Uncle Harry just gets it more. What it’s like to be just you. I love my family. But sometimes it’s just me and Mum. And Uncle Harry knows what that’s like more than the others.”

Sirius nodded his head. “He’s become a good man. I’m proud of him.”

“That one is Orion! I think he was my grandfather,” Rigel said.

“He was.”

“Was he a nice dad?”

Sirius weighed his words carefully, not wanting to traumatize his son, but not wanting to lie to him either. “He was strict. He was set in his ways. I think he cared about his family in his own way. But it wasn’t always what we needed. Sometimes I just wanted him to look at me and tell me that he was proud of me.” These were things he had barely shared with anyone before, with the exception of the Marauders and Reggie. But now he and Moony were the only ones left, and Sirius felt lighter to share this part of him with someone else.

“Oh,” Rigel said sadly. “He sounds like a tosser.”

Sirius barked a surprised laugh. “Yeah, son. He was.”

“That one is Regulus,” Rigel went on.

“He was my little brother,” Sirius said. There was a time when the mere mention of Reggie might’ve sent him over the edge of fury or sadness wrapped in regrets. And when he’d seen Reggie’s namesake on his son’s ceiling, that old pang had ached in his chest like an old wound. But it had been a long time, and Sirius had made his peace. He only hoped that Regulus, wherever he was, was watching him now. Maybe Reg would get a kick over Sirius making an arse of himself in front of his own kid.

“What happened to him?”

“He died, son. He was very young when it happened.”

“Did you have a funeral?”

“My parents did. I wasn’t invited.”

“Why not? He was your brother!” Rigel gaped and Sirius saw a bit of Hermione’s fire in him, that righteous indignation on behalf of others when they’d been wronged. Already their son had it. A Gryffindor through and through, Sirius thought with pride.

“I wasn’t close to my parents at that time. They wanted me to stay away,” Sirius explained.

“Then your mum was a tosser too,” Rigel grumbled and crossed his little arms.

“That she was, pup, that she was. But she’s dead now too, so I don’t have to worry about her opinions of me.”

“Oh! I know another one,” Rigel chirped. “That one is Andromeda, like my auntie!” He beamed with a proud smile.

“Technically, she’s your second cousin, but yes.”

“I have a second cousin,” Rigel gasped and let out a happy squeak. “Do I have anymore?”

Sirius nodded and began pointing out stars of his own. “That one there is Nymphadora, the one your Aunt Dora is named after. She’s your third cousin and my second cousin.”

“Wicked. More!”

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” Sirius retorted cheekily. “Draco is named after that one.”

“Mister Malfoy?”

“Yes. He’s your third cousin as well,” Sirius explained, and it felt good in that moment to be teaching his son something. “That one there is Scorpio that Draco and Astoria’s son is named after.”

“Oh, I know another one,” Rigel said, his voice dropping low like he had a secret he wasn’t sure he should share.

“Which one?”

“Bellatrix,” Rigel pointed out and then put his hands over his mouth and looked sideways at his father.

Sirius’ stomach dropped. Shite. “She was also my first cousin – Andromeda and Narcissa’s sister. She was the oldest.”

“She was a bad witch,” Rigel let out a little growl of his own that was reminiscent of his mother’s. Sirius was still curious about that and would have to ask later. “She hurt my mummy.” It was the first time Sirius had heard the boy use ‘mummy’ rather than ‘mum’. But perhaps it was that part of him that was small, young, and afraid.

“I heard about that, son. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there because I never would’ve stood by and let her,” Sirius vowed.

After a long moment, his son remarked, “Auntie Andi and Auntie Cissa don’t talk about her very much. But one time they did say that the House of Black needed sprucing up. I think that’s why they work so hard on the school. They wanted to show that they’re good. Not like their family.”

“It’s a noble goal,” Sirius remarked, curious and fearful of where this might go.

“Is the House of Black bad?”

“At one point, it was. Yes. And they want to make it better – make it good again.”

“Am I a ‘Black’? Am I bad too?” Rigel asked as his lower lip started to tremble.

Sirius shook his head emphatically. “Never. You could never be bad. Even if you are my son, you’re still Hermione Granger’s son and she’s always been good. Truly good in her heart. I see that in you, and it makes me proud.”

“I’m proud of you too… dad.”

The older wizard had to blink back tears for the second time that evening before he said, “Come here,” and lifted the edge of his blanket to his son.

Rigel beamed at him and clambered down from his cot to slip into his father’s. Sirius held his son against his chest and banded an arm securely around him. Reggie, Uncle Alphard, Prongs, Lils… if you’re watching this, thank you. Walburga, Orion, if you’re watching this… I plan to be so much better than you were. Fuck you. Those were some of his last thoughts as he drifted off to bed with his pup snuggled up against him, his little fingers fisted in Sirius’ undershirt and the sound of his soft snores giving Sirius peace.

July 21^st, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

Sirius was wakened by the sound of a throat clearing and the scent of fresh coffee. “Morning, sunshine,” came the now-familiar voice of Hermione Granger, and she sounded amused.

He blinked his eyes open and hissed, immediately shutting them against the bright sun that was beaming down on him. “I must’ve forgotten to reverse the transparency charm before we fell asleep,” he mumbled.

“You must have because you’ve been lying in the bright sun for over an hour now and you resemble a lobster I had for dinner once,” she teased.

Shooting up in bed, he gasped, hands immediately going to his face. “Oh, Merlin! Please, no.” He winced at the pain that was already setting in.

Hermione chuckled. “You’re lucky we have magic. You should’ve seen Rigel when he wandered inside to find the bathroom a little while ago.” She took a seat on the cot parallel to his and waved her wand overhead to reverse the charm. “Kreacher came down to get breakfast going and about rushed him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Oh, Godric, Rigel!” He swung his legs out of bed and made to race inside and check on their boy.

But she caught him with a hand on his chest and said, “He’s fine. But he’s very fair, so I constantly stock up on suncream, aloe, and potions of my own making to combat sunburn. I’m old hat at this.”

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, and only then did he notice that she was still touching him, albeit through a cotton shirt, but still, he could feel the warmth of her palm. “Hermione?” he murmured, raising his gaze to hers.

She blushed and pulled her hand back. Then she rose to her feet, tucked her wand back into her curls, and sauntered out of tent, calling over her shoulder to where he still sat stunned, “Come inside so we can get you sorted. I have a potion and a fresh pot of coffee with your name on it.”

He felt his lips twitch without his permission like they might tug upward into a smile. No. Stop that, you foolish old man.

------

Rigel watched as his mum slathered aloe over his dad’s face and Padfoot tried not to scrunch up at the feeling of it. “It feels gross, doesn’t it?” he asked his father.

His dad nodded while his mum finished up and chastised, “Well, that’ll teach you both to sleep outside with no protection from the sun. You had a tent, for Merlin’s sake.” She straightened up from where she’d been stooped between his dad’s knees and went to the sink to wash her hands. “Now, drink that potion and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all. The aloe is just to soothe the burn in the interim.”

“Mum, who’s in charge of lunch and snacks today?” Rigel asked from the table where he was sitting on his knees and shoveling cereal into his mouth.

“I think it’s Ron and Luna’s turn, Peanut.” She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and turned to face him with an apologetic grimace.

He threw his head back and let out a low groan. “Ewwwww.”

“Okay, drama queen. We’ll just be sure to pack something a little extra for ourselves, hm?” his mum suggested with a raise of her brows. “What are you in the mood for? And don’t say magical toasties.”

Rigel pushed out his bottom lip into a pout and then asked, “Can we put chicken from last night into sandwiches?”

His mum smiled at him and nodded. “We sure can. Now I’ll pack some snacks for us, and you finish up. Be sure to drink your milk.”

He nodded back and put down his spoon, grabbed his Power Rangers bowl in both hands, and tipped it back into his mouth with a loud, long slurping noise. When he was done, he licked up his milk mustache and climbed down to take his dishes to the sink.

His dad was laughing at his antics, but he didn’t feel like he was being made fun of. More like when his mum told Uncle Ron that she was ‘laughing with him, not at him’. Rigel liked his dad’s laugh and his smile too. He wanted to make him laugh and smile everyday if he could.

“Sirius, would you mind helping him pack his kit?”

His dad got up and said, “I can manage that.”

“Oh, dad!”

“Yes, pup?”

“Are you coming with us to practice?” Rigel asked.

Sirius look over at Rigel’s mum and answered, “If your mother says it’s okay.”

His mum froze for a moment and then smiled down at Rigel and asked, “Peanut, can we have a minute to chat in private? Would you go get a head start on packing your bag?”

He didn’t like being left out of adult talks, but if this meant his dad might come to watch him, then he would allow it. Rigel nodded, “Okay. Don’t take too long.” He looked at his father with raised brows the way he’d seen his mum do when she was daring someone to challenge her word. But when his dad just laughed, he assumed it hadn’t been as effective when he did it. Maybe Rigel was still too little for it to work.

-----

Hermione watched Sirius standing just within the doorway while she gripped her mother’s favorite mug in her hands, trying to think of how to broach this topic. She didn’t want to offend him. She thought that in the past few days, they’d reached a tentative truce between them and didn’t want to risk ruining the progress they’d made towards an amicable coparenting situationship. This was mature. This was adult. She could do this. “We haven’t really discussed what we would do out in public in our world if people started asking questions about Rigel and us.” She gestured between them.

“Well, it’s really none of their business, but seeing as we’re two very well-known public figures, I guess such luxuries as privacy are a rare commodity,” Sirius said.

“You’d be right.”

“I don’t want to make trouble for either of you. But I would like to be there – to be a present father in my son’s life.”

“And I appreciate that, I do. But those mums can be a little, I don’t know, judgmental? Prudish? Uptight?” she began nervously listing off adjectives.

“If you’d rather I sat this one out,” he said, even though it disappointed him to do so, “I could sit with Harry or Moony instead. Even the Weasleys, or Andi and Narcissa. I mean, it’s no secret that I’m related to them.”

She nibbled at her lower lip and recalled the excitement on her son’s face when he’d asked Sirius to come. “You know what? Screw them and their opinions. Our son wants you there, so you should be there.” Hermione offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She watched him perk up like a puppy and had to keep from laughing at the sight.

“Alright then, I’ll go help our son pack his kit.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to the counter and spotted Kreacher coming in from the garden with a basket of fresh vegetables levitating behind him.

“Good morning, Mistress.”

“Good morning, Kreacher.”

“Is the Master joining you and the Young Master today?” the house elf rasped.

Hermione just nodded stiffly. “Rigel asked him. I couldn’t very well say ‘no’. He had that excited look on his face and Sirius makes him so happy, I just –”

Kreacher shook his head and climbed up on Rigel’s stepstool to begin washing carrots, potatoes, and cucumbers. “Mistress does not have to explain herself to Kreacher. Mistress is a good mother to the Young Master. She puts her needs after his. If only old Mistress did that for her sons. Might’ve turned out better for the House of Black.”

The curly-haired witch was surprised by the insight Kreacher was offering. “Thank you for saying so, Kreacher.”

The house elf nodded and his large, drooping ears flopped. The two worked in companionable silence while she brought out and warmed the coq au vin from the night before with a flick of her wand to prepare three sandwiches on ciabatta bread. She packaged up some fruit salad in a Tupperware container, grabbed some forks and paper serviettes, some biscuits and chunky peanut butter, and a juice pouch for Rigel. She prepared coffee thermoses for herself and Sirius, remembering that he preferred his black with plenty of sugar. Once this was prepared, she placed them into her magically extended purse and went to find a jacket and shoes so they could set off.

A little while later – Catchpole Pitch

“I love Ron and Luna, I do,” Hermione said to Sirius as they stepped through the floo, “but I don’t know how she nourishes those babies of hers when she’s constantly foraging for nuts and berries and fucking mushrooms.”

“Mum!” Rigel chastised her.

“I’m sorry that I said ‘fuck’. But we’ve retired the swear jar, so…” She shrugged her shoulders unapologetically.

Sirius let out a loud, barking laugh.

-----

“Mione!” Ron and Harry waved her and Rigel over in tandem and the latter was pleasantly surprised to see Sirius arrive with them.

“Morning,” Hermione said, covering her mouth just before she let out a massive, jaw-cracking yawn. “Merlin, excuse me.”

“Come on, we’re all over here today,” Ron chuckled and gestured to the pack of Weasleys already settling in their camp chairs, some having erected what looked like beach umbrellas to protect the gingers from the sun. Still, Ginny and the Weasley Wives were all slathering their freckled offspring with suncream or hitting them with strong charms to guard against sunburn and UV rays while they were on the pitch.

Harry was pleased to observe that Sirius had elected to carry his and Rigel’s camp chairs. The three of them set up beside Harry and Ginny, with Ron and Luna on the other side of the growing Potter clan. Once she’d set her chair down, Hermione hugged Harry and Ron before she leaned in to kiss Ginny’s cheeks so the pregnant witch wouldn’t have to get up. Harry loved how she was with his wife. The two witches having known each other for years had grown closer as they’d experienced motherhood together and it was sweet to see.

Rigel hugged Harry around the waist and whispered to him excitedly, “Uncle Harry, Uncle Harry!”

“What is it, boy?”

“I have a dad,” Rigel stage-whispered and looked sideways in a very unsubtle manner at Sirius where he was setting up a camp chair for himself.

Harry couldn’t help chuckling at his godson’s excitement. It was so much like his godfather he didn’t know how he didn’t see it before. “I see that.”

“And he’s here for my practice just like all the other dads.” The little dark-haired boy was bouncing on his toes with excitement and Harry’s heart ached for the things that were left unsaid.

How bereft must this little boy have been for years over the absence of such a vital figure in his life that the mere presence of his father could light him up like this? Harry had tried – they’d all tried to be there for Rigel and fill that gap in his little world, but apparently it hadn’t been enough.

Harry lifted his godson into his arms and snuggled him tight. “You just remember who was here first.”

Rigel smiled at him and took his face between his hands. “I will always love you, Uncle Harry.” Then he leaned in, to whisper, “You’re my favorite.”

Harry didn’t even think he was one of his own kids’ favorites, often tense and still riddled with the residual traumas of a childhood like his. He knew that after the war, even though he’d joined the Auror Corps with Ron, that he preferred to live his life out of the spotlight now. He knew that after a while, the media stopped coming around because they must’ve deemed him ‘boring’. So, to hear it from his godson that he was his favorite made his heart swell with pride.

“You’re also one of my favorites.” Harry pressed a quick kiss to his crown of ebony curls and set the boy down. “Now, go make sure those laces are done up proper so we can get this practice started.”

Once Rigel was out of earshot, Ginny turned from Hermione to ask, “What was that all about?”

Harry shook his head. “He’s just so bloody excited about Padfoot being here.” He watched Hermione’s smile tremble. “What’s wrong, Mione?”

“Rigel was so excited this morning that I couldn’t very well refuse him,” Hermione explained. “But I – I’m nervous.”

“About?” Ginny asked.

“About the others,” Hermione confessed. “You know how they can be.”

“They don’t know you and their opinions don’t matter,” his wife said firmly, taking hold of her friend’s free hand.

“I know that. I keep telling myself that I don’t care. And it’s not about me. I’m worried about Rigel.”

“If they put a toe out of line, we will kick them out,” Harry warned.

Hermione just shook her head. “No, don’t do that. It’ll just make it worse.”

“Will you let us help and take care of you, for once?” Gin asked.

The curly-haired brunette shook her head and smiled to herself.  “Fine. But I need to have a word with your mother.”

“Molly, why?” Harry asked.

“Rigel asked us last night about where babies come from,” Hermione hissed.

Ginny bit her lips to muffle a laugh, not at all successful. Harry blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, crikey.”

“Exactly. Sirius really saved my arse there, so I’ll have to thank him for that later,” Hermione mumbled and stood to approach Molly.

“Thank him how?” the redheaded witch asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Gin, stop.” Harry put a hand over hers.

“Need I remind you that’s what started all this mess in the first place?” came Hermione’s exasperated retort. “No, thank you.” She turned to go towards the elder Weasleys.

Ginny cupped a hand around her mouth and called out, “You’ll get back in that saddle eventually, Mione, and when you do, I’m gonna give you a big, fat ‘I told you so’!”

The Weasleys, Lupins, Potters, and even Andromeda Tonks all stopped mid-conversation to gawk and Harry watched one of his best friends turn scarlet and dash off. Harry swatted at his wife’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he hissed.

“Ow! Merlin’s balls, Harry. What?” Gin yelped, rubbing at the spot.

“You called her out in front of our entire family and basically implied she needed to get shagged,” Harry whispered.

“Well, she does.”

“That’s her decision to make, Gin. And you’re not helping like you think you are by constantly reminding her of what you think is missing in her life.” He locked his gaze with hers and dared her to question him.

His wife’s face turned sheepish, and she ducked her chin. “Blimey, I didn’t even – I should apologize.”

“No!” He clamped a hand over her shoulder when she tried to push her feet. “Just… let it be. Give her some time to simmer and then talk to her about it later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, trust me.” Harry scoffed. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant or she might’ve hexed you already.”

“Bloody hell.”

-----

“What was that all about?” Sirius sidled over to where Moony and his cousin were sitting with their boy Teddy, Rigel on his heels. The boy was stuck to his side since the night before and while it thrilled and excited Sirius, it also made him nervous. Now he would have to be responsible for an entire other human being. He would need to talk to Moony and Dora about how they dealt with the pressure. Although he was sure that the nine months in utero probably helped parents-to-be greatly with mental preparation.

“Perhaps you’d like to ask your cousin here,” Remus remarked, and Dora immediately flushed and ducked her head.

“I messed up, okay? But in my defense, I was also sloshed,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender.

“Is this about the nightclub the other night and the false alarm with the patronus?” Sirius asked for the sake of clarification.

“Yes,” she murmured sheepishly.

Sirius felt a tug on the leg of his trousers and looked down to see Rigel looking back up at him. “What’s a nightclub?”

Teddy looked over too, his eyes wide and curious.

“It’s a place where adults can go to dance and drink together, to have fun,” Sirius explained.

“Drink alcohol?” Teddy asked.

Sirius stole a glance at Moony who nodded his approval on the topic. Really, he wasn’t used to imparting information to small children and didn’t want to cross a line. “Yes, Teddy.”

“Uncle Fred let me taste a butterbeer once,” Rigel chimed in. “But I didn’t like it. Just the foam on top because it had chocolate.”

Moony smiled down at his son adoringly and Sirius felt warmth spread in his chest for the obvious affection there. “Well, we can make chocolate milk next time you sleepover with whipped cream on top and you might like that better,” the old werewolf suggested.

“Yes! Tonight?” Teddy and Rigel asked in tandem, the former already bouncing on his toes while Dora tried to do up his laces.

“Not tonight, squirt. But maybe next weekend?” she asked and looked to Sirius for some kind of confirmation or approval. He didn’t know the kid’s schedule or whether Hermione would permit him to start making decisions that impacted their child.

“Erm, we’ll ask your mother,” Sirius mumbled to Rigel who nodded excitedly.

“Did your mum already take care of your suncream charm?” Remus asked Rigel.

Rigel nodded. “I woke up this morning in the backyard in a tent with sunburn.”

Remus and Dora exchanged a look and then looked back to Sirius who was flushed with embarrassment. “Pads?”

“Look, it was an honest mistake. We camped out in Hermione’s old tent, and I cast a charm on the tent to make the ceiling transparent so we could look at the stars,” he tried to explain.

“Stargazing in London?” his cousin asked.

“Little witch knows a spell for everything,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Anyway, we fell asleep, and I forgot to cancel the charm, so we were sleeping in the sun for a good couple of hours before Hermione found me. The pup was smart enough to seek shelter inside the house before he could turn into a tomato.” He plopped a hand down on his son’s head and was momentarily absorbed in how it could cover the entire surface area. He was so small compared to Sirius and Moony and he felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.

“Pup?” Dora asked, a knowing grin on her face.

“It’s because he’s a dog,” Rigel chirped and lifted his hands to try grappling with Sirius.

Remus and his cousin chuckled at the childish observation and watched them interact, the former’s eyes intent and curious while the latter seemed pleased with the building rapport between them.

Realizing what he was doing, Sirius smirked and grabbed up the boy under one arm like a sack of potatoes. “See here, pup! I will not be outdone by a mere slip of a lad.” He spoke in a loud, boisterous voice which drew the attention of onlookers, and jostled his son under one arm until it drew giggles from the boy.

The sharp sound of a whistle split the air and Sirius set Rigel down on his feet. “Where’s your broom?” he asked.

“I’ve got it,” Rigel replied cheerily and turned to get his broom from where it rested against their trio of camp chairs. For a moment, the boy paused to wave at Sirius and the dark-haired wizard raised a hand to wave back.

Harry was starting their practice and had brought out a dry-erase board levitating behind him to illustrate what new plays and formations they’d been learning that day.

“You’re doing well with him,” his cousin remarked.

“It’s still so new that I’m nervous I’m gonna bollocks it all up,” Sirius confessed.

“Yes, well, mistakes are to be expected, Padfoot. It’s your first time. But kids are resilient. They just need love, support, and somewhere soft to land when they fall,” Remus told him and clapped him on the shoulder. “The rest will come with time.”

“Thanks, Moons.”

“Now, you might want to go get your witch before she tears Molly a new one,” Dora chimed in.

Remus and Sirius spoke simultaneously to her in reprimand. “Nymphadora, enough!” “She’s not my witch!”

Those seated directly around them watched with wide eyes before they went on murmuring amongst themselves. Oh, bloody perfect. Sirius went over to where Hermione stood toe-to-toe with the Weasley matriarch while Arthur Weasley tried and failed to intervene. Merlin, give him strength.

------

Hermione marched over to where her son’s grandparents were sitting in the shade of a large, brightly colored beach umbrella and enjoying some iced tea they’d most likely brought from home. They appeared so content and peaceful that for a second she nearly faltered, but then she remembered the mortification she’d felt the night before and it evaporated.

“Molly?” she said in lieu of greeting.

“Hermione, dear, you look flushed. Is everything all right?”

The brunette didn’t want to kick the hornet’s nest for she knew the Weasley temper stemmed from this particular source, and she’d beheld its fury before in her childhood. But they were both adults now and she had to say her piece. “Molly.”

“You’ve said that already, dear. What is it?” the woman who’d been like a mother to her was growing impatient with her tiptoeing.

“Rigel came to speak to Sirius and me last night, and he had some rather personal questions,” Hermione began, choosing her words with care.

“I can imagine so, but he’s at that age, dear.”

“Quite.” Hermione tightened her grip around her thermos. “He asked us about where babies come from.”

Molly blanched and gaped like a fish. “I – I – Well, I –”

“Yes, we’re now both quite aware of what you told him,” the curly-haired witch went on. “And while I know it came with the best of intentions, because you love my son like any of your other grandchildren, the fact of the matter is it just further confused him. He didn’t know how to separate fact from opinion. And I know you are conservative with regards to marriage and children and family units. But I am not. And I wished you had come to me instead of filling my son’s head with nonsense, to be frank.”

Now Molly – her mother for all intents and purposes – was going red in her frustration. “Now, see here, Hermione Granger!”

“No, Molly. I love you and your family has always been good to us. But he’s my son. And topics like this should be run by the parents so that they can make the final decision on what their children are exposed to.” Hermione took a deep breath to try and steady her nerves. She felt the other Weasleys, especially the ones who’d married into the large clan, looking at her – some in confusion, some in shock or surprise, and some with approval. She leaned in, to whisper to her mother and said, “I’ve spent the last three days in every level of my own personal hell because I was terrified of how the truth would hurt my little boy – of what he would think of me. I was petrified that he would blame me for everything that was missing in his life.”

And that softened the matriarch immediately. Molly Weasley was many things, but she was one of those people who were meant to be a parent, and she took that role – that calling – deeply seriously. Molly rose from her seat and opened her arms for her daughter, for that is precisely who Hermione had become to her after all these years.

Hermione fell into her mother’s arms and trying to refrain from openly weeping, but she buried her face in the crook of Molly’s neck and breathed in the familiar, homey scent of the elder witch – knitting yarn, dandelion grass, and freshly-baked bread. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

Molly stroked her curls and cooed over her, “Shhh, dear. It’s okay. I know I can be… pushy, at times. I thought I was making it easier on you so that he wouldn’t ask questions until he was older. I didn’t realize –”

“I know. And I’m sorry for raising my voice at you.”

“I, for one, am proud of you,” Arthur took the opportunity to chime in.

Molly and Hermione both turned to face him, the former with a chastising glare on her face and the latter trying to press her lips firmly together to keep from laughing and ruining the moment.

“Molly!” Sirius’ voice entered the fray.

Hermione clamped her eyes shut for a long moment and murmured under her breath, “Circe wept.”

Molly chuckled and raised her hands to dash away any tears that might’ve fallen from Hermione’s eyes and her own before the father of her son reached them. “Sirius, to what do we owe the pleasure?” the elder witch greeted him somewhat formally.

He looked momentarily taken aback as his stormy eyes looked over one witch and then the other. “Just…” he began, letting his words trail off as he tried and failed to come up with a believable lie.

“Did Remus send you over because he thought I needed rescuing?” Hermione asked, arching one brow at him and daring him to lie to her.

“More like a referee,” he admitted.

“Oh!” she scoffed, and her hand shot out of its own accord and swatted him in the center of his chest. It had been instinct – a kneejerk reaction from all of her years with Harry and Ron, the twins, and the other boys in her life. When a young man was cheeky, she just swatted without thinking. And since most of the men in her circle were close friends and family, they didn’t tend to mind. But one look at the surprise on Sirius’ face told her she might’ve overstepped. “Um, sorry, Sirius. I didn’t –”

He let out a deep sigh and lowered his shoulders which had been up near his ears. “It’s no problem at all. I, uh, I set up our seats by Harry and Moony if you’d like to join us.”

Hermione turned to look at Molly who was watching the pair of them with slightly narrowed eyes and a look in her hazel eyes that the younger witch couldn’t quite decipher. “Mum?”

Molly shooed her, “Oh, go on, dear. We’ll be right over here if you want to chat.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Hermione leaned into press a peck to her soft cheek and waved at Arthur before heading back with Sirius to their seats.

Harry was just stepping away from the kids to mount his own broom so they could try and run the first play they’d be learning today. The Sloth Grip Roll. It had her chewing her nails down to the quick.

The kids would learn to hang upside down from their brooms in midair. For Sirius who had once played on his Hogwarts house team, and had grown up in the wizarding world, this was nothing. Hermione, however, was just sending up silent prayers that her son’s helmet would absorb any impact if he fell. She barely refrained from yelling at Harry to keep the kids from getting too high off the ground.

“You have to relax, love.”

She turned to look at Sirius who was lounging now in his camp chair with a pair of aviator glasses perched on his nose. “I’ll relax when he’s back on solid ground,” she said with a sniff. She sipped at her thermos and upon doing so, remembered that she’d packed him one as well. Hermione went digging around in her purse and pulled out a matte black thermos just for him. “I, uh, made this for you.”

Sirius appeared to be momentarily stunned by her offering before he extended a hand to receive it from her. Then he unscrewed the lid and took a whiff before he threw back his head with a moan that was bordering on inappropriate. “Blessings on you, witch.” He turned over the lid to pour himself a steaming cup of the life-giving, caffeinated beverage.

She chuckled into her own cup and nodded, “I hope I made it right.”

He took an assessing sip, and she didn’t mean to stare, but her eyes lingered on the way his lips pursed around the rim of his cup. When he swallowed gingerly, he nodded and told her, “Just right. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said, preening in her seat at his praise and turning back to watch Rigel.

They sat in pleasant enough silence enjoying the lovely weather before he broke the relative silence to ask, “So, we all just sit here and watch them? Is that it?”

“Sometimes it’s just practice, not a match. And they’re small. Harry and Gin and the other founding members of the league though it would be safer and smarter for parents and guardians to be present in case of any injuries,” she explained.

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m honestly surprised that in a few short years, he’ll be able to try out for his house team at Hogwarts with little to no supervision and zero padding,” she confessed. “Attending games at school as a peer and watching as a parent are two very different experiences.”

“But you have to let him grow,” Sirius chimed in.

Part of her wanted to grow defensive and bristle at him – demand to know where he got off telling her that she was smothering their boy. But that was just it, wasn’t it? In agreeing to give Sirius a chance, in stepping aside and letting him into their world, he was allowing him to make decisions about their son. And while she had been the authority on Rigel’s wants and needs for the past nine years, it was an adjustment now to share that responsibility with someone who, for so long had been a stranger. “I suppose.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be,” he remarked.

She looked away from Rigel to ask, “How difficult what must be?”

“Letting me in.”

As if he’d read her thoughts, her brow puckered, and she turned to face forward. “You’re right. It’s not easy,” she murmured in a small voice. “But I’m working on trying to make space.”

“Thank you.” His voice was soft in a way she hadn’t heard in years. Not since that night when he’d talked her through everything and been so tender with her – every whisper of praise, every touch, every kiss. Nope. She put a stop to that train of thought immediately when she felt her face begin to heat.

Teddy and James giggled at Rigel, who was currently hanging upside down from his broom with only his thighs braced around the shaft and his arms dangling. “Look, Mum! No hands!” he called out to her.

“You put your hands back on that broom this instant, young man!” Hermione snapped.

Rigel panicked at her sharp tone and flailed to do just that before tumbling to the ground with a winded ‘oof’.

Hermione shot to her feet just as Harry blew his whistle and touched down to go over and check on his godson. “Rigel, you okay, son?” he asked.

Hermione’s heart was in her throat even as Sirius stepped up beside her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “He’s not moving,” she whimpered. “Why isn’t he moving?”

Sirius’ hold tightened around her. “Kids fall all the time. He’s covered in padding. He’s all right, Kitten.”

There was that old nickname again. She didn’t chastise him this time but burrowed into his side, her hand against her lips as they watched Harry kneel beside their son and assess if he was all right to continue. Teddy, James, Albus, Rose, and Hugo all came over to wait to see if their cousin was hurt.

“Harry, is he okay?” Sirius called out.

Harry rose to his feet and extended a hand to his godson who reached out to take it and was pulled to his feet gingerly. Once Rigel was standing again, he looked over at where Hermione and Sirius stood together with a sheepish grin on his face. Harry nudged him over to Hermione and Rigel shuffled his feet over, hanging his head.

“You okay, son?” Sirius asked.

Hermione, meanwhile, was busying herself checking him over for bumps, cuts, or bruises. When she didn’t find anything but her son’s bruised ego, she straightened up and said, “I might not play this deathtrap of a sport, but even I know you have to keep your hands on the broom for a sloth grip roll, Peanut.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Do you feel well enough to keep playing?” she asked.

Rigel looked up at her and asked, “You’re not mad?”

“You forget that I grew up with Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron. They did plenty of foolish things too and got the scrapes to prove it,” Hermione said and chucked him under the chin. “Now, are you going back out there or do you need a break?”

Rigel looked at them both and Hermione spied Sirius’ encouraging nod from her peripheral vision before their boy nodded back. Then he beamed at her and said, “I want to try again.”

“And you’ll keep your hands on the broom, yes?” She arched a brow at him in warning.

“At least one at all times, promise!” Rigel said before racing back over with his broom in hand.

Only when her worries were assuaged did she notice that Sirius was still standing beside her with his strong arm draped around her shoulders and she was still tucked snugly into his left side. Hermione cleared her throat and stepped away before retaking her seat. Then the whispering began in earnest.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

Chapter Text

-------

July 21^st, 2008 – Catchpole Pitch

Hermione Granger, despite her status as a ‘fallen woman’ by the more conservative standards in the wizarding world, liked to believe she was beyond caring about the opinions of others. She liked to think that at almost 30, and having gone through the gauntlet as an unwed mother before she’d even earned her NEWTs, that there was nothing else the world could throw at her. That had done their worst and hadn’t managed to break her. But she had a weakness now that she hadn’t had all those years ago. Rigel.

As she took her seat and attempted to dedicate the lion’s share of her attention to enjoying her coffee while watching Rigel, she tried and failed to tune out the buzz of whispering behind her, around her, across the pitch where the other parents were sitting. She supposed she was being paranoid, but it felt like all of their eyes were on her. She could just hear them now as her imagination and her insecurities tag-teamed her:

“Did you see the Granger chit?

“Clinging to the Black heir? Oh, I know. Gold-digger.”

“Cheap slag, throwing herself at a man old enough to be her father.”

“Well, she always did have a taste for the rich and famous – or should I say infamous?”

“And that boy of hers is the spitting image of Sirius Black!”

“Scandalous! I mean, her ‘best friend’s’ godfather?”

“I know, the Chosen One wasn’t enough?”

“For shame.”

“How can she even show her face?”

“Trollop.”

“Harlot.”

“Mudblood whore.”

Her pernicious thoughts clearly they weren’t pulling any punches this morning and her hand fluttered over her left forearm the way she tended to fuss over it on her bad days. She refused to cover up the old battle scar these days – she hadn’t in years. A few months after Rigel was born, she’d gone into Muggle London and got a tattoo over the old slur. Granted, she’d glamoured it to avoid curiosity or questions and gritted her teeth the entire time because the repetitive jab of the needle into her cursed wound had made her want to cry. But in the end she’d been left with a beautiful bouquet of flowers covering the old word. She had taken something ugly that had made her feel weak and made it into something beautiful. She had never wanted her son to see it. But as a child he’d always been drawn to her growing collection of wearable art and fixated on that one more than all the others. Rigel had taken to running his hands over it when she’d brought him into her bed from his cradle so she could watch him as he slept.

But then the disapproving voices weren’t just in her head anymore and one woman seated with her friend off to the left said loudly enough for the curly-haired witch to overhear, “Can you believe the gall of her to sit there and act like she’s untouchable just because she knows Potter and the Weasleys?”

Hermione’s eye twitched and she counted to ten in her head. She was the bigger person. She didn’t have to give in to her temper. They were only words.

“Shame for her son to be linked that that family though,” the friend said.

“Oh, I know. If she was going to try and sleep her way to the top, she could’ve set her sights a little higher, no?”

The two witched cackled together and Hermione tried to take deep, soothing breaths even as Rigel mastered the Sloth Grip Roll. She cheered for her son and ignored the gossiping witches. “That’s it, Peanut!”

“I thought she would go for Potter, Weasley, or even Krum, but I suppose none of them were enough for her tastes.”

“Well, you know how it is. Sometimes you just need a good shag.” They twittered nastily.

“I thought she was supposed to be the smart one.”

“Clearly, she’s the loose one. Can’t even master a Contraceptive Charm. I’m surprised they won with her at the helm.”

“And their poor boy… walking about as the living proof of his parents’ shame.”

“Oh, I know. And imagine having a father like that. A murderer, a traitor, and a man-slag.”

“Wasn’t he cleared by the Ministry of all charges?”

“The same Ministry that convicted him without a trial. I’m not putting all my eggs in that basket. They clearly can’t be trusted if they don’t know which way is up. Black could still be guilty. He has money, connections, and a pretty face. I bet he used it to work his charms on the Minister and get out of trouble.”

“No wonder she didn’t want her boy taking his name. Can you imagine the talk?”

“And when he goes off the school, he’d be known as the son of Sirius Black. Wee lamb. Those kids would eat him alive.”

The sound of their laughter was grating. She had been called worse and come through on top. She refused to stoop to their level by losing her temper. Hermione’s heart sank and she could only imagine what Sirius must be feeling overhearing all this. When it had just been about her, that had been bad enough. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it all before. The stuff about Sirius in relation to them was new, but in part what she’d expected might happen when he attended that morning’s practice with her and Rigel. The witch had tried to mentally prepare herself for their hurtful words and accusatory glances. But to talk about her child, her beautiful little boy like that, as though they pitied him for being brought into the world because of who his parents were… it was cruel. Hermione thought it was over, but they just went on and bloody on!

“Wasn’t she part of the Order of the Phoenix when she was underage like the Potter and Weasley boys?”

“That’s what all the newspapers and books said.”

“And weren’t they using the Black’s London home as their base of operations during the war?”

“For part of it, I think. Why?”

“Well, you know his reputation. And he was locked away all those years, presumably without anyone to – well, you know.”

There was a loud gasp, and Hermione gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. They wouldn’t dare. They couldn’t believe –!

“No! You don’t think –? She would’ve been a child!”

“Well, I suppose we’ve all heard the talk about him when he was in school. Can’t be that far-fetched.”

“How depraved, just like the rest of his family.”

“Now I feel for the poor girl too, taken in by the charms of an older, more experienced wizard. Left behind to raise his child alone while he disappeared to Godric knows where all this time, probably having the time of his bloody life.”

“Men.”

“Men.”

“And now no decent wizard would have her, war heroine or not. Doesn’t matter that she’s the Brightest Witch of the Age. She’s ruined goods.”

“Maybe she’ll just have to search a little farther afield. Say muggles?”

“Mm, sadly really.”

“Shame, that.”

The two snickered while their hate spewed forth and Hermione’s face flushed with a mixture of anger and mortification. Count to ten. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Use your words. Don’t stoop to their level. She tried to remember all the anger management she’d learned in her sessions with Katie after the war. You are a hardworking, driven, intelligent witch. A mature woman and a mother. Not some brawler in a pub about to knock someone’s teeth down their throat. But that familiar sizzle in her veins that would always precede a violent outburst. Hermione tightened her grip around her thermos and was surprised when the metal didn’t groan. She slipped it into the built-in cupholder in her camp chair and clamped her hands around her knees. Just two more hours. She could do this. She had been called worse by more terrifying people than a pair of middle-aged mums with nothing better to do than talk shit about strangers.

They laughed together at the slight against a child – a boy who was sweetness and light incarnate and not even ten years old. That was it. Hermione pushed herself to her feet, and just when she would’ve let it rip, Sirius stunned her by stepping up beside her to come to her defense. She didn’t know what she expected. Perhaps shouting and threats, and while he was still intimidating, Sirius didn’t have to raise his voice once to get his point across.

But then they had implied that her son would struggle with his heritage in school, and it poked at one of her sleeping insecurities, riled her slumbering demons, and before she knew it, she was on her feet and stomping over to where they were sitting. But before Hermione could get a word out, Sirius Black was there in all his brooding glory and speaking to them in such a frosty, low lone that it could’ve turned her blood to ice in her veins. “I overheard what you said about my friend. And I can assure you that it is none of your business what we do in our private lives,” he began. “Neither is it your place to judge. But to then turn that vitriol on an innocent little boy says more about the kind of person you are than us. To insinuate that we should all be judged for our mistakes for the entirety of our lives is not only cruel, but inhumane. People can change and grow. I learn new things every day because of this brilliant witch here. Now keep my son and his mother’s names out of your mouth or you might just receive a firsthand lesson on why it was so believable that I could’ve snapped and killed a dozen people all those years ago.” With that final word, he turned to lead Hermione back to their seats.

She was gobsmacked as he led her back to her camp chair and settled her down. Dora and Luna came over to speak to her, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying because her mind was still buzzing. But more than that was the tightening of the coil in her core at the way he’d come to her defense so fiercely. She’d never thought she would be into something like that, but her skin felt warm and prickly all over and her heart was galloping behind her ribs. Good Godric that was hot!

Dora shook her by the arm and called out, “Mione, are you still in there? Can you hear me?” Then the auror looked at their friend and asked Luna, “What’s wrong with her?”

Luna’s watercolor blue eyes flitted across Hermione’s face as she sighed dreamily and said, “There is a swarm of wrackspurts circling her head right now. Give her a ‘mo.”

“Oh, Merlin, Weasley.”

“I call it like I see it,” Luna said with a shrug.

The auror looked back at her mate and shrugged. “She’s just dazed. She’ll be fine.”

The two other witches dispersed and returned to their seats as Sirius settled back in his chair and asked, “Is it always like that?”

“Not usually that bad, but we were old news around here for a while,” Hermione sighed and lifted her thermos to her lips to take a sip.

“Ah, so this is my fault.”

Instinctively, she laid a hand on top of his and turned to face him, shaking her head. “Don’t think that.”

“You said it. I’m the ripple in the pond.”

“Your son asked you to be here, and you came. Forget them and their words,” she urged him. “All they have is gossip, but they don’t know anything about us.” Us. The word struck her with its sense of ‘rightness’, and she had to ignore the growing warmth in her cheeks.

He turned his hand so he could take hold of hers and it was like she’d just realized she was still touching him, that they were still physically connected. She tried to pull away, but he closed his fingers around hers and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Kitten.”

Hermione scoffed and chided him, “I still haven’t given you permission to call me that,” turning her attention back towards the pitch. She had to fight the urge to smile and then to overthink her smile or how over the past few days they’d grown ever closer despite her best intentions. Now the touches were becoming second-nature. She needed to create a distance between them before this got out of hand. She couldn’t allow him behind her walls, under her skin.

“Do you prefer ‘love’ instead?” he drawled, his voice low and rumbling like far-off thunder.

She tried to conceal the shiver that skittered down her spine and crossed one leg over the other. Sweet Circe’s knickers. But she mustered her courage enough for a cheeky retort in the hopes of throwing him off balance, “That would be telling.”

Soon enough, it was time to break for lunch and the kids all swarmed Ron and Luna who passed out hazelnut soup and freshly baked bread rolls. Hermione politely refused and cited her son being a picky eater as an explanation for why she’d brought food from home, then discreetly handed Rigel and Sirius their chicken sandwiches.

“Even better the next day, love,” Sirius complimented her cooking, and she knew she was blushing.

Hermione just couldn’t get the image of him giving those women a dressing down, or the sound of rough gravel of his voice, out of her head. She was being foolish. It had simply been a long time since she’d… tended to certain needs and her body was seeking convenience. Except it would be unwise to get tangled up with Sirius Black again, for countless reasons. And yet a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ginny whispered like a devil on her shoulder, “But he’s sex-on-a-stick! And it’s not like you’re strangers. It could just be a friends-with-benefits type of situation if you set boundaries.”

Nope. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Even as she chastised herself, her pulse was thrumming, and she was rubbing her thighs together to create some friction. Sweet Circe. What was this man doing to her?

------

Sirius had been surprised by the fact that she’d kept silent for so long. He, himself, had raged against his worst impulses to lash out and hurt the witches just as they’d wounded him and his, well, the mother of his son. In the end, it hadn’t turned into the spectacle it might’ve in years past, but he thought he had set them straight and defended Rigel and his mother’s honor to his satisfaction. It was the least he could do, really, after Hermione basically implied that his presence had been the metaphorical kicking of the hornet’s nest, and the gossip was revived.

But then his heightened senses had picked up on the rapid pitter-patter of her heart, the heat radiating off of her as color flooded her cheeks when he teased her with that little term of endearment that proved he’d been paying more attention than he should’ve to her reactions. ‘Love’. However, what had driven his body into overdrive had been the scent of her arousal as it floated towards him on a breeze. There was a fleeting thought that if he could smell it, Moony probably could too, but Remus was too much of a gentleman to bring it up and certainly not with his mate seated beside him. Sirius glanced over at his old friend who in turn met his gaze and watched Moony’s eyes narrow as if they were accusing Sirius of something untoward.

Well, bugger.

Sirius hadn’t intended to have that kind of effect. Charming witches was just second nature to him. Hells, he might’ve had more luck flirting with those nosy bints a moment ago instead of threatening – alluding to, really – violence. “How did he get so good?” he asked Hermione, effectively pulling them both out of their musings, it seemed by the rapid blinking of her eyes.

“Oh, well, Harry bought him his first broom – claimed it was his right as godfather and all that nonsense,” she rambled, beginning to talk with her hands in a way he’d noted she did when she was either anxious or excited, “which is probably also your doing, by the way.” The witch narrowed her eyes at him in a way that was more playful than threatening, teasing than chastising. “And Harry would come ‘round with Ron to teach him. I was, of course, a nervous wreck just watching. But they’ve both always been amazing flyers, if not safe. I think part of Harry thought it might be good practice for when he had his own kids. And it was so bloody sweet,” she said, appearing to be lost in a reverie of those moments, “So, I layered cushioning charms all over the back garden until I drove them all mad, Kreacher included, so that you could practically bounce off the grass like a trampoline.” Hermione chuckled into her coffee and her cheeks gone rosy.

Sirius couldn’t help the laugh it pulled from him at the mental images it evoked. Why hadn’t the Marauders ever tried that at school? It would’ve been brilliant! “Oh, love, but the bumps and scars are part of the experience,” he teased.

“Maybe when they’re twelve, not two.” She harrumphed. “Last thing I needed was to take my toddler to St. Mungo’s with a goose egg on his head and be accused of child abuse or some such nonsense.” She rolled her eyes.

“They do that now?” he asked, rather innocently, not expecting to get the visceral reaction that he did.

Hermione whipped around so quickly to face him, obviously having latched onto the implications of his question, that her plait hit her in the face. “W-What? Of course, they do.”

The dark-haired Animagus cleared his throat pointedly and looked away towards Rigel. “That’s good.” Might’ve come in handy a couple decades or even centuries ago, but Sirius was intimately aware of just how slowly the wizarding world adapted to change. It seemed two wars driven by the same genocidal maniac and the deaths of at least one-third of their population had finally forced the old codgers to see the light.

He sensed that she wanted to say more, inquire further, but appreciated that she refrained from doing so in public. Instead, she went on with her story, “Harry and Ron would come by after work, on the weekends, with Ginny or the twins, the rest of the Weasleys, Neville, Luna, eventually Remus and Dora, especially with Teddy. But Rigel really took to it like he was born to fly.” She smiled at their little boy who executed another perfect Sloth Grip Roll alongside his teammates who were finally catching up.

There went up a smattering of parents clapping and cheering their sprogs on, and Sirius beamed at his son. His son. Rigel smiled and waved right back before immediately putting his hand back around his broom. 

“Little daredevil that one,” Sirius remarked.

“I’m afraid he comes by it honestly,” came her cheeky retort.

“Yes, well, with us for examples, are you really surprised?” he teased.

“Surprised? Not at all. Worried about the future? Absolutely.”

He latched onto the banter gratefully, “I can already imagine the howlers from Minnie.”

“Does she know you refer to her that way?”

“I’d hope so. Have done since my own Third Year.”

“Well, I can already imagine having to pencil in many, many parent-teacher conferences when he gets to school.”

“I look forward to it,” Sirius said.

They shared a laugh, and she went on with her story, lulling him into a sense of quiet contentment so that he didn’t realize he’d angled his body towards her. He leaned in closer as if to hear her better, and they maintained eye contact for longer stretches of time. Every now and then she would pat his hand, or swat at his shoulder when he made a cheeky comment or was too overtly suggestive. He didn’t know if she even realized she was doing it, touching him more often. But he was enjoying the lightness it all brought out in her, the joy and laughter that lit up her eyes and eased the tension she seemed to carry in her frame. Sirius took a certain amount of pride in being the one responsible but refused to dwell on why.

He learned about how, at first, Harry, Ron, Remus, and Dora had been the only ones she’s entrusted with her secret, and how in extending that trust in them, they had bonded with her most during her pregnancy. They had been the ones to help revitalize his childhood home for her and Rigel. Then Narcissa had eventually come around seeking answers from the little witch only to find that Andromeda and Dora had become the new mother’s personal guard dogs.

It had apparently taken some time for Hermione and the others to trust Narcissa and Draco what with the bad blood between them as childhood bullies and rivals. But Narcissa had always been all about family, and after two wars and her husband’s choices which had nearly taken everything she held dear, she had made some personal changes. According to Hermione, Narcissa had sought to restore the bonds with some of the only family she had left after Bella’s death and Lucius’ lifetime sentence to Azkaban. Draco had become the new Lord Malfoy and chosen to put some of the remaining power and wealth behind that name to give back to their community.

Draco, Narcissa, and Andromeda had started a chain of magical primary schools throughout the UK. The new Lord Malfoy had gone a step further and started outreach programs through the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the Bureau of Magical Education to muggleborn wixen and their families to help ease the introduction into a new world. The ultimate goals had been to hopefully help relax some of the social barriers and stigma that existed between them. Of course, the Statute of Secrecy still existed and was heavily enforced, but moreso than ever before the governing body of Wizarding Britain considered that there were sometimes extenuating circumstances, citing some of Harry’s own troubles with underage magic.

Sirius learned about their son’s first bout of accidental magic involving the vanishing of Kreacher’s tea towel toga at the age of three. The old Marauder had thrown his head back and emitted a loud, barking laugh, not caring one wit for those seated around him who’d been party to mudslinging earlier in the day. His mood continued to improve when his son’s mother revealed Rigel’s propensity at that time to flee the house elf, his Gran, and even his own mother whenever bathtime came around. His son would toddle around Old Grimmy absolutely starkers and hide under beds, in cupboards, under the dining room table, or wherever he could fit really. Hermione had joked that growing up with all male friends, being surrounded by an excess of Weasleys, and then becoming a single mum to a son had given her an eyeful and she’d seen enough knobs, willies, and todgers to last her several lifetimes.

Sirius had nearly tipped over his chair at that announcement. “What’s the difference, may I ask?” he teased.

“Hm?”

“I mean, how do you distinguish between a ‘willy’ and a ‘knob’? And what about a ‘todger’?”

“Oh, age,” she said without hesitation and a teasing smirk on her face. “When Rigel was still in nappies, I would call it a ‘willy’ so he wouldn’t go to school saying ‘knob’ this or ‘cock’ that, or Merlin forbid ‘penis’. Sometimes I think the magical world is even more uptight than the muggle one.” She rolled her eyes at that.

He sputtered at her comfort with the terminology. “And…?”

“I suppose a ‘todger’ would be reserved for older men, relatives, even colleagues. Essentially non-sexual beings in your life. Keep it clinical and all that. Like your grandfather or your boss.”

“And ‘knobs’?” he asked, taking a long slurp of his coffee just to set her on edge as he watched her intensely. He wasn’t mentally prepared to hear her dissect her usage of the word ‘cock’ in company just yet. He felt he might spontaneously combust.

Her cheeks colored in that lovely rosy hue once more and she replied, “I suppose that’s where everyone else fits in. Those whom you might consider as partners, lovers, sexual beings, etc. The ones you might consider taking to bed.” She looked away at that and finished up the last of the coffee in her own thermos before pulling out a paper serviette to dab at her mouth and closing the thermos up to tuck it back into that extended purse of hers.

Sirius didn’t know why he did it, but he found the overwhelming curiosity almost too much to resist, so he asked, “And where on your scale would you rate me?”

She turned to him, one brow arched toward her hairline, a wicked quirk of her lips, and her eyes glowing like firewhiskey in the sun. And then without missing a beat, she purred, “Don’t go playing with fire, Padfoot. You might get burned.”

Perhaps it was the look on her face, or the tone of her voice, maybe the self-assurance in her expression that drew him in, but he was compelled to slip into the guise of ‘Sirius Black, playboy extraordinaire’ like a second skin. It was the same persona that had served him well since puberty and turned heads whenever he entered a room. It had earned him free drinks, VIP seating, backstage passes, and all-access most of the places he’d traveled over the past decade. It was comfortable and familiar, and he knew how to utilize it well. So, akin to a master sculptor falling back on muscle memory, he lowered his voice an octave, cleared his throat just a bit to give it that gravelly timbre, leaned in close to her ear, and brushed aside a stray, coffee-colored curl. “I’ve always been partial to a bit of danger myself, Kitten.”

She didn’t blush or shy away, she simply sat still with her spine perfectly straight and her shoulders back, her chin slightly elevated as she watched him pull back and relax in his seat. Then she hit him with the very unexpected, “Been there, done that, rode the rollercoaster, and got a tee-shirt. Not interested in an encore, love.”

The dark-haired wizard cleared his throat and rose from his seat. “I’m going to go bother Moony and Dora for a bit.”

“Have fun.” She waved him off and the spell seemed to be broken. But that scent still lingered enticingly in his nose.

Sirius dragged his foldable chair over to Remus’ side and plopped down beside his old friend only to ask, “What was all the glaring about?”

Without looking up from his crossword puzzle, Remus mumbled, “I should think that’s rather obvious, Pads.” He clicked his muggle pen to retract the ballpoint and tucked it between the pages before he turned to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever do you mean, Moony?” Sirius replied, putting on a mask of innocence that he knew his oldest living friend wouldn’t buy for a minute.

“I mean the touches and flirting, the looks and joking. And then that scene earlier with the other mums,” Remus replied.

Sirius felt his hackles rise defensively like when he’d been called into the headmaster’s office back at Hogwarts or caught by McGonagall out of bed after curfew. He lowered his voice to a whisper he knew only Moony with his advanced hearing could make out and hissed, “Those two bints were gossiping about Hermione and our kid, saying awful, hateful shite. They’re lucky I didn’t curse them from here to Manila.”

Remus’ moss-green eyes widened and then flecks of gold bled into the iris where Sirius could see them. “Which ones again? Point them out to me.”

“Moony,” he sighed. “I took care of it, okay? I know you want to defend your pack and all that, but Kitten is fine.”

“Kitten?” Remus snapped.

Fuck. “Erm, Hermione. It’s a nickname. It’s nothing.”

“I’m warning you, Padfoot. If you cross a line and you screw up, I will let Molly and Dora draw and quarter you.” Remus wagged a finger at him as if he were a prefect again and deducting house points for pranking a couple of Slytherins in the hall. 

“There’s nothing going on, Moons. We’re just getting to know each other, like you suggested, mind you, for the sake of the kid.” He put his hands up in surrender.

“That better be all that’s going on.”

Properly chastised, Sirius slumped down in his chair with a sulking pout and crossed his arms for the remainder of the practice. Why did everyone think so badly of him? He knew his reputation and had done nothing to diminish it over the years or redeem himself. But surely Remus, his oldest friend and brother Marauder, could trust that when he said he would respect the little witch’s boundaries, he would honor that. She was the mother of his son. She was sacred, somehow. Untouchable. No matter how much he wanted to touch… And Merlin it was becoming more and more difficult to deny those intrusive thoughts.

Later that day – 12 Grimmauld Place

A summer rainstorm rolled through and when Rigel came sprinting down the creaky old stairs with his curls still sopping, Hermione caught him in a towel while he tried to hold a conversation with her. Meanwhile, Sirius was watching from the doorway of the family room with a smile on his face. “What’s he saying?” the dark-haired animagus asked.

“He’s saying that we should have a couch rot day,” Hermione called back over her shoulder.

“Do I want to know?”

“You asked.”

“Pup, what is a ‘couch rot day’?”

Rigel popped his head out from where Hermione was presently trying to smother him via towel and saw that all of his inky curls were standing on end thanks to static electricity. Sirius tried not to laugh while his son excitedly told him about marathons on the telly, cuddles and snacks, and film bingo.

“And why does there have to be a learning activity when the name of the game is ‘couch rot’?” Sirius asked as they tromped up the stairs. Apparently the appropriate and required dress code for a couch rot day, rain or shine, was cozy pajamas no matter the time of day.

“Because we’re letting our bodies rot, not our minds. Now, what are we watching, Peanut?” she asked, and Sirius found himself mildly curious when their boy leaned in to whisper into her ear. Then she started barking orders, “Okay, Peanut after we change, you and Dadfoot are in charge of rounding up refreshments while I get the bingo cards. Any comfort items you may need, you must secure yourselves.”

Sirius gasped dramatically and clutched at his nonexistent pearls. “Not the Marauder name, Kitten, it’s sacred.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’ve never felt older.”

“Tell that to your clicking knees,” she teased.

“Oi! I’ve lived rough, okay?” Sirius said, ignoring the way her comment stung just a bit. He didn’t need the reminder of his age. Somedays he felt it more than others, but with her… mostly he felt envious of those young bucks who got to throw their hats in the ring for a shot with Hermione Granger, mum or not. She was still a stone-cold fox.

“Okay, truce.”

They reconvened minutes later in their comfiest pajamas, Rigel swaddled in his duvet from his bed and carrying the aforementioned gremlin stuffy. It truly was horrifying. Sirius picked up the hem of the blanket before his son could take a tumble down the stairs by tripping over it. Himself, he’d brought a pillow for some lumbar support. And yes, he loathed every moment of having to consider whether the act of sitting down would cause him lasting discomfort. He missed the days when it wasn’t even a fleeting thought. Now if he slept wrong, he’d walk around with a crick in his neck for a week. Sirius and his boy set themselves up in the family room across the two massive couches in a deep wine red and then Rigel went off to the kitchen to get snacks.

Sirius joined him when he heard a loud clatter and found Rigel on his stepstool putting a bag of microwave popcorn to pop. “What’s on the menu, son?”

“First, popcorn with M&Ms.”

“Sweet and salty, I like it. What else?”

“Crisps. And of course, gummy worms, the sour kind,” his son explained as he hopped down from the little stool and headed for the snack pantry. “Can’t do a film without sour candy.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m sure your mum would mention something about sugar.”

“I’ll brush my teeth again before bed,” Rigel said with a shrug and fetched a bowl for the popcorn.

Hermione joined them when they were all settled with their snacks and beverages. She was dressed down in another of those soft, cotton camisoles in a pale mauve and grey and lilac checkered bottoms. The look was completed with a dressing gown and a pair of grey slippers. “All right, are we ready?” she asked as she took up her spot beside Rigel on the couch he’d claimed, leaving Sirius to stretch out on his. She handed out bingo cards set up in a five-by-five grid and paint markers to each of them – his red, hers purple, and Rigel’s blue. Then she set up the movie on the telly and a stirring score began to play.

Sirius read the screen to himself: “Jurassic Park” and assumed it might be some kind of nature documentary narrated by Sir David Attenborough. He briefly looked down at the card on his knee which read such things as ‘hold onto your butts’, ‘clever girl’, and ‘that’s a big pile of shit’. “Just what kind of film is this, pup?” he asked.

“You’ve never seen Jurassic Park before?” Rigel chirped.

“Can’t say that I have,” Sirius said. “When did it come out?”

“1993,” Hermione replied, knowing the significance of the year for him.

“Ah, yes. Rather busy year for me, I’m afraid. No time for a trip to the cinema,” he laughed nervously.

“I think you’ll like it,” the curly-haired witch replied. “Especially the character of Dr. Ian Malcolm.”

“Oh, really?”

“Shh, Dad, it’s starting.” Despite Rigel hushing them, he proceeded to recite this film from memory too and Sirius suddenly understood why Hermione must keep the captions on.

-----

Hermione learned quickly by observing the two wizards together that they shared much more than their looks and a fascination with sports. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever deity whose purview it might fall into for the invention of closed captioning and subtitles, for it appeared that if his attention were captured enough and maintained Sirius Black also possessed the unfortunate habit of talking during a film, mostly to the characters on-screen who couldn’t hear him anyway. But most often with Rigel while they debated the wisdom of the actions – why would they get out of the car in the dark and the rain?! – of said fictional characters while they were in life-threatening danger.

Halfway through the film, Rigel had migrated over onto his father’s lap and now Sirius had was sitting cross legged having left enough space for their son to do the same. Rigel sat still wrapped in his childhood blanket within the circle of Sirius’ arms while Sirius was leaning forward to get closer to the screen as the situation grew dire. Sirius had admitted that he did enjoy Dr. Ian Malcolm’s character, and she briefly mused aloud, “I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the affinity for leather trousers.” They had shared a laugh over Malcolm’s deadpan delivery of his famous line, “That’s a big pile of shit,” and promptly marked it off on their bingo cards together. Hermione watched Sirius begrudgingly concede that, yes, combining the activities could be greatly entertaining. But mostly, she’d come up with it as a method of getting their son to sit still for any length of time and remain engaged. It seemed that the same could be said of his sire, she thought to herself with a laugh as she snagged another handful of buttery popcorn and melty milk chocolate M&M’s.

More than once she caught Sirius stealing a sideways glance at her while she licked melted chocolate off of her fingers and her face had heated momentarily before she picked up a paper serviette to wipe away the rest. Sirius cooed and ahhed over the ‘veggiesaurus’ scene and then promptly burst into raucous laughter when the gentle giant proceeded to cover a precocious child in bogies.

“I wish they were real,” Rigel mumbled.

“Haven’t you seen this film enough times to have learned why that’s a bad idea?” Hermione asked.

“Just the herby-vores.”

“Herbivores, Peanut. And Carnivores might be scary, but they’re a necessary part of the ecosystem,” she explained. “It’s all about balance.”

“But it would be so wicked to be able to go see them like at the zoo.” The little wizard sighed dreamily.

“I don’t think they’d do very well in cages, pup,” Sirius added in his two sickles.

“Oh,” their son hummed. “You might be right. Okay, five points to Dadfoot.”

Sirius groaned and turned to face Hermione. “He’s never going to let that go now. And it’s entirely your fault.”

She just offered a cheeky shrug and a smirk in response. “I think it’s adorable.”

“We shall have words later, Kitten.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy.” She had meant it teasingly, but she realized the moment it was out there that Sirius’ stormy eyes went flinty, and his pupils seemed to dilate. She only hoped that Rigel couldn’t sense the tension in the air around them as she hurriedly took a sip of her water and turned her full focus towards the film.

Rigel covered his face with his hands when Nedry, who tried to steal from Hammond, got cornered and devoured by the acid-spitting, hissing Dilophosaurus. He turned and burrowed his face into Sirius’ chest which seemed to momentarily surprise the older wizard. Hermione assumed he wasn’t accustomed to physical displays of affection from children, not having spent much time around them in years. “It’s okay, pup. It’s not real. Your mother says it’s a robot created for the movie.”

“Animatronic,” Hermione supplied helpfully. “And no matter how many times he begs to watch this movie, that scene always gives him the willies.”

“That’s because they ate him,” Rigel said, his voice muffled against Sirius’ chest and already sounding like he was pouting.

Once, Rigel and Sirius got into a fierce debate about whether Hammond’s grandchildren should’ve hidden or tried to outrun the raptors in the kitchen. It amused Hermione greatly to see them so engaged in a topic they clearly felt strongly about.

Hermione just felt for the priceless skeleton Doctors Grant and Sadler along with the children, Lex and Tim, were scaling to get away from the raptors hunting them in the welcome center. She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Those children won’t even listen to the adults trying to keep them alive in a nightmare theme park from hungry animal attractions. I hope that boy learned his lesson. Now he’s extra crispy.”

Rigel giggled into his hands and remarked in a stage-whisper, “She gets really into things.”

Hermione responded by throwing a handful of popcorn at her son’s head. This escalated into an all-out food fight where Rigel was fully content to make use of his father’s much larger frame as a human shield.

“I didn’t realize I would have to corral two children tonight,” Sirius remarked, just dodging a flying gummy worm.

Hermione scoffed loudly. “Oh, please. As if you’re so mature.” Says the woman wearing a popcorn bowl as a helmet, she thought to herself as she ducked behind the couch while the ending credits began to roll.

Rigel, for his part, was now riding a sugar high and launched himself off the couch into Sirius’ back crying out like a banshee, “FOR GRYFFINDORRRR!”

Sirius caught him with an exaggerated ‘oof’ and fell onto the nest of cushions and pillows that had ended up on the floor. “You’re not even in Gryffindor,” he mumbled.

“Not yet. But I like my chances,” the boy chirped haughtily at his father before turning to face her and added cheekily, “Mum, I think you’re gonna have butter in your hair now.”

“I resigned myself to that fate at the beginning of the night,” she informed them.

“That you’d end the night covered in food?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowed and a smile tugging at his lips. His very full, pink, kissable lips. Nope!

She had to forcefully steer her mind away from that train of thought. “Mm, chocolate, butter, sour sugar dust or whatever is on those gummy worms… you name it.” She tossed the popcorn bowl aside and chuckled to herself. “Being a parent is a messy job. And now you know that.”

He lifted his upper body slightly, bracing himself on his arms, causing Rigel to slide further down his back. “I can see that. I think I’ll need another shower before bed.”

“Me too!” Rigel cheered.

“You have already had two today and there’s not enough hot water in this town for the rest of us,” Hermione barked with a wag of her finger. “I’ll just scourgify you for tonight and hose you down outside in the morning. It’ll be great fun.”

“Sprinklers!” Rigel cried out, pumping his little fists in the air.

“Now, we’d better clean up this mess before we give Kreacher an aneurysm,” she warned and then drew her wand to begin the process. “Did anybody win bingo?” she asked.

They promptly found their cards and Sirius called out, “I did.”

“Bugger,” Rigel grumbled.

They cleaned up together, avoiding Kreacher’s wrath, had a bathroom break, and then settled down for the second movie. Rigel won the next round of bingo, but really Hermione wasn’t marking off her own boxes because she wanted to see the smile on her son’s face. After the second movie, they decided it was time for dinner and migrated into the sublevel kitchen.

“What are we making for dinner?” Sirius asked. “After refusing an invite to a Weasley family Sunday roast, I expect to be wowed.”

“Pizza muffins,” Rigel called out, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Sirius’ brow furrowed and he looked to Hermione for an explanation. “I know what those words mean separately, but I’m having trouble contextualizing them in my head together.”

“Stop being such a curmudgeon and watch,” she teased.

-----

Something about this night had brought out the playful side of his mum again. Having a food fight in the middle of a couch rot – she never did that! ­– or having a weekend just for the three of them instead of going along to the Burrow to eat Sunday dinner with his whole family. He loved his family, really, he did. But sometimes with them all under the same roof it got to be a lot. So far this had been the best weekend of Rigel’s life! His dad came back, they camped in the back garden under the stars, he found out he had family in more than just name, his dad came to his practice that morning, they got to have breakfasts and dinners together, they got to cuddle all night.

In all the years that any of his cousins had spoken about their fathers, Rigel had tried to keep it to himself the way he would get jealous. The way he wished he had those stories to share with them too. He loved his godfather, grandfather, and uncles, but it just wasn’t the same! And now he had that. He had camping under the stars, nicknames and play wrestling, smiles and cheers at his practices. He had someone that he could look at and pick out the bits and pieces of his own face and know with certainty where those pieces came from.

But what stood out was how smiley his mum had become. She was bubbly like fizzy muggle soda, and she laughed loud. Her face kept turning pink, and Rigel caught the way his mum and dad would sometimes look at each other across a room like they were confused and trying to make sense of something without all the puzzle pieces too. Was his mum happy? Did part of her miss his dad too? The little wizard was curious as she brought out his step stool and helped his mum preheat the oven.

She pulled out two tubes of biscuit dough, and the non-stick spray for the muffin tin. “Sirius, would you grab the shredded cheese from the refrigerator?” she asked.

His dad went to do her bidding. Smart man. His mum did not like to repeat herself if she could help it. She had once ranted to Rigel and Kreacher while she stomped around the kitchen after work that she had ‘enough of that with the toddlers at her office and she didn’t need it in her personal life’. He couldn’t understand why there were kids working in an adult office, but he assumed it might make more sense when he was older. She plucked down the jar of marinara sauce from the cupboard and the prepackaged pepperoni slices to begin prepping the pizza muffins.

He loved pizza muffins. He bopped the tubes of biscuit dough against the edge of the counter until they popped, and he jumped almost the way he used to when he was younger, and Uncle Fred had given him a muggle jack-in-the-box. Then he carefully peeled back the wrapping and placed one biscuit over each muffin groove to push down into the space with his fingers. Once there was enough space, his mum spooned marinara sauce into each muffin’s center and Rigel got to top them with a pinch of shredded cheese and pepperoni slices.

Rigel hopped down from his stool while his mum prepared the second tray with her preferred toppings – crumbled sausage, mushrooms, and sliced black olives – just in time for the oven to beep. He rubbed his hands together excitedly and cackled under his breath. “Someone’s excited,” his dad remarked.

The boy looked up at him with a bashful smile. “I like pizza.” Merlin, he was tall. Rigel still had to get used to that. He wondered if he would be that tall someday. And then he looked at his mother and thought his chances didn’t look great. 

“It’s his favorite food, with the exception of chunky peanut butter,” his mum said as she placed the muffin trays in the oven and shut the door.

“Really?” his dad asked.

Rigel nodded enthusiastically. “If I could eat pizza or peanut butter for every meal and not get sick, I would.”

“Just don’t ever combine the two and everything will be fine,” his mum teased as she set a kitchen timer.

The little wizard made a face. “Even I don’t think that would be good.”

His mum put her hands on her hips and looked down at him in that way mothers seemed to have of knowing just how to embarrass their kids and said, “I still distinctly remember you trying to make a pizza smoothie.”

His dad groaned and asked, “I don’t want to know, but I also do at the same time.”

“Morbid curiosity?” his mum asked.

“Sure, why not.” Then his father looked down at him and asked, “Why’d you do that, pup?”

“I was hungry and thirsty. And Teddy and Jamie wanted to play on our brooms before the rain started, so I had to eat fast.”

“Kreacher was horrified,” his mum added.

“Okay, let’s not do that again.”

“Would it make it better if I said it was an experiment?” Rigel asked, knowing how his mum loved when he read her muggle science and maths books.

“What was the goal of the experiment?” she challenged.

“To see if… the blender was strong enough to get through the bread… and create something still drinkable?” he bluffed.

“Potable,” she provided.

“Potable?” he asked.

“It means it is fit to be drank,” she explained.

“Ah,” Rigel said. “Then that word. Yes.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

His dad’s voice cut through the tension, playful or otherwise, and said, “Merlin, Granger, you could give old Minnie a run for her money with that disapproving glare.”

Who was Minnie? Both his mum and dad seemed to know. He would have to ask later.

His mum rolled her eyes, and her frown melted away into a smile. “Yes, well, he shouldn’t have been playing with the blender without supervision in the first place. Could’ve lost a finger or something.”

Rigel blanched and looked down at his hands. He didn’t think he could do a very good Sloth Grip Roll or Porskoff Ploy without all ten of his fingers. “Is there a spell to keep my fingers from getting sliced off?” he asked.

His mum turned to him and narrowed her eyes like she was trying to sniff out mischief. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“There might be.”

“Really?” Sirius asked her, his eyes wide. His face looked like he was impressed.

Rigel watched them and tried to hide his smug smile. His mum was impressive.

“I had to keep Harry and Ron alive for seven years, or have you forgotten?” his mum asked.

“Mum, you should write a book,” Rigel chirped.

“There have already been plenty of books written about us, Peanut. We don’t need anymore.”

“But you said those were all exaggerated hogwash.”

His dad made a snorting sound that Rigel thought might’ve been a laugh. “He’s got you spot-on, love.”

Rigel watched his mum’s face go pink again when his dad called her ‘love’, and the boy started to understand that maybe she was embarrassed. He would tell his dad so later so that he would stop. Rigel knew he didn’t like being embarrassed and that it must be even less fun for adults who were supposed to be mature grown-ups.

Kreacher appeared then like clockwork and began levitating over plates, cups, and serviettes for their dinner. When Rigel was younger, his mum had found the original recipe suggestion in a children’s magazine in the waiting room at one of his healer’s appointments. The house elf had been horrified by her suggestion and her cooking, in general. But then Rigel had declared it his favorite food in the world and Kreacher had made an exception. And so, it went. Rigel knew Kreacher cared about them both, especially him, and would bend almost any rule to protect them and make them happy.

Dinner was fun, as always when his mum and dad were in a room together. Sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, sometimes intense, but always interesting, Rigel observed. After dinner, they watched the third Jurassic Park film and by then, Rigel was getting sleepy, so his mum decided it was time for bed. Overall, he’d had a pretty good day. And he looked forward to more.

The next day – Tonks House

Hermione had informed Sirius after their son had gone to sleep the night before of what she referred to as the ‘Summer ‘Sitting Rota’ and told him she would post it up on the refrigerator where he could refer to it as needed. Essentially, Molly Weasley and his cousins Andromeda and Narcissa had taken it upon themselves as the age-appropriate witches of the group of grandmotherly age to watch over the little ones if ever the parents were in need. Molly still did the bulk of this as Andi and Cissa were deeply involved in the primary school they’d started, but since it was summer hols, the Black Sisters would still make themselves available if they had the time. And neither of them needed an excuse to bring Teddy or Scorpius around for some cousin bonding time.

It had surprised him to hear this, but following the war and the birth of Rigel they had all come together. Sirius was happy to see Andi and Cissa together again with the loss of Bella, their parents, and their husbands. And granted, each of those came with its own baggage and history, good and bad, but with there being so few of them left of the House of Black, and even fewer on the side of the Light, he was very much looking forward to catching up.

He had managed to convince Hermione that he could be trusted to escort Rigel over to his Auntie Andi’s home while she was working at the Office of Magical Law. He could manage to take one nine-year-old for a visit with his ‘aunt’!

Andi threw open the door with a warm, wide smile. “Sirius! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He released Rigel’s hand to throw his arms around his eldest living cousin. “I’ve never understood that saying!” He chuckled into her graying, dark curls which had always been a little wild since she ran away from home at 18.

She pulled back to look up at him from within the circle of his arms and raised a hand to cup his cheek. “Still too handsome for your own good, I see.”

“Pah, no such thing, Andi.”

Not to be ignored, Rigel made his presence known, “Auntie Andi!”

Andi turned her undivided attention to his son, stooping a bit with her hands braced on her knees to be at eye level with the boy. “Rigel, darling, I see you’ve made a new friend.” Sirius supposed she was trying to gauge how transparent they were being in front of the children.

“He’s my dad, Auntie Andi,” Rigel crowed with pride. It warmed Sirius with pride every time he heard it.

“Oh, really? That’s a surprise!” she said with exaggeratedly large eyes.

“Don’t we look alike?” Rigel chirped and stepped up beside Sirius so that their sides were pressed together. More accurately, his son was pressed against the length of his leg.

Sirius chuckled and blushed sheepishly as Andromeda looked up at them as if she were taking in every detail. She rose to her full height and stroked her jaw. “You know, now that you mention it, I can see a resemblance. So it must be true.”

“See, Dad?”

“Yes, pup.”

“Why don’t you go find Teddy and Scorp and play?” his cousin suggested and ruffled Rigel’s curls.

“Where are they?” the boy asked, already distracted.

“Out in the garden, love.”

“Thanks, Auntie!” He took off like a shot and Sirius chuckled in his son’s wake.

Then he was left alone with his cousin who never missed a trick, and she asked, “Why don’t you come in for some tea?”

Sirius swallowed convulsively. Shite. Why did it feel like he was just in time for another interrogation. “S-Sure. I can spare a few minutes for my favorite cousin.” He followed her into the house, shutting the door behind him, and took in the mix of elegant creams and eggshells with the little rustic touches of classic English country cottage style that made up the interior design of her home.

“Don’t let Cissa hear you say that,” Andi warned.

“Huh?” he blurted.

And his brow furrowed at her turn of phrase before he was greeted with the sound of her sister’s voice, “Don’t let Cissa hear you say what?” He tripped over his own feet as he crossed the threshold into the parlor and saw Narcissa Malfoy already seated there with her ankles crossed delicately and a teacup and saucer perched on her knee. She was dressed in a dove-grey, tea-length dress with a cream-colored wrap around her shoulders and her silvery-blonde hair up in a tasteful French twist. “Oh, Sirius! I thought that was you.” She smiled sweetly at him the way she used to when they were children in the nursery together. Before war and their family had divided the lot of them. But they’d lost a sister and their husbands, and Sirius had lost his brother and many friends and with those losses, time, and distance it appeared that they’d healed enough to share this space without things devolving into a duel or a shouting match.

“Cissa,” Sirius allowed himself to share her smile and walked over to press a soft kiss to each of her cheeks.

“What brings you here?” Andi asked.

“Dropping off Rigel for Hermione,” he replied simply and took a seat opposite where Andi and Cissa were sharing a three-seated settee.

The room was done in pastel blues and soft creams, the wood furniture stained a nice golden tone rather than the darker ones that had populated Old Grimmy in his childhood and Black Manor where they’d grown up. There was a pair of large windows with light, gauzy curtains that overlooked the garden where they could see the three cousins playing. And it was reminiscent of the three of them watching their respective little ones. He supposed Andi and Cissa must’ve known at some point and made the effort to establish a relationship between the three boys. He loved that his son had grown up with family he could love and bond with this way, even without the knowledge that they were related by blood.

“So, you’re back on a first-name basis with her,” Cissa observed and lifted her teacup to her lips as she observed him. He hadn’t missed the Slytherin-ness of his cousins, that was for sure. It was like every conversation was a high stakes poker match and they were watching for all his tells so they could pick him apart. He didn’t think it was malicious, just second nature. “Interesting.”

“I think we figured that it would be best for Rigel.”

“Listen to him,” Andi teased while she leaned towards the tea service on the table between them to pour his tea. “He even sounds like a father now.”

“Some people are naturally inclined to parenthood,” Cissa observed with a quirk of her brow.

Sirius blushed sheepishly. “Okay, let’s get it over – have at it.”

Andi scoffed and handed him his tea just the way he liked it – tons of sugar, no milk or cream. “We’re not going to tease you, Siri. Honestly.” She rolled her eyes, and it made her look much younger than her years.

“Oh, I plan to,” Cissa chirped.

“I’ve heard it all already, okay? ‘Where were you?’ ‘Why weren’t you here?’ ‘How didn’t you know?’ And I just didn’t.” He looked down at his teacup, his forefinger hooked through the tiny handle and rotated it on its saucer while he gathered his thoughts. “I just thought that after everything, she’d be better off without any reminders of that night. She was always brilliant. I half-expected to come back to Minister Granger.” He huffed a laugh and looked up to meet his cousins’ thoughtful gazes. “I ruined her life, didn’t I? Wouldn’t be the first time I did that to someone I cared about.” The images of Prongs, Lily, and Reggie flickered in his mind like a reel of an old silent film, the memories already so old that they were blurring at the edges. That killed him most. The idea that someday he might forget the precise hue of Lily’s eyes, the sound of Prongs’ laugh, or the feel of his little brother in his arms that last time before he left home.

“Sirius, don’t do that,” Andi chided him gently and reached out to put a hand on his knee. “Hasn’t enough time passed for you to learn that none of it was your fault?”

“I don’t think we’ll ever see eye-to-eye on that score, Andi, but I appreciate you saying it anyway.” He smiled sadly at her and felt his sinuses tingle like he might cry. He sipped his tea and let it warm and soothe him. Chamomile. Lovely.

“How do you think I found out, Sirius? The family tapestry!” Cissa cried, speaking more animatedly with her hands the more comfortable she got.

“What – really?” he balked.

“Married or not, he’s still your flesh and blood,” Andi reminded him.

“If that were the case, the thing would be littered with Orion and Cygnus’ bastards,” Sirius grumbled.

“Whatever the reason, after Lucius was incarcerated,” Cissa began, “the lawyers were hounding us about making Draco the official ‘Lord’ of the estate and so I was looking through paperwork in the study when I noticed something different on the tapestry. A shimmering off-shoot from where your portrait used to be. No face yet, no name, but I recalled the same thing happening with each of my pregnancies before Draco was born so I had a pretty good idea of what it could be. I was just amazed that the tapestry would allow it with you being burnt off. Nymphadora, Remus, and Teddy never appeared once Andromeda was burnt off.”

“Cock warts, all of them,” he spat. 

Andi cleared her throat to conceal the twitch of her lips and said, “Not the words I would’ve chosen, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“As do I,” Cissa said with a definitive nod. It was good to have them back – someone who understood.  

“But then we saw the articles in the Prophet speculating about the father of Hermione’s lovechild,” Andi sneered disapprovingly at the term. “And Cissa wrote me about what she saw on the tapestry. We put two and two together and decided to pay a visit to Grimmauld Place. She was wary of Cissa at first, of course, but Kreacher gathered us together to explain and he was able to confirm it since he’s bonded to the House of Black. He could feel the bond forming before Rigel ever ended up on the tapestry.”

“You know, I haven’t seen the Black family tapestry at Grimmauld since I arrived,” Sirius mused. “Not that I’ve gone looking for it, exactly.”

“Oh, it’s here,” Andi confirmed.

“Why?”

“Hermione didn’t want any reminders, and when Rigel started getting older I suppose she wanted to spare herself the uncomfortable questions he might have about a father who he’d never met. A father who didn’t know he existed,” she explained.

“Kreacher was in fits when she suggested moving it,” Cissa said with a grimace, “But he relented when Andi offered to keep it. Said he knew it would be safe with a member of the House of Black.”

“Do you still have it?” Sirius asked.

“Oh, don’t mistake me, I’ve tried to destroy it a few times, to no avail. But then Cissa convinced me to protect it in case the boys had questions someday,” Andi said.

“They’re starting to learn about the wars in school, Sirius, and the major players. Some of which they’re closely related to. So, someday they will connect the dots and have questions,” Narcissa explained. “And who better to provide those answers than us?” She gestured to the three of them.

“The good, the bad, and the ugly,” Sirius remarked.

“That should be our new family motto,” Andi teased.

“Nice, Tonks.”

“Why did you stay away so long?” Andi asked.

“Why do you think? So that I could have a life and do all the things I never got to do before,” Sirius replied. “And I needed space to get right up here.” He tapped at his temple. “I didn’t want my godson to see me like that. I was in rough shape after the war, Andi. Cissa.”

“What about us?” Cissa asked softly.

“No offense, Cissa, but this is the longest conversation we’ve had since we were in Hogwarts.”

“Point taken.” She lowered her gaze as if she were ashamed.

“Hey, don’t do that. We’ve making up for lost time now,” Sirius said, and reached out for her hand. “We’ve all got a second chance. And I plan to make the most of it.”

“I missed you, Siri. But you’re right, we were all a mess for decades because of our parents,” Cissa said.

He turned to peek out the window to where the boys were playing together, bright and happy, laughing and whole. “It’s for the best that I wasn’t here when he was younger. Look at how good he is. How bloody smart, healthy, well-adjusted and all that. If I had stuck around and ‘done the right thing’ by sticking by Hermione, who knows, even proposing to the girl so she wouldn’t have had to endure the social stigma of being a single mother, then I really would’ve ruined their lives.”

“You don’t know that,” Andi chimed in.

“I do. Hermione has done an amazing job with him. And look at what she’s made of herself in the meantime,” Sirius said, beaming with pride in the little witch. He was too busy watching his boy to see the look his cousins exchanged at his mention of Rigel’s mother. “She’s incredible. Maybe by staying away I didn’t ruin everything. I can live with that.”

“Isn’t it strange that you both have grandsons the same age as my son?” Sirius thought aloud.

Andi’s eye twitched. “Well, not for me. I married young and I’ve always been older.”

“And what about you ‘Auntie Cissa’?” Sirius teased. “It’s funny that Rigel calls you ‘Auntie’ when Scorpius probably calls you ‘Grandmother’.” He said it in the snootiest accent he could manage, channeling his late father to do it.

“What does it matter?” Cissa grumbled.

“Wouldn’t ‘Granny Cissy’ be more accurate for a witch your age?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” Andi warned.

Without warning, Narcissa drew her wand and fired off a hex that knocked him out of his chair.

Later that night – 12 Grimmauld Place

When Hermione got home from work she hadn’t expected the house to be so quiet, but she changed, showered, and made her way down to the sublevel kitchen for a cheeky nip of gin before Rigel and Sirius got back. It wouldn’t be too much longer, would it? Her demons began circling like carrion crows. He wouldn’t take their son and disappear, would he? He couldn’t. Harry would hunt him down and kill him.

Just then the floo went off in the parlor and she called out, “Hello? Peanut? Sirius?”

The sound of a pair of footsteps shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen steps. And then Rigel came skipping down the stairs ahead of a sulking Sirius Black who was hiding his face behind his hair. “Mum!” her son cried and ran at her with a wide, mischievous smile.

She wrapped her arms tight around him and her demons sulked and trudged off. Her boy was safe at home in her arms. She felt like a fool for thinking that –

“Mum, Mum, Dadfoot got hexed in the face by Auntie Cissa!” Rigel cried out, interrupting her internal monologue.

Hermione’s head whipped up just in time to see Sirius lift his face so she could see that he was covered in purple boils that appeared to be pulsating. “Oh, sweet Circe’s knickers,” she gasped and had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of her snort.

“Oh, yeah, laugh it up, love.” He rolled his eyes.

“Narcissa did this to you?”

Nod. Wince.

“Well, what on earth did you do to her to provoke this kind of reaction?” she asked, arching a brow at him.

Sirius gasped and clutched his non-existent pearls in mock-offense. “What makes you think I did something?”

“Because it’s you. And you’ve always had a talent for irritating people,” came her cheeky retort.

“I am the victim here.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go have a look through some of your old family grimoires and see if I can’t find a way to take the whammy off of you,” she laughed, and shaking her head climbed the stairs out of the kitchen.

Much later that night – Family Room

It had taken Hermione only two hours to discover that whatever Narcissa had done wasn’t something she’d picked up in a Black family grimoire, but rather something of her own devising. Hermione had vowed to owl Cissa after dinner and banned Sirius from dining with them because ‘it turned her stomach to look at him’. So, he had been forced to take his meal alone in the family room and Kreacher had brought him a tray.

Kreacher’s veal pie was delightful and a shot of firewhiskey had taken the edge off for Sirius. Then Hermione and Rigel came to join him for some ‘quality time’. He’d asked about a few of the photos on her gallery wall and she’d spun tales of lovely anecdotes that really granted him a glimpse into the life they’d had while he’d been traveling.

Kreacher covered in flour while the Mini-Marauders peeked out from under their uncle Harry’s invisibility cloak.

The Golden Trio standing with their arms around each other covered in sweat, dust, and grime and beaming brightly while the last of his family’s magical portraits were removed from the walls.

Harry’s proposal to Ginny at a Holyhead Harpies match, right in the middle of the pitch.

Molly sobbing at Ron and Luna’s wedding while Arthur patted her shoulder and handed her a hankey.

Hermione holding up her legal degree with a proud smile and little Rigel perched on her hip – he must’ve been about three or four.

Fred and George high fiving while holding up dual sonograms and their pregnant wives rolling their eyes in the background.

The Mini-Marauders in a pillow fort under the kitchen table giggling together when Hermione pulled back the edge of a bed sheet to check in on them.

Harry and Ron’s graduation from the auror training academy and standing up at the Ministry among the others in their class while Minister Shacklebolt pinned badges to their lapels.

Tonks’ promotion to Head of the DMLE.

But the one that captured his eye most seemed to be a candid shot of Hermione sitting on a bench outside the Burrow. She was dressed in a simple marigold wrap dress with a brown wrap around her shoulders and the colors of autumn around her in the trees. Her belly was large and rounded and her curls hanging loose around her shoulders while she sipped from a steaming mug. She was in profile for a good portion of the loop in the magical photo and the light of the sunset against her skin made her glow as if she was bast in bronze. It brought out the reds, golds, and oranges in her chocolate-brown curls, and the amber in her eyes. She smiled softly, contentedly to herself at whatever she might’ve been thinking of at the time. One hand was curled protectively around Rigel where he was still growing inside her. And she must not have noticed she was being photographed, because at the very end of the loop she turned to whoever had been taking the photo and put her hand up as if to block them out. Her face was rosy and flushed, her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were aglow. Frankly, she’d never looked lovelier in Sirius’ limited opinion.

“This might be my favorite,” Sirius remarked.

Hermione turned from where she’d been chatting with their son to ask, “Hm? Which one?” and rose to her feet to come closer and have a look.

He pointed to it with his finger. “This one here. It’s the Burrow, right?”

She blushed and cleared her throat. “Yes. Ginny took that one, actually. She said I didn’t have any of myself while I was pregnant and even if I felt like a bloody great whale, that I would regret it if I didn’t have at least one to look back on someday.” The curly-haired witch shrugged. “I suppose she was right, even if I was slowly becoming a planet.”

Sirius smiled at her snarkiness and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “You looked lovely, Kitten.”

“It’s Rigel’s favorite too,” she whispered. “Our first picture as a couple.” The witch turned to look over her shoulder where the boy had started drifting off on the couch.

“I’ll take him up to bed,” Sirius offered, if only to escape the softness in her eyes and the warmth of the moment.

July 23^rd, 2008 – The Burrow

Today was Molly’s day in the Summer ‘Sitting Rota, and Sirius had once again volunteered his services as escort for their son to his grandparents’ house so Hermione could get to work early. She was apparently working on something new – something big -It had taken Cissa to that morning to finally cough up the countercurse to the horrendous boils that he’d had to sleep with despite the torture. But now he was back to his normal self and fit for company. When they stepped through the floo into the family room of the Burrow, it was to the familiar sights and sounds of the Weasley clan. It appeared there was a full house today with all the Weasley children having decided to deposit their brood with Molly.

“Morning, Molly!” Sirius called out to announce their arrival.

“Granny Molly,” Rigel called out and ran towards the kitchen when nine times out of ten, the Weasley matriarch could be found.

Once his son had bound off towards the kitchen, Sirius took a look around at the old place to see how much and yet how little it had changed over the years. His eyes fell on the Weasley family clock, a feat of magic he’d always admired and secretly envied – the care the matriarch gave so willingly to those in her sphere, blood or not. The original seemed to contain all the adults now, children-in-law included, as well as Hermione, Andromeda, Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, Remus, and Tonks. The thing was fairly full to bursting with almost two dozen hands to keep track of now. 

It must’ve been magically expanded. Maybe Hermione had given Molly some help. It sometimes caught him by surprise how quickly his mind had started to make space for the little witch – how she seemed to be header and footnote to each innocuous consideration. ‘What were they having for dinner?’ was inevitably followed by one of the following: ‘Would Hermione like it?’, What would Hermione make instead?’, or ‘How would Hermione improve upon this meal?’ It was surprising and disconcerting the shift in him.

He took notice of a second, newer clock sat perched on the mantel like a stout, pot-belly old wizard instead of being mounted up on the wall. It must’ve become necessary for the matriarch with the addition of the newest crop of Weasleys and their ever-growing brood. This one contained all of her grandchildren, each silver spoon-shaped hand patiently etched with their names, dates of birth, and a magical portrait which each of their little smiling, gap-toothed, freckled, faces. They were in order of oldest to youngest and he was pleased to see the inclusion of Teddy, Rigel, and even little Scorpius there looking somewhat out of place surrounded by a sea of gingers. Sirius couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face.

“Sirius, dear, is that you?” Molly called out from the kitchen doorway. Quite a different tune than a couple days prior, but he wouldn’t look a gift thestral in the mouth.

“Yes, Molly. I came to drop Rigel off,” he called back.

“Let us take a look at you.” She waddled over and scrutinized him only the way a mother hen could. “You look too thin. Have you eaten?”

What? He’d actually put on some muscle in his years since the war and hadn’t had any complaints from his numerous lovers over the years. “Not really. The boy was too hyper to get out the door this morning,” he confessed sheepishly.

“Oh, well that won’t do. Rigel, dear, come here and have some breakfast before you go play,” she called through the house. Clearly the intervening years hadn’t sapped her energy.

“Oh, Gran! I’m not hungry,” Rigel groaned as Sirius and Molly entered the kitchen.

“Don’t give me that, young man. Have some bacon and toast, at the very least,” she clucked and began preparing a plate for each of them.

Sirius eyed his son with shared amusement and exasperation as he took a seat at the kitchen island on a tall stool beside him. He leaned in, to whisper, “She still like this?”

“Always,” Rigel mumbled.

“What was that?” Molly asked.

“Nothing,” the wizards replied in unison.

“That’s what I thought you said.” She turned to place a plate in front of each of them that was piled high with eggs, sausage, toast, bacon, and black pudding. “Now eat up.” She went to get some pumpkin juice for Rigel and poured a steaming cup of tea for Sirius.

Sirius warmed at the mothering, despite himself. “Thank you, Molly. Looks delicious.”

“Of course, it does. I made it.” She preened under his compliment and looked at her grandson, still trying to coax him to eat for her with the softest, gentlest tone she could muster. “Just a little for me, dear.” And when that didn’t seem to be working, she masterfully switched tactics. “Don’t want your mum thinking I’m not taking care of her favorite boy, do I?” After mothering seven children and now twice that many grandchildren, the witch clearly hadn’t lost her touch. Even with the most stubborn of little wizards.

Rigel seemed to melt at her words. “Okay, Gran.” Then he picked up his knife and fork to tuck in.

“There’s a good lad. Need to grow up big and strong like –” she caught herself and her warm smile faltered just a bit when Sirius caught her lingering gaze. “You know what I mean,” she added for Rigel’s benefit. “Then you can go play.”

Once Rigel had cleared half his plate, he chugged his juice, announced that he was finished, and hopped down from his stool. He took his plate to the sink and kissed Molly, thanked her, and ran off with a wave and a smile for Sirius as he went.

The floo in the family room roared and the voice of Ginny Potter carried through the home, “Mum, I’m here with the boys!”

“In the kitchen, dear!” Molly called back in greeting.

Ginny smiled at Sirius when she stepped in. “Thanks for watching them.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and Sirius allowed himself to melt into the background as he savored Molly’s home cooking and unintentionally eavesdropped on their conversation. “Feels like I’ve still got a million things to do before I go on leave.”

“Just make sure you’re taking the time to put your feet up,” Molly warned as she brushed a loose lock of her daughter’s hair behind her ear.

“I will once this baby is out of me.” The younger witch huffed and caressed her swollen belly.

“That’s what they all say,” Molly teased and went to pour her daughter some tea.

“I mean it. I’ve told Harry this is the last one,” Ginny insisted.

“Oh! Speaking of that husband of yours, have you finalized the menu? I need to head to the market,” Molly said.

Sirius’ attention was piqued as Ginny went into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of lined paper. “Here it is.”

The elder Weasley witch unfolded the paper and propped a pair of reading glasses on her nose that had been tucked into the neckline of her apron. “Well, he is a creature of habit, I’ll give him that,” she remarked with a fond smile.

“Every year I ask if he wants something special, and she always gives me that look – you know the one – as if he doesn’t want to put anyone out,” Ginny scoffed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told him that family doesn’t think that way.”

“Gin, sometimes the habits formed when we’re children are some of the hardest to break, and he didn’t grow up the way you did,” Molly said before her eyes flickered over to the dark-haired interloper still eating his black pudding. “Oh, Sirius, I forgot you were still here.”

He waved a hand at her to dismiss her worries. “Never mind that. Were you discussing Harry’s birthday?”

“Yes, 31^st of July, same as every year,” Ginny laughed.

“Rigel mentioned something about how it’s a family tradition that he has his birthday dinner here,” Sirius began.

“Just the way he likes it,” Molly agreed.

“And I’m sure it’s great fun, but wouldn’t it be grand if you two could take the night off and not have to worry about preparing a feast for dozens of people, having to clean the Burrow from top to bottom for guests, not to mention all the people and noise?” he asked, trying to sell the witches on what he thought were the finer points of his argument. Did he have a plan yet, per se? Not technically. But he was a Marauder. How hard could it be to throw together a birthday bash for his godson? He had all the time in the world, plenty of experience, and the Black family vaults at his disposal.

Ginny and Molly exchanged a look before the younger asked, “Did Harry mention wanting something different?” Her hazel eyes were almost hopeful and curious.

Sirius considered fibbing, but didn’t think that it would serve his best interests. “No, not directly. But he’s going to be 28, not 100. Shouldn’t he get to have a fun night out?”

“He has fun with his family,” Molly insisted, somewhat perturbed by the perceived insult. “He loves his family. And he loves his wife and children.”

He knew his godson well, and they shared their insecurities regarding family ties and a sense of belonging. Or, the dark-haired wizard thought, they had once. “I’m not disputing that. I’m sure he loves your dinners and being part of your family. But a change of pace might be nice to remind him that he’s not over the hill,” Sirius explained, hoping his charming grin would get him out of the hole he was digging for himself like it had so often in the past. But then he went in for the kill. “And I’ve missed so many of his birthdays. I really want to do something special for him. Please, ladies.” He schooled his expression into something contrite and earnest, placed a hand over his heart, and waited for them to give in.

“Well…” Ginny mused, looking at her mother to gauge her take on things.

Molly’s brow was still furrowed as she held the proposed handwritten menu in her hand. “Don’t look at me. He’s your husband,” she said, eventually relenting and putting her hands up in surrender. “But I’m still going to go to the market and get supplies for a dinner, just in case.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius said. “Thank you, Molly. Ginny.” Guilt tripping. Bringing families together since time immemorial. He brought his empty plate and teacup to the sink and gently placed it into the washing tub where the scouring sponge was already poised for purpose. He kissed them each on the cheek, told them he’d be back to pick up Rigel later that day, and made for the floo. He had some planning to do, and he was going to rope Moony into helping.

Chapter Text

-------

Later that afternoon – The Leaky Cauldron

Remus agreed to meet Sirius for lunch, and Sirius was fashionably late, as per usual. “Hi Tom! Long time no see!”

The barman smiled and greeted Sirius merrily, “Good to see you back home again, Mister Black.”

He couldn’t help the light sting of the older wizard’s words. “Och, don’t start ‘Mister Black’ing me, Tom. I’m still young and spry yet,” Sirius bantered.

“No, you’re not,” Remus’ deadpan drawl cut through the chatter and the dark-haired Animagus turned to envelop his old friend in a one-armed hug.

They took a seat in a quiet corner of the pub and placed their orders with one of Tom’s granddaughters. Then Remus broke the ice by remarking, “Your owl was vague, but enough to pique my curiosity. What are you up to, Padfoot?”

“Planning a surprise for my godson’s birthday,” Sirius blurted wearing a wide, manic smile.

Remus’ brow furrowed. “Isn’t he just having the usual family dinner at the Burrow?”

“No, Moony. Gods! He’s 28, not 90. And Hermione tells me he’s being doing this family dinner nonsense since the war,” Sirius knew he was whining, but he couldn’t help the wave of depression that washed over him at the thought that his godson had wasted his best years having grown up far too fast to ever stop and enjoy his youth.

“Pads, Harry and the rest of their generation isn’t like us. They were child soldiers,” Remus explained in that patient professorial voice of his that he likely used with his students.

“So were we.”

“Yes, once we finished school. And voluntarily. It wasn’t quite the same for them, now was it?”

Sirius ducked his head sheepishly. “So, what are you saying – that he likes living like an old fogey now?”

“I think Harry in particular has had more than enough excitement in his young life and he prefers things to be quiet now. There’s nothing wrong with that. And given what he’s lost, I’m honestly not surprised that he would prefer an intimate family dinner to a night out at the pub surrounded by strangers and groupies gawking at him.”

Sirius scratched at his beard and thought on what Remus had said. “Even all these years later?”

“He’s still Harry Potter,” Remus said with a very Marauder-esque smile. “Except now he’s a decorated auror. The fan club has been rabid for sightings of him and young Ronald for years.”

“And Hermione?” Sirius asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“She’s always led a quiet life. Going back to school instead of joining the Ministry, opting for a role as a public servant rather than chasing down dark wizards like the boys,” Remus explained. “She’s worked to stay out of the limelight and give Rigel a normal life.”

“I see.”

“You will.”

“But I still think I could think up something fun – something in the middle of a dinner thrown by his mother-in-law, and a night with a stripper straddling his lap,” Sirius thought aloud.

Remus groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Please, don’t go overboard, Pads. Remember Prongs’ bachelor party?”

“How could I forget? I didn’t think anyone could turn that red,” Sirius reminisced.

“You purposefully charmed all of the dancer’s eyes green and their hair red. It was so wrong,” Remus chuckled.

Tom’s granddaughter brought over their food and drinks on a levitating tray and returned back behind the bar.

“So, now that you’re determined to hang around,” Remus began, “what are you planning to do with your time?”

“What do you mean, Moons?” Sirius asked, piercing through one of his bangers with the edge of his fork before dipping it into his mash and gravy.

“I mean, if you’re determined to put down roots here once and for all, be here for your boy and all that, then you have to have something to fill out your day.” Remus cut into one of his Yorkshire puddings and took a large bite form his fork. “I mean, once the school term starts up again, I won’t be able to just drop everything and come meet you in London anytime. It’s already a stretch for Minerva to allow me to live at home with my family during the school year instead of up the castle.”

“I have interests. Hobbies. I can make do.”

“What about a job?”

“Ugh,” Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin my appetite.”

“Or dating?” Remus suggested with a teasing light in his eye.

“The dating pool in Wizarding Britain is much too small.”

“Only because by Seventh Year you’d sampled all the goods,” Remus reminded him.

“Can I help it if I was a popular bloke?” Sirius retorted and gestured to himself with both hands.

“That’s one word for it.”

“Oh, what would you call it?”

Without missing a beat, Remus replied, “Easy.”

Sirius gaped at his friend before he threw his head back with a loud guffaw. “Well, as you say, Moony, I’m not in the mood for sloppy seconds. I think I’ll pass on that for now, as well.”

“So, what will you do to fill out your days?” his old friend asked.

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll know it when I see it,” Sirius insisted with a firm nod.

After a long, protracted silence, Remus rose from his seat and put money down for his meal before embracing his old friend and making plans to see him again, perhaps at Grimmauld Place.

Sirius was left stewing in his thoughts. Something to fill out his day. Something to do with his time. Presumably, something productive, mature, and adult. And not in the fun way for those latter adjectives. Then he continued to think on it even when his empty butterbeer was swapped out for a fresh one. “Thanks, pet.” He thanked Tom’s granddaughter and continued to ruminate. He knew himself well enough to know that without a task or purpose, he might lose his mind. He needed something. And maybe not a job, per se. Thanks to his sickle-pinching, extortionist ancestors and their hoarding of wealth, they’d assured that he wouldn’t have to do a day’s hard labor in his life if he didn’t wish to.

He recalled fondly his youth when he’d dreamt of being an auror alongside James – boyhood dreams of capturing dark wizards and being heralded as heroes for it. How naïve he’d once been to think that it would redeem his name and the family he’d been born into. But he was much too old for that now. He tried to think on what else he enjoyed. Music. Good food. His motorbike. Traveling. Lovely company. But he couldn’t necessarily turn any of those things into ‘careers’. And the idea of charity work bored him to tears. He didn’t know how Cissa did it without pulling out her eyes. But then she and Andi had combined forces and created a whole school system to address a niche issue in their community that had existed for generations.

He shuddered at the thought of assuming his family’s ancestral seat and wondered if, in his absence, the rules had been relaxed about who was allowed to claim it. He would have to reach out to Andi or Cissa and ask if either of them had done him the favor and taken it off his hands. Perhaps Harry or even Hermione would have some ideas about what a good use of his time and talents might be.

That night – 12 Grimmauld Place

After picking up Rigel at the Burrow and bringing him back home, Kreacher had made a lovely dinner of baked lasagna, garlic bread, green salad, and tiramisu. Rigel had picked around the salad and dessert but devoured the mains and sides. He had negotiated with Hermione and eaten some fruit as his snack since he’d skipped out on his veggies. Rigel had asked Sirius to help him practice wizard’s chess because he was apparently learning with Harry and now Rigel and Teddy had a bit of a competition going between them. Sirius remembered how good Moony had been in school and knew he’d have his work cut out for him in trying to teach his pup to best any kid of Remus’. They had played for a good two hours before Rigel had started to get sleepy, and Hermione had declared that it was time for bed.

Sirius had gotten to participate in the bedtime routine for the first time and it was sweet to observe the little witch with their boy. They brushed their teeth the muggle way side by side in her ensuite bathroom where there were two taps, and she kept a step stool for Rigel on a hook on the wall. They showed off their pearly whites and Sirius recalled how when she’d been younger, she had very prominent front teeth. It seemed Rigel hadn’t inherited that from her. “Don’t forget your tongue, Peanut,” she said.

Once they were all brushed, bathed, and dressed down for bed, Hermione crawled into their son’s bed, back propped up against his small headboard, and legs stretched out in front of her crossed at the ankles. Rigel was under his covers, cuddled into her side in his small, child-sized bed, while he pulled out a book that it appeared they’d been making slow progress reading together. “Where were we?” she asked.

“Dad?” Rigel called for him.

Sirius froze in the doorway. Hermione looked up at him hovering hesitantly and asked, “Do you want to join us?”

“Oh, erm, I don’t want to ruin a good thing if –”

“Get in here, Padfoot,” she interjected and gave him an idea.

He shifted into his Animagus form and leapt onto the foot of the bed where he curled around their legs. He could feel his son’s small toes wiggling against the soft fur on his belly and he huffed a soft, doggy laugh. Then he gestured to the book in Rigel’s hands with his snout as if to tell him to read. Rigel began in a commanding voice:

‘“What do you wish?” asked the King.

“I wish – I wish – I wish I could have lived in the Old Days,” said Caspian.

“Eh? What’s that?” he said. “What old days do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t you know, Uncle?” said Caspian? “When everything was quite different. When all the animals could talk, there were nice people who lived in the streams and the trees. Naiads and Dryads they were called. And there were Dwarfs. And there were lovely little Fauns in all the woods. They had feet like goats. And…”

“That’s all nonsense, for babies, do you hear? You’re getting too old for that sort of stuff. At your age you ought to be thinking of battles and adventures, not fairy tales.”

“Oh, but there were battles and adventures in those days,” said Caspian.

“Who has been telling you this nonsense?” said the King in a voice of thunder. “Who has been telling you this pack of lies?”

“Nurse,” faltered Caspian, and burst into tears.

“Stop that noise,” said his uncle, taking Caspian by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “Stop it. And never let me catch you talking – or thinking either – about all those silly stories again. There never were those Kings and Queens… And there’s no such person as Aslan. And there are no such things as lions. And there never was a time when animals could talk. Do you hear?”

“Yes, Uncle,” sobbed Caspian.

“Then let’s have no more of it,” said the King.’”

When Rigel’s eyelids started to droop, Hermione gently slipped the well-loved paperback from his hands, tucked their bookmark back into place and set it aside on his nightstand before rising from the bed, shifting him lower on his pillows so he would be laying down completely, turned out the lights, and bent down to kiss his brow. Sirius turned back and bent to do the same and then their eyes met – Hermione’s and his – and she gestured for him to follow her out.

-----

Hermione led him down into the library for a change and he was able to take in some more of the alterations that had been made to his childhood home. She loved it here now, the comfy seating, the lightly colored walls, and the few potted plants scattered here and there which made the room feel fresh and alive in a way it hadn’t before. Gone was the oppressive atmosphere that had once haunted this space, and in its place a sanctuary of learning had been created.

She watched Sirius look at the overhead lighting fixture which she had created with the help of Fleur who had quite the talent for transfiguration. It now resembled the branches of a tree where each sprig and bud were replaced by a small, imperfect sliver of crystal intended to catch the light of the light bulbs at its center. The walls had been papered in a warm, earthy cinnamon and the curtains were a cream-colored confection that let in tons of natural lights. The bookshelves had been the true test of their mettle, carefully preserving the Black family library once Bill and other cursebreakers had been contracted to go over things with a fine-toothed comb and ensure it was safe with a small child running around. Once they’d safely removed all the books from the room, Harry, Ron, and Remus had taken it upon themselves to do all the sanding and re-staining of the wood, be it by hand or via charms. She had been in her third trimester at the time and the boys wanted to do the chivalrous thing and prevent her from breathing in any harmful fumes or being crouched over bookshelves for hours. She had grumbled about sexist double-standards at the time but secretly been relieved for the sake of her lower back.

This room – arguably her favorite in the house – had become a haven of sorts, and for the ‘Queen of the Swots’, and ‘Brains of the Golden Trio', it really came as no surprise to anyone. But this place had become a home, and its walls contained memories, good and bad, it was true. But nonetheless, it had become as much a part of her as she was of it. “Well, what do you think?” she asked, unsure why her stomach churned with anxiety as she awaited his opinion.

“This room used to be like a tomb when I was a child,” Sirius said, head tilted back to take in the light fixture. “But now, it’s light, warm, and welcoming. Somewhere I might actually enjoy spending time. And that’s thanks to all of your hard work.”

“Well, this room was mostly down to the boys, believe it or not – at least the manual labor,” she replied. “I was pretty far along at the time, you see.”

“Ah.”

“Tonks, Fleur, Ginny, and I got to come in afterwards and make it looks pretty.”

“Well, hat’s off to you, love.” He lowered himself into a royal blue, highbacked chaise and kicked up his booted feet.

“Shoes off the furniture, Black,” she chastised him, her voice a sharp crack.

He chuckled at her tone. “Still think you could teach Minnie a thing or two.”

“You seem to be under the impression that Minerva has gone soft in her old age, but that’s hardly the case. She’s headmistress now and doesn’t pull any punches,” Hermione remarked. “Especially not after surviving your lot and then mine.” She lowered herself into a sage green armchair opposite him.

Sirius’ eyes seemed to catch on to the collection of framed photos on the fireplace mantle. “Are those –?” He rose in a single, fluid movement and closed the distance between them, gravitating towards the one she always assumed he would first. It was a photo Remus had duplicated of Sirius and himself standing beside James and Lily Potter at their wedding reception like bookends, all four of them raising their champagne flutes in a toast.

Hermione watched him in profile as he started blinking rapidly and looked away politely. She guessed that he was probably trying not to cry in company. “It was a gift from Remus, actually. Harry has his own copy. Wanted to leave that one here for you, for when you eventually came home,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her and murmured, “I haven’t seen this photo in a very long time, Kitten. Thank you.”

She didn’t think it would be very generous to reprimand him at that moment for the use of the pet name, and chose to let it go. “Anytime you need a refresher, it’s here. It’s yours.”

He silently took in the others, a still, muggle photo of Hermione with her parents in Diagon Alley as a Firstie. She, Harry, and Ron with their arms thrown around each other in their robes at the end of that year during their first House Cup win. Rigel in the bath, covered in bubbles with a soapy fauxhawk while Hermione giggled in the corner of the frame. Lily and James dancing beside a park fountain from Harry’s old album that Hagrid had gifted him after First Year. They had made this house a home. And he was surprised that he wanted to stay.

July 24^th, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

As a show of faith, Sirius liked to imagine, Hermione had added him to the ‘Summer ‘Sitting Rota’, allowing him to watch over Rigel the whole day. He didn’t think he was prepared for the whole Weasley brood plus the Potter boys and Teddy too. But he could handle a day with just his boy. Sirius was determined to show Hermione after crashing her girl’s night that he could be a responsible father.

In that vein, he’d woken up early to ensure that Rigel had a nutritious breakfast. He was disheartened to see that Kreacher was already on the job. When Sirius had attempted to step into the house elf’s domain and assume a role as some kind of sous chef or line cook, Kreacher swatted at him with the flat edge of his spatula.

Sirius gaped at the house elf, taken aback by his daring. “I want to make my son breakfast.”

“And Kreacher appreciates that, but Kreacher has been doing this a long time. Kreacher knows what his family likes and dislikes, and Kreacher does not need the help,” the house elf argued, his tone flat.

Sirius looked around at the spread and saw that the house elf was preparing pancakes, bacon and sausage this morning. The knives were already enchanted to dice up fresh fruit at the counter beside the elf. “I want to show his mother that I can be a good father,” he mumbled and ducked his head. He was accustomed to being vulnerable or bashful in front of house elves, and certainly not this one.

Kreacher paused in his preparations and said, “Fine. Master Sirius may assist Kreacher with making sure the food does not burn while Kreacher gets something from the garden.” Without another word, the aged elf hopped down from his step stool and puttered through the kitchen towards the large glass doors into the back garden, a wicker basket levitating behind him.

Sirius took up Kreacher’s discarded spatula and kept a keen eye on the bubbling pancake in one pan while sausage links sizzled away merrily. One of them spat at him, the hot grease leaping from the pan, making Sirius yelp and rub at his exposed forearm, but then he’d cast a small shield charm and that seemed to do the trick. He went into the refrigerator and went looking for blueberries. He hadn’t had blueberry pancakes in ages! When Kreacher reappeared with a couple of large potatoes, Sirius asked, “Do we have any blueberries, Kreacher?”

The house elf shook his head so that his large, bat-like ears flopped around, while he summoned his step stool over to the sink and began rinsing the new spuds under the tap. “No, Master. The Mistress and Young Master are allergic. And once Young Master Rigel ate one at school after a friend shared lunch with him, and the school mediwitch had to take him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Really?” Sirius balked.

“Yes, Master. Now, Kreacher does not keep them in the house or garden anymore just to be safe.”

“Good to know.” Sirius went back to managing the stovetop and frowned at the thought that he might not be able to get blueberry pancakes here. He’d have to go out into Muggle London if he had a craving.

Rigel appeared minutes later, chipper as usual, and greeted them both, “Good morning, Kreacher! Morning, Dad!” It seemed his son was a natural morning person. Sirius wondered if he got that from his mother because he surely hadn’t gotten it from Sirius.

“Good morning, Young Master,” Kreacher said in his bullfrog voice.

“Morning, son. Breakfast is almost ready, so as soon as you wash up you can eat.”

“Yes! I’m starving,” Rigel groaned and held his little stomach.

“The Young Master has a good appetite,” Kreacher remarked approvingly. “Wash up, Young Master.”

By the time his boy came stomping back down the stairs, Kreacher was plating up two heaping helpings of pancakes, seasoned potatoes, bacon, and sausage for their breakfast. “Thank you, Kreacher,” Sirius said and took his seat, smiling at the sight of the fresh pot of coffee already sitting in the center of the table for him.

Rigel followed his lead, “Thank you, Kreacher!”

The old elf toddled off and left them to their morning meal. The wizards ate in peace and Rigel would sporadically bring up topics of conversation that seemingly had no connection to each other, but Sirius made the effort to engage and show interest. He was curious to discover all the little quirky inner workings of his son’s mind.

“So, what are we doing today?” Rigel asked, bouncing in his seat.

“I thought you could help me run some errands in Diagon Alley for Uncle Harry’s birthday in a few days,” Sirius began, really needing to get the ball rolling that, “get some lunch in Muggle London, maybe,” he said, waggling his brows to sell it, “And then I thought if we had energy we could check out Quality Quidditch Supply, and maybe finish up with some ice cream at Fortescue’s. What do you say?”

“That sounds brilliant.”

“Okay, then dress comfortably. Looks like it’s going to be very hot and humid today – so shorts, tee-shirt, and trainers. Maybe a hat to keep the sun off your face. And something that could blend in with the muggles for lunchtime,” Sirius said, trying to use the same tone he’d heard Hermione employ when she expected to be obeyed.

“Got it.” His son raced for the stairs, clearly looking forward to their day.

“Let me know if you need help!” Sirius called out and rose to his feet to start clearing the table. That sounded like something a responsible parent would say, right? Fake it ‘til you make it, he supposed.

With perfect timing, Kreacher reappeared from his boiler room and with a snap of his spindly fingers the dirty dishware floated towards the sink. “Keep an eye on that boy, Master,” Kreacher warned as Sirius made for the door.

“Always.”

This earned him a firm nod that Sirius would like to think carried a hint of approval.

Later that afternoon – Diagon Alley

They had already stopped at Gringott’s where Sirius had discreetly met with the Head Goblin to settle the paperwork about getting Rigel added onto his family vaults as his heir. The resemblance was unmistakable, so Mr. Gornak hadn’t questioned his reasoning. But it seemed to surprise the goblin when Sirius revealed that his son carried the surname ‘Granger’ rather than ‘Black’. Sirius had asked Rigel to keep this between them, and his son had seemed intrigued at the idea of having a secret with his father.

He didn’t want to risk offending Hermione with his actions and making her feel as if she were somehow incapable of financially supporting their son, but he was the only child and heir of the direct line of the House of Black, he was on the family tapestry, and despite his name, Sirius wanted to ensure that he would always know he was cared for, loved, and wanted after that heart-rending series of questions over the weekend.

They stopped into Quality Quidditch Supply next and while Sirius kept an eye on Rigel in his periphery at all times, he spoke to the agent behind the counter about tickets to upcoming games on British soil. He was informed of one the day of Harry’s birthday in Wales and promptly booked a private box which would be large enough to accommodate all the Weasleys, the Potters, the Lupins, the Grangers and himself with room to spare for any friends or colleagues they wished to include. There was a full bar, and the box came with a half-dozen house elf attendants. “Thank you, sir. My godson is going to love this,” Sirius said and shook the man’s hand.

“Anything for Mr. Potter,” the shopkeeper gushed. “Have a good day, Mister Black.”

“Same to you.” Sirius turned to find his son trying to climb one of the displays. “Oi, pup! Down from there before you crack your head open like a sunny side up egg and your mum has a conniption.”

The shopkeeper seemed to think this was hilarious while Sirius stuffed the shrunken envelope into the pocket of his trousers and sprinted for his boy.

“How about we get some lunch?” he offered.

“Oooh, yes.”

“What are you in the mood for, pup?”

“Mmm, somewhere we can get milkshakes,” Rigel replied, eyes wide and bouncing on his toes.

“Fair enough. It’s hot as a Chinese Fireball’s ballocks out today,” Sirius replied

His son snickered and clamped a hand over his mouth. “You’re lucky mum got rid of the swear jar.”

“I didn’t swear.”

“No, but close enough.”

“Oh, I’ve heard your mum say a lot worse.”

They bantered and joked together all the way to the Leaky Cauldron, stepped through the brick wall as air rearranged itself and through the pub, waving to Tom as they went, into Muggle London where Sirius led his boy to the nearest apparition point.

Sirius ended up finding a popular burger place courtesy of the Americans, he surmised, and knew that even the pickiest eater would find something on the menu to enjoy. Rigel, for his part, seemed enamored of the retro-1950’s americana-style diner theme interior and kept asking for coins for the jukebox. But he devoured two small burgers and a medium-sized chocolate and peanut butter milkshake that seemed to cool him off and take the edge off. They split a basket of chips and crispy onion rings between them while Sirius enjoyed his own massive double-decker burger.

Properly sated, they made their way back to Diagon Alley so Rigel could ‘help’ Sirius pick out some gifts. They’d just exited Madame Malkin’s when a bright flash startled Sirius and he threw himself in front of his pup, shielding him with his entire body. He turned his face away and had to blink a few times to clear the dots dancing in his vision and barked, “What gives?!”

“Mr. Black! Mr. Black! Look over here!”

They all began pushing and shoving, shoving their cameras into his face and he reached down a hand to cradle his son’s head when he felt his small hands fist in the hem of his shirt and the pressure at his hip of Rigel trying to hide from the swarm of reporters.

“Mr. Black, when did you get back to England?”

Their questions were coming rapid-fire, and he was still trying to gauge whether or not they would actually harm him or his son – if he should make a break for it instead. Would this cause trouble for his friends and makeshift family – him appearing in the paper photographed with Rigel who bore a striking resemblance to himself.

“Mr. Black, have you returned for good?”

“Yes,” he shouted back over the din.

This seemed to trigger a round of scratching quills and more bulbs flashing.

“Mr. Black, is there something big happening for the Potters? Is that the reason you’ve returned?” a young, female reporter with a pin from Witch Weekly on her collar asked.

“Not that I can tell, except for his birthday which occurs annually. But I’m sure you all already knew that,” came his stiff retort. Maybe he could salvage this moment and redirect some of the attention away from him and Rigel and towards his godson’s big day. He felt bad throwing Harry under the metaphorical bus, but Harry was nearly 30 and used to being in the papers. Rigel was a boy and clearly overwhelmed. Sirius thought that Harry would understand if he explained.

“Mr. Black is it true that you’re the mystery father of Hermione Granger’s son?” another of them asked, and it was like they all went dead silent before their eyes fell on Rigel where he was peeking out from behind Sirius’ hip. 

“Is that him?!”

“Oh, Merlin!”

“So, it’s true, then?”

“When did this happen?”

“How long have you known?”

“Did you and Miss Granger have a secret marriage?”

“Where have you been all this time instead of here at home raising your son?”

“What’s his name?”

“Mr. Black, please! A photo of the two of you for the Prophet!”

Rigel squeaked behind him and when Sirius turned to look, one of the bolder reporters was actually trying to pry the boy away from Sirius and into the light where they could steal their blasted photographs! He was a child, not even of age! Sirius was his father, and he wouldn’t permit this. He had a feeling Hermione would’ve blasted through them all for laying a hand on her son. However, Sirius’ history spoke for itself, and he couldn’t afford to make a new name for himself as an unstable, violent parent. Not if he wanted the family’s approval to be part of Rigel’s life for good.

“Dad!” Rigel called out and the flashbulbs went off again.

Sirius winced and grabbed for his boy, shouldering past the reporters and bellowed at them, “Let go of my son, immediately, sir, or lose that hand. My relationship with his mother is no one’s concern but my own. You will do well to remember the history Wizarding Britain has had in the past with publishing unsanctioned stories about underage witches and wizards for public consumption. I think the Golden Trio could speak to that.”

They all froze at the reminder that not too long ago their ‘heroes’ had been plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet and labeled ‘Undesirables’.

“Do slander and libel sound familiar?” he snarled and scooped Rigel into his arms so he could hide his face in his neck.

His son seemed to understand because he linked his arms around Sirius’ neck and hid his face from the flashing of the cameras. “Daddy, I’m scared,” he whimpered in the tiniest, most unsure voice he’d ever heard from the typically energetic and self-assured boy. “I want to go home.”

“We’re going home, pup,” Sirius murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t come near my family again and never lay a hand on my child or I’ll ruin you and your entire publication,” he threatened. “You know I can do it.” He knew he was showing his hand. He knew Andi, Cissa, and even Draco might’ve handled this with more grace and aplomb, but that part of him that was animal – possessive and territorial over those he considered ‘his’ – was pacing in the back of his mind, hackles raised, and baring its teeth, egging him on to his baser impulses.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Black.”

“Sorry, Mr. Black.”

They murmured their apologies, some more sincere than others, and the one who’d laid a hand on his son at least looked properly chastised. “That’s Lord Black, to you.” He got into the young man’s face as he said it, baring his teeth the way he would if he were in his animagus form and felt threatened.

Just then a pair of hands began applauding and Sirius turned away to find Fred and George Weasley standing there shoulder-to-shoulder enjoying the slow clap. “What’s all this, Gred?”

“I don’t know, Forge. Looks a bit like harassment to me, though. What do you think?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Gred. That’s why I called the aurors. Aurors Potter and Weasley are on the way.”

“Great minds, Forge.”

The reporters tried to flee on foot, but they couldn’t get past Sirius and the twins who obstinately blocked their escape in both directions. And when some of the more persistent ones tried to apparate away, they found that they couldn’t.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?!”

“Oi, you can’t keep us here!”

“Oh, you’ll find we can, and we will,” one of the twins – maybe George – said with a feral smile.

“You see, we’re part of the Diagon Alley Neighborhood Watch,” perhaps Fred chimed in, speaking in that way of theirs that tended to bounce back and forth as if they were tossing a quaffle to confuse another team’s chaser.

“Just doing our civic duty, ain’t we?”

“Can’t have suspicious characters fleeing the scene of a potential crime, can we?”

Sirius smiled at the boys he’d seen grow up and found that the Marauder spirit was still alive and well in this generation. It brought warmth to his heart. Then the aurors descended on the place, apparating into the Alley. Sirius spotted his godson and his best friend immediately and waved them over.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” Harry asked when he reached him, eyeing Rigel who was still trembling in Sirius’ arms.

Ron went over to his brothers to start questioning witnesses and the reporters themselves.

“Just out doing some errands. Wanted to stop in at Fortescue’s for some ice cream before we headed back,” Sirius explained. “And then we were swarmed by this plague of locusts.” He hissed it at them and watched a few of the younger, greener ones physically recoil.

Harry lowered his voice and shifted out of ‘auror mode’ for a moment to address Rigel, “Peanut, it’s me. It’s Uncle Harry.”

Rigel sniffled and turned to peek at Harry warily. “I want to go home,” the boy whimpered.

“I know, kid, I know. And we’re going to let you and your dad go as soon as we make sure neither of you are hurt, okay?” Harry explained.

The little wizard seemed to understand and nodded his head. “Okay.”

“Will you hold out your arms for me so I can see?” Harry asked and looked over the boy’s limbs and face for any indication of injuries he might be able to document. 

Sirius shifted his hold on Rigel so his boy could comply, and he could still keep hold of him. Logically, he knew his son was old enough to do this while standing, and they probably looked ridiculous like this. But when Sirius had spotted that reporter actually trying to pull his boy away from him, something had threatened to snap in him that he’d kept a tight lead on for decades. Not since Halloween 1981 when he’d cornered Pettigrew on that muggle road with the intent to kill had Sirius been that simultaneously furious and afraid.

“Okay, everything looks fine, Padfoot. Anything you want on the record before I let you go?” Harry asked.

“Just that that one,” he snarled and pointed at the reporter who’d grabbed Rigel, “tried to pull my son away from me so they could take their bloody pictures. I want his license revoked or rescinded or whatever the fuck it’s called. The ballocks on these reporters, and they get bolder every year.”

“Will do, Sirius.”

Rigel looked at his godfather and asked, “Can we still get ice cream?”

Harry cracked a smile that reminded Sirius so much of James in that moment it was like a fissure in his heart. “I’ll go run over and grab your favorite, kid. Be right back.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Sirius said.

“I’ll bring it by the house when Ron and I are done here,” Harry confirmed. “You guys get home.”

“Thanks, son. Oh, and tell the twins ‘thank you’ as well.”

“Anytime, Dadfoot.”

“For fuck’s sake, not you too!” Sirius groaned.

“Oh, Mione told me all about it at work.” His godson’s face split into a ruthless grin that definitely brought up images of his father.

Later that night – Greengrass Manor

Draco and Astoria were enjoying a week at one of her dower properties with their son when the late edition of the Daily Prophet was delivered by owl. Astoria placed the per-issue payment into the small drawstring bag around the owl’s feathered neck and it took off, leaving the rolled-up newsprint in her hands. “Draco, darling, the Prophet is here,” she called to him where he was finishing up his shower and preparing for bed.

“Anything good?” he asked, stepping out with just a towel secured around his waist and his pale hair slicked back and still damp.

She still blushed at the sight of him, even after years of marriage and parenthood. “I know you like to be first,” she said knowingly and handed it over.

He smiled and blushed at her words to the tips of his ears. “Cheeky witch,” he remarked and took the Prophet from her. Draco unfurled it with a smile, and it immediately vanished. If possible, he went even paler. “Oh, sweet Salazar.” The sporadic flickering of what she could only assume were camera flashbulbs on the front page flickered in his mercury-silver eyes.

“Darling, what’s happened?” she asked, rising from her vanity. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to floo Granger.”

“At this time of night?”

He handed back the paper with a pained expression on his handsome face and she received it as if it might bite her. There on the front page was sprawled a concerning headline.

LORD BLACK DECLARES PATERNITY OF HERMIONE GRANGER’S SON IN THE MIDDLE OF DIAGON ALLEY – More details from Gringotts’ Head Goblin and the Pure-Blood Directory to follow on page 3.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” she murmured, already twisting one of her dark tendrils around her forefinger – a nervous tic she’d developed as a teenager at the height of the war.

“Do you think she knows – that she’s already seen it?” her husband asked, starting to pace.

“It’s Hermione Granger. She prides herself on staying informed,” Astoria reminded him gently. “Especially about things like this.”

“She’s a barrister for the DRCMC and the Ministry. Surely this can’t stand.”

“Darling, as much as we’d like to deny, deny, deny… they’re not wrong. Sirius is Rigel’s father. We’ve known this for years.”

“Yes, but to expose them this way – that little boy who had nothing to do with his parents’ choices, for good or for ill,” he ranted.

Ah. She understood suddenly why he seemed to be taking this so personally. Astoria knew that her husband was a family man. After his experiences with his own father, and the previous Lord Malfoy’s incarceration, he and his mother had been inseparable. For a while, they were all that they had. While over time they’d brought his aunt Andromeda and his cousin Nymphadora into the fold, so to speak, he was still deeply protective of his family. Almost to the point of obsession.

Astoria’s mother-in-law had once told her that much like his namesake, Draco tended to hoard affection, afraid that he would lose his loved ones at any moment to things beyond his control. Narcissa had expressed that this was also a Black family trait. They tended to be obsessive and possessive of those people and things they considered theirs.

“Draco, darling, I’m sure she’s already seen it and has penned a response. Several, I’d wager. While this isn’t libel, per se, it was an invasion of privacy and based upon their quote from Harry, it seems that one of the reporters tried to grab Rigel.”

Her husband fumed. “They what?!”

“Sirius prevented anything from happening, darling,” she said, putting a hand over the left side of his chest in a way she knew soothed him. He relaxed only slightly as she went on, “But if I know Hermione, and I like to think that I do, she will not let this go unpunished.”

After a long moment of intense eye-contact, Draco relented. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“I should still write in the morning and offer my services,” he replied.

With a nod at her husband’s thoughtfulness, Astoria raised a hand to cup his jaw and reassured him, “I’m sure she’d be grateful. But for now, please come to bed.”

July 27^th, 2008 – Daily Prophet Offices

It had taken Hermione Granger three days with to bring down the full combined weight of the Ministry, the House of Black, the House of Potter, and the House of Malfoy and sue them for all they were worth. She stormed into the Head Editor’s office like a valkyrie of myth, and blown the doors off their hinges, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley all on her heels.

By the end of their ‘meeting’, the quintet had extracted promises that they would never again print photos of her son or any underage wixen without the express consent of their parent or guardian. Additionally, they gave their written word – ironic for reporters, she thought – that they would stop printing harmful libel about Rigel Alphard Granger, and that they would stop harassing children in the streets to sell papers. This, of course, came with the stipulation that the reporter who’d tried to grab her son was terminated immediately and blacklisted from any reputable paper in the country, courtesy of Sirius. And thanks to Draco, Lord Malfoy, any stories about Hermione or her son would have to be approved by her in advance first.

Draco had suggested they replace the current editor as well, and surprisingly Harry and Ron agreed wholeheartedly. Sirius stood like a silent sentinel, seething at her back, arms folded across his broad chest. He seemed to grow in anger as if the aura around him took up all the air in the room. While the boys thought it might be too much, Hermione had found it strangely reassuring to have him as an ally in this and know that he had held his ground and protected their boy.

When she’d received Harry’s stag patronus at work, she’d fairly sprinted home heels and all. But to know that along with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George, Sirius had been there for Rigel had touched her heart. It had begun to prove to her that he could be trusted with their son’s best interests and protection, and she felt an odd sense of pride in him. It was odd because she didn’t know how to classify it – he wasn’t her partner, or family, not really. He wasn’t technically a ‘friend’. But he was in her corner, and it would have to be enough. She had flown through the floo into the kitchen, not bothering to clean the soot off of her robes only to drop to her knees in front of Rigel who appeared to be unbothered and enjoying his ice cream at the table.

Hermione had scooped him into her lap and nuzzled her boy, hysterical and on the verge of tears. Kreacher had appeared and cleansed the soot from their clothes without a word before he’d asked if there was anything he could do. She’d demanded to see Sirius who was up in the family room once again inspecting her wall of photos. But when the moment came and she found herself standing in the doorway, he’d slowly turned to face her, and she’d launched herself into his arms. He had staggered a bit to steady them so they wouldn’t go arse over tits. But she had wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her face into his chest – the intoxicating scent of him burrowing beneath her skin as she did – and murmured to him over and over, “Thank you. Thank you.”

Sirius had embraced her back and told her, “You never have to thank me for protecting our son.”

They’d had a long conversation that night after Rigel had gone to sleep about how it had been for her in the beginning, while she was noticeably pregnant, and then shortly after their son’s birth. The media had been relentless with Rita Skeeter still at the forefront. She told him about the interviews with old schoolmates of theirs, and stories from falsified lovers claiming paternity over ‘the Golden Girl’s’ son. The polls and the unflattering photos. Someone had even tracked down her family in Australia and threatened to publish photos of them, exposing what she’d done for all of Wizarding Britain and their world to see. Only Harry’s considerable influence at the time had dissuaded Rita. Well, that, and Hermione mailing her an unbreakable jar as a reminder of their time together once, years ago.

Sirius had listened without interruption and then she’d answered each and every question she could bear to. Hermione could tell that he sensed she didn’t wish to elaborate when it came to her parents and kindly dropped the subject. But he stood by his vow, that he would always protect their son, and she couldn’t ask for anything more. Rigel Alphard Granger was her entire world, and she would give anything to give him a full and happy life.

Which brought her to this office on this day, three days after ‘The Incident’ threatening to sue the Daily Prophet back into the Stone Age. “Your word, Mrs. Phipps,” she pressed for the editor’s oath and signature.

“Well, it’s not like I have a bloody choice, now do I?” the bottle-blonde snipped and drew her peacock feather quill to sign her name on the magical contract. It would hold her to her agreement much like an Unbreakable Vow. If she broke her word, she would find that she could no longer write. If she tried to speak the words, she would find her tongue tied. And if she tried to share the words in a pensieve or some other such method, she would lose her memories of them.

Hermione Granger had come a long way from enchanted parchment to jinx any tattlers with the word ‘sneak’. And this was so much bigger for her than the DA had ever been.

“You’ve been outplayed, Mrs. Phipps. Take the loss with dignity,” Hermione said, standing from her seat on the opposite side of the editor’s desk, waving a hand to gather the contract, and turned on her heel to leave without another word or backward glance.

This was the side of her that her friends and family rarely saw – the cold, logical, professional Hermione Granger that she reserved for court. For obstacles and enemies.

As they made their way out of the office, Draco remarked, “That was cold, Granger.”

She adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and replied, “Well, they messed with the wrong witch. You’d’ve thought they learned that lesson already.”

Harry and Ron snickered while Sirius asked, “You’ll have to tell me that story someday, Kitten.”

“Do I need to warn you about nicknames today of all days, Sirius Black?” came her retort.

Later that night – 12 Grimmauld Place

“Kreacher, I’ll be back after sunrise,” Hermione informed the dutiful house elf. “And if you need anything, please reach out to Molly or Mrs. Tonks in a pinch.”

“Yes, Mistress. Kreacher has minded Young Master before,” the elf sassed her.

“I know. But I’ll always be a worrier.”

“Kreacher will ‘hold down the fort’ as Master Sirius says.”

“Perfect. I know I’ve put my faith in the right elf.”

He preened under her praise and clasped his hands behind his back, squaring his little shoulders and straightening his spine as much as possible for the stooping old elf.

At that, Hermione headed towards the floo with her overnight bag. She hadn’t expected Sirius to appear in the kitchen doorway. “Kitten? Where are you going?”

She blushed. “Oh, erm, out.”

“On a work night, dressed like an assassin?” he teased. “Wait, you’re not moonlighting as an assassin, right?”

“If I were, I would be a far wealthier woman, I assure you.”

“Are you going to keep avoiding the question?”

She consulted her muggle wristwatch and adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Look, if you’re so bloody curious then come along, but be quick about it. We’re on a schedule.”

His eyes lit up with curiosity and he bounded after her, inundating her with questions, “So, where are we going? Is it a surprise? Who else will be there? Am I dressed properly for what we’re going to be doing? Is it dangerous? Should I have stayed behind with Rigel in case you don’t come back?”

When they stepped through the floo, Hermione noticed that he was mildly surprised and just a bit disappointed that they seemed to be inside a cottage. “Where are we?”

“Don’t recognize the old place?” Remus stepped out to ask, his skin wan and his eyes sunken as Tonks tried to keep him on his feet.

“Moony, what’s going on?”

“Been so long you forgot, Padfoot?”

Sirius’ brow furrowed and then he looked at Hermione and asked, “Full moon?”

She nodded, “Any minute now.” Then the curly-haired witch turned to Dora and said, “You go and get Teddy over your mother’s. We’ve got him from here.”

Dora gingerly transferred Remus’ weight onto Hermione’s shoulders and when she almost buckled, Sirius hurried over to help, taking the sandy-haired werewolf’s arm over his shoulder with Sirius’ around his waist. “You’re a godsend, Mione.”

“Oh, hush. But seriously, hurry.”

Dora and Teddy exchanged quick farewells and hurried through the floo to Andromeda’s cottage. Remus’ eyes flared gold when they left, and it was clear that their absence wasn’t easy for his wolf to comprehend. His wolf just wanted the comfort and security of having his mate and pup close. But the much more logical wizard counterpart knew why that was out of the question. However, Remus had never missed a dose of his potion since that fateful night back in her Third Year.

“Hermione, I’ve got this. You should go too,” Sirius urged her.

She merely scoffed, “I think not. I haven’t missed a full in years.”

“What?” the dark-haired wizard balked and turned to his old friend for confirmation. At Remus’ nod, Sirius asked, “But, how?”

“Stop asking questions you already know the answers to, Pads,” Remus grumbled as they escorted him out towards the forest outside. Then he turned to Hermione and asked, “Where are the boys?”

“Running late, as per usual.”

Remus scoffed and smirked, “Never had this issue with the Marauders.”

“Well, I beg your finest pardon, but you were all children at the time. We’re all parents now with jobs, families, and responsibilities,” Hermione retorted cheekily. “And getting older every day.”

“Don’t I know it,” the werewolf groaned.

The floo flared to life behind them and Harry’s voice called out, “Mione? Remus?”

“Out back, Harry!” she called back over her shoulder.

“So, wait,” Sirius began stammering as Harry and Ron jogged out to meet them. “All of you?”

“Well, after all Remus did to help us during the war and after, do you really think that we would let him face this alone when we could return the favor?” Hermione shot back.

“I suppose not.”

Harry and Ron met then and subbed in for Hermione to better carry Remus out to the tree line where he could have some privacy to strip down before he shifted. 

Hermione consulted her watch, “Three minutes till moonrise.”

“Alright, hustle, boys,” Sirius said, getting them moving faster. Once Remus was seated in the brush, the four animagi stood in a circle and Sirius looked at his godson and friends. “So, you really all did this for Moony?”

“Always with the tone of surprise,” Ron remarked and tucked his wedding band onto a chain around his neck for safekeeping as was his personal practice. Hermione set her bag on the back deck that always contained first-aid supplies, a change of clothes, and a blanket during the colder months. She tucked her wand into it and offered the wizards the option. Harry and Ron took her up on it, while Sirius refused.

“I’m intrigued to see what you are, Kitten.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she replied. Then she shut her eyes while her bipedal form melted away, and she assumed her animagus form as if slipping into a second skin. She opened her eyes and everything seemed sharper – sights, sounded and smells. Even the sensation of the dirt and grass beneath her paws.

------

Sirius watched in amazement as Hermione, Harry, and Ron’s human forms transformed into a lioness, a stag, and a Jack Russell terrier respectively. “I am so proud,” he gushed.

Then Moony’s familiar screams began, and Sirius quickly shifted into Padfoot and sat waiting for his old friend to come out to play.

A lioness, eh? Perhaps ‘Kitten’ wasn’t too far a stretch after all. Cheeky witch.

They played and gave chase all night until Moony and Padfoot tired themselves out. The five of them fell asleep curled in a pile beneath a large wisteria tree that Remus had planted for Tonks after they’d refurbished his childhood home after the war. 

Sirius’ last thought before sleep claimed him was that he hadn’t felt this young in years.

The next morning – Lupin Cottage

Sirius woke with a simultaneously familiar yet unfamiliar weight on his chest. He’d woken up in bed with another person before, obviously. But this person, in particular? Well, it had happened only once, and it had scared him so badly then that he’d dressed and fled the scene before the witch in question could even stir from her slumber. Now as his eyes flickered open and he registered the warm weight of the witch draped over him, he held perfectly still because he didn’t want to wake her. No, he wanted to observe her. Her long, curled lashes brushed against her cheekbones in slumber, and her lips were slightly parted. The freckles that Rigel had inherited were out in full force. He noticed that she would sometimes glamour them away or conceal them with muggle cosmetics when she headed into the office, but he found he liked them on her. He thought they suited her sunkissed skin nicely. Her curls were wild and sleep-tousled, but soft where they brushed against his collarbone and arm. Sirius shut his eyes for a moment and let her scent wash over him: lavender, fabric softener, honey, parchment or perhaps old books. It was earthy, sweet, and comforting.

When he opened his eyes again, she was looking up at him too and holding completely still. And then something occurred to him – the sun was up. Moony! He shifted from his spot. “Where’s Remus? Moons!” he called.

Harry and Ron began to stir, and Hermione scrambled off of him when he grew agitated. The boys let out tandem yawns and she caught him by the wrist when he clambered to his feet somewhat clumsily. “Sirius, relax. He’s inside the house,” she said.

His brow furrowed and he looked down at her. “What?”

“He doesn’t like us seeing him nude,” Hermione said softly, probably conscious of the fact that with his enhanced hearing the subject of their conversation might be listening. “So, sometimes he heads back inside just before sunrise so he can have some privacy.”

“Oh,” Sirius said softly. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Speaking of which, I should go find him and make sure he’s healed up before Dora and Teddy get back,” the little witch said and tugged on his arm to pull herself to her feet.

He watched her go with a little swing in her step, as she bent to retrieve her overnight bag and head inside.

“Pads, stop watching Mione’s arse,” Harry teased.

Sirius gaped at his godson. “I would never!”

“Oh, pft, right,” the messy-haired wizard retorted.

Ron stretched above his head. “Blimey, my neck!”

Minutes later, Hermione poked her head out of the back door and called out to them, “You boys can come in. He’s decent.”

“Remind me why he’s comfortable with you being his healer?” Ron called out.

“Maybe because you’ve got a history of breaking your wand when you get flustered, and Harry’s got the patience of a may fly.”

“What about Padfoot?” Harry asked, jerking a thumb towards his godfather.

“Well, he’s been away, hasn’t he?” she replied with a shrug. “Now come in. I’m making breakfast.”

Harry and Ron apparently didn’t need to be told twice. Sirius smirked and followed on their heels, remembering when he was their age and bouncing back from a night romping around with a werewolf was light work. When he caught up to the group inside, Remus was swaddled in blankets in what must be his favorite armchair recliner already nursing a steaming cup of tea and smiling.

“You look good, old friend,” Sirius remarked.

“That brilliant witch there has improved upon Snape’s old potion even more than we thought possible. She patented it with the Ministry under the condition that it be made freely available to any in need. It’s what she used her Order of Merlin money on,” Remus explained.

The dark-haired wizard looked over to where Hermione, Harry, and Ron were in the Lupin’s modest kitchen bickering between themselves about how to best prepare steak and eggs for their recovering lycanthrope.

“Shite,” Sirius breathed the word in surprise. He’d thought she’d spent her money fixing up his old family home for her and Rigel and only the thought of their son growing up safe and comfortable had prevented him from feeling guilty about it. But to know that instead she’d invested her reward money, even after all she’d endured during the war and the years leading up to it, to help others like his friend and those similarly afflicted stunned him.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Pads, that that golden part is her heart,” Remus murmured and sipped at his tea.

“And the aches and pains?”

“Almost non-existent.”

“Can you remember last night?"

“Every second.” Remus’ watery smile made Sirius want to weep with joy as well. Brilliant witch.

July 28^th, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

Later that day, after Hermione had cheekily stuffed some of Molly Weasley’s leftovers into the Lupins’ fridge and cleaned up after Remus’ transformation a bit, she and the boys had headed home to their families. She was surprised to see Kreacher and Rigel already awake and waiting at the breakfast table.

“Mum!” Rigel sprang out of his seat and ran to her when she stepped into the sublevel kitchen.

“Morning, Peanut. Did you behave for Kreacher?” she asked.

“Of course, I did!”

“The Young Master got a full eight hours of sleep, Mistress. And he just finished a hearty, nutritious breakfast.”

“Perfection, as always, Kreacher. Couldn’t do it without you.”

The house elf gestured to the stove. “There is food under stasis for Mistress and Master if they are hungry.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. We’ve already eaten,” Sirius said, sounding somewhat sheepish.

“No matter. Kreacher will put them away for later.”

“Mum, Dad, how was Uncle Moony?” Rigel asked, grey eyes alight with curiosity.

“Playful as a puppy,” Hermione replied. “He is comforted by his pack being altogether again.” She spared Sirius a glance over her shoulder as she said it and watched how the color rose in his cheeks. “Isn’t that right, Padfoot?”

“Y-Yes, right.” Sirius stammered. “I’m just going to go take a shower.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder before turning to flee the kitchen and she had to wonder at the cause of his discomfort.

Hermione knew one thing for sure. Sirius Black was blushing, and she’d rarely seen him do that before. What could’ve caused that? And why did a not-so-small part of her enjoy the sight of it?

Chapter Text

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July 31^st, 2008 – 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione was frankly impressed that Sirius had managed to throw together something so suitable in so short a period of time. Though she supposed she ought not to have been. This was Sirius Black after all. But Hermione was even more impressed that he had managed to keep it hush-hush during that time, and even moreso that he’d succeeded in getting Rigel to keep a secret for any length of time.

“Mum, Mum! I can’t find my favorite jersey!” Rigel came galloping down the stairs in his denims and socks, completely shirtless, his fair skin dappled with freckles and birthmarks so that he looked like the celestial bodies he was named for.

“Not the Oliver Wood one?” she called out as she took a long pull from her coffee.

“Yes!”

“Well, he’s the coach now, Peanut. Why not a current player’s jersey, just for today?” she suggested, trying to remember if his Wood jersey was in with the washing to be done later.

“But it’s my favorite! It’s lucky! I want Puddlemere to win for Uncle Harry’s birthday!” he whinged, his bottom lip jutting out and started to tremble the way it used to when he was a baby and moments away from a meltdown in the shops.

“Oh! I have an idea! How about we all charm our jerseys with Uncle Harry’s name on them for his birthday?” she suggested, hoping he would buy into it. But it was a toss-up, because she knew her son could be just as stubborn as she was at times.

“He’s not on the team, Mum. Be serious,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, less of the attitude, young man. I’m trying to be helpful,” she warned him with an arch of her brow.

Rigel turned sheepish and ducked his head. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Better. Now, I’ll go find the jersey and make sure it’s all clean,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You finish getting ready – hair, teeth, shoes, Peanut!” But he was already halfway up the stairs towards his room. “That boy is going to put me in the Janus Thickey ward someday, I swear…” she mumbled to herself and headed towards the laundry room.

Kreacher apparated into the room with a pop and startled her slightly. “Sorry, Mistress.”

“You’re fine, Kreacher. I’m just a little anxious this morning,” Hermione admitted.

“Kreacher could pack a calming draught if Mistress would like,” the house elf offered.

“I might actually take you up on that offer,” she said, crouched to dig through the hamper.

“What is Mistress searching for? Kreacher has to do the washing while you are all celebrating Mister Potter’s birthday.”

“Oh, Rigel wants his lucky jersey,” she explained.

“The Oliver Wood jersey?” the house elf began searching alongside her when she turned the hamper over on its side, so the contents spilled across the hardwood floor.

“That’s the one.”

“But isn’t Mister Wood the coach now?” Kreacher croaked in his bullfrog voice.

“You try explaining that to a distraught nine-year-old who thinks that him wearing his lucky jersey is the difference between victory and defeat for his godfather’s favorite team on his birthday,” she said with an exasperated eyeroll.

“Young Master loves Mister Potter and wants to give him this gift,” the house elf said. “Kreacher will find it.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. I have to make sure he hasn’t worked himself into a tizzy,” she said, rising from her knees and going to check on Rigel only to find him wrestling a hairbrush through his dry curls and turning them into a mess of frizz in the process.

“Ow, ow ow ow,” the little wizard grumbled as he tugged determinedly on the brush handle.

“You’re going to break the brush that way,” she said from the bathroom doorway. “Either that or make yourself bald.”

He gasped dramatically and turned to his mother with downcast eyes. “Help.”

“You know you need to wet it first, then brush. You’ll have to do this on your own at Hogwarts, you know. I won’t be there to make sure you don’t frighten the others at breakfast,” she teased, trying to lift the mood of the moment and pull him out of his spiral before it got too far. But instead, she watched his face wilt, and her brow furrowed, “Peanut?” Hermione closed the distance between them and took the brush from his death grip. “What’s the matter?” she asked, going to work on disentangling the bristles from his inky curls.

“I’m excited about Hogwarts, and learning all about how to use magic,” he began. “I am.”

“So, then what’s the matter?” She freed another thick curl.

“I’m going to miss you,” he mumbled under his breath. If not for her enhanced hearing thanks to her animagus status, she might’ve missed it. But she heard him loud and clear.

“Oh, Peanut. You’re not the first little witch or wizard leaving for school to feel that way. I’m sure the first couple of months will be filled with First Years who are homesick and a little sad,” she tried to explain. “I know that I was.” She had also been pressed to learn all that she could and felt herself at a mighty disadvantage given her upbringing and felt she had to overextend herself simply to level the playing field. “But then I made friends, and I was excited to learn. I wrote home to my mum and dad and told them about all the new things I was learning in my classes. And each letter made it a little easier.” She finally untangled the last curl and set the brush aside on the bathroom counter. Then she turned her son’s face up to hers with her knuckle. “Besides, we’ll see you every school break. We’ll be waiting on that platform for you with smiles and hugs.” Hermione hadn’t even registered that she’d used ‘we’ instead of ‘I’.

“Really? Together?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“Of course, together. We’ll even invite Kreacher, if you like.”

“He won’t come.” Rigel chuckled.

“But we can still invite him and give him the choice. You’re his special boy too, you know.” When she saw the light in her son’s grey eyes return, Hermione went to task, “Now, we have to wet this hair in order to tame it. Do you have the Sleekeazy’s?”

Meanwhile – Pontypool Stadium

Sirius, Remus, and Dora were busy getting the last-minute touches on the private box before their guests began to trickle in. Remus and Dora finished hanging the banners and Sirius directed the house elves on the menu. One would tend the private bar in the back-right corner of the box, and the other five would meander around the space with trays of hors d’oeuvres and other refreshments. There were theater-style rows of seating and a massive front pane of tempered glass facing the pitch that granted a spectacular view of the rest of the stadium below. Along the front was a long bar with tall stools for additional seating. There were private loos as well. This would be amazing. Sirius had pulled it off. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his godson’s face when he didn’t have to suffer through another run-of-the-mill family dinner at the Burrow.

“That looks perfect, Moony,” Sirius complimented his old friend.

“Thanks, Pads.”

“Have we heard from the others?” Dora asked.

Sirius nodded his head. “The Weasleys are the on the way. Molly’s bringing the cake, of course. Couldn’t deny her that.”

“Of course,” Remus snickered.

“The Potters should arrive any mo’, I heard Andi and Cissa are coming as well. They’re bringing Draco and his family.”

“Lovely,” Dora said with a smile.

“I won’t lie. It was awkward. But I’m looking forward to reconnecting. It’s been years and it’s time to let bygones be bygones,” Sirius explained.

Remus closed the distance between them and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re finally maturing, Padfoot.”

“Oh! What about the Grangers?” Dora asked.

“Should be here any minute. The floo was directly linked to Grimmy,” Sirius said even as the floo roared and Hermione stepped through, waving her wand over Rigel and herself to clear the soot from their clothes.

The moment his son’s eyes found him, they widened happily, and he called out, “Dadfoot!” and ran over to him with arms wide for a hug.

Dora snorted. “Oh, Harry told me about that. I’m never letting that die, Cousin, I hope you know that.”

He glared at her even as he caught his son and pulled him into a hug. “You’re lucky Moony is here to keep me from thrashing you.”

“Not in front of the kids, Pads,” Remus chuckled.

“Wotcher, Mione!” Dora called out to the curly-haired witch with a wave.

His eyes finally settled on her and she was wearing a pair of cream-colored linen trousers, some strappy sandals that gave her a bit of height, and what appeared to be an old Gryffindor House Team quidditch jersey. Her long curls were up in two pigtails secured with red and gold hair ties and he felt a pang of curiosity and pride at what it might’ve been like if they’d been at school together and she’d come to cheer him on wearing their house colors. When she moved to greet the Lupins, he spotted the name ‘Potter’ stitched across her back and it made sense.

“Great outfit choice, Kitten,” he drawled.

“Yes, well, I’m not the sportiest witch. But I thought I could dig out this relic for the sake of the day,” she laughed just as the Weasleys started to pour in.

“Hermione, dear!” Molly called out. “Come help me with getting this set up.”

“Coming, Mum.” Hermione strutted over, laying her purse in one of the seats in the back row as she went.

Sirius would’ve denied it if anyone asked, but his eyes sought her out whenever she entered a room these days. Her scent – that lavender, honey, and parchment scent of hers tempered by fabric softener – was stored in his memory and lingered in his nostrils whenever she was close. He would’ve denied it if anyone told him he watched her, thought of her more than was normal, or if he spent an excessive amount of time pondering on what was going through her brilliant mind at any given hour. And Sirius definitely would’ve denied it – denied it on pain of death or an immediate return to Azkaban – if he were asked about the increasingly graphic dreams he found himself immersed in since returning to England two weeks ago.

Had it only been two weeks? A cold flicker of fear skittered down his spine. In only 13 days, this little witch and her spawn had turned his life upside down. Now he was considering putting down roots, staying in his childhood home, even contemplating getting a job! His stomach churned unpleasantly.

“Padfoot,” Remus said, clearing his throat.

In the time since his mind had started wandering, his son had run off to go play with his cousins.

“Hm?” Sirius turned to his friend with his brows raised towards his hairline.

“You’re staring.”

“Am not.”

“Again.”

“You’re not even going to deny it?” Dora snickered.

“Strike two, Tonks. Keep it up.” He waggled two fingers towards her in a pantomime of the two-fingered salute which she wholeheartedly returned.

“Sirius!” Molly hissed from the other end of the box.

He immediately tucked his hand in the pocket of his denims and caught Hermione, the curly-haired menace herself, biting her lip to contain her laughter.

“Sorry, Mols.”

“Don’t you ‘Mols’ me, Sirius Black. There are children present,” she chastised him.

The twins chortled from the bar where they were ordering drinks. “Does everyone have a drink for the arrival of the guests of honor?” Fred asked.

Before long, Andi, Cissa, and Draco arrived with his wife and son. They seemed sweet enough, if not a little soft-spoken. Little Scorpius clearly took after his mother in terms of temperament. But the boy seemed to come out of his shell, ever so slightly, around Teddy, Rigel, and the Weasley children.

Molly plucked a knut from the pocket of her dress and announced to the room, “Just received word from Ginny. They’re on the way. Any minute!”

Arthur smiled and sidled up alongside his wife. Just then the floo went off in the corner and out stepped Ginny Potter with a wide smile, cradling her swollen belly, and immediately on her heels stepped Harry with his arms filled with his sons, James and Albus.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” they all cried out the moment he stepped through, startling the boys and Harry simultaneously.

Albus’ bottom lip began to wobble, and Ginny reached out to take him from his father before he could devolve into a full meltdown. James leapt out of his father’s arms and let out a squeal when he saw everyone gathered in one place. Harry chuckled and snapped out of his momentary shock to call out, “Thank you all so much!”

Sirius stepped forward to hand his godson a cold butterbeer and wrap him in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, son,” he said in his boy’s ear.

When they pulled back, it was as if the intervening years had vanished, and they were back in Grimmauld Place during Harry’s Fifth Year, just happy to see one another. “You planned all this?” Harry asked, eyes flickering around.

“Well, I had help,” Sirius confessed. “But I thought that something different might be fun.”

“Thank you, Padfoot.”

“Anytime, pup.”

“I’ve missed that.”

“Even if you have pups of your own?” Sirius teased.

“Even then,” Harry said.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder once more before stepping back so he could make his rounds. Hermione and Ron immediately swarmed him.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Ron said.

The three of them embraced in a way that made it clear to anyone present that they were siblings in all but blood, that they trusted each other implicitly, and that they had been bonded by many years of trials and tribulations.

“Mione, are you wearing one of my old jerseys?” Harry turned her in a circle so he could see his name stitched across her back before his head fell back on his neck in a loud guffaw that was so reminiscent of Prongs that it widened that fissure in Sirius’ heart.

Hermione swatted him in the shoulder. “Don’t you laugh at me, Harry James Potter!”

The green-eyed wizard looked properly chastised and put up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, truce.”

She blushed and picked at the hem. “I didn’t have any other jerseys so I thought this would be appropriate for the occasion. Plus, it’s just us here.” For a moment, Sirius glimpsed the bashful, unsure teen she’d been once long ago, and it made him smile to know she was still in there somewhere. But then her firewhiskey eyes flared and narrowed on his godson and something in his gut tightened. Sweet Merlin. “I didn’t expect to be laughed at for it.”

“Reckon she’ll break out one of my old jerseys for my birthday?” Ron asked loud enough for those around them to hear.

Hermione swatted at him next. “Hush, Ronald.”

Ron’s wife Luna chuckled beside Ginny at this. Then they were led over to the table where Molly Weasley had chosen to display her homemade three-tier birthday cake done up in blue and gold Puddlemere colors for the occasion. “Happy birthday, Harry, dear.”

“Mrs. Weasley, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Oh, hush.” The ginger witch blushed at his praise and her husband pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You say that every year. However will I keep topping myself?”

Sirius refrained from making an inappropriate comment and ruining the moment. Just then the announcer for the match called everyone to attention, “Welcome to Pontypool Stadium on this glorious day! The weather’s holding up so let’s introduce the home team – the Pontypool Phoenixes!”

Cheers went up around the stadium even considering that the visiting team, Puddlemere, were slated to wipe the floor with them. A loss on one’s home turf always seemed to sting more. This was followed by a light show of fireworks in the team colors, blue and gawdy orange. The starting lineup was announced with gusto and the couch waved politely from the sidelines of the pitch where he stood with a clipboard and pair of omnioculars.

Then Puddlemere was next and the noise inside the private box grew to a deafening roar. Sirius was mildly startled and Remus had to clamp his hands over his ears. Dora rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades to soothe him. The startling lineup for Puddlemere United was announced and while the cheers below were less enthusiastic, it didn’t dull the enthusiasm in the box a bit. Harry was beaming and cheering while Albus was pressed up against the glass at the front of the box to get the best view they could given their height disadvantage.

Oliver Wood waved from his position and Rigel let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement. “Look, look! There he is!”

Harry shook his head and pressed a kiss onto his wife’s cheek. “Good birthday?” she asked.

“Very good.”

“I’m going to go get off my feet, love.” Ginny went to find a seat alongside the group of other witches that were already grouping together.

He might’ve joined some of the younger folks if he hadn’t overheard Angelina comment on one of the players’ arses. Nope. Not doing that. Sirius meandered around the room making small talk and checking on his guests as any good host would do. So far, things appeared to be going well. But a little after half-time, they were singing and cutting the cake when a flash of light startled them all and the house elves scattered.

Those that had fought in the war, the aurors present especially, fell into defensive stances immediately with Dora, Remus, Sirius, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Arthur, and even Draco presented a united wall in front of their friends and family when the press began to gather around the box. Some trying to gain entry through the doorway and some even daring to encircle the exterior on broomsticks, cameras flashing.

“Mister Potter! Mister Potter! A photo, please!”

“A word for the Daily Prophet!”

“What made you break with tradition and celebrate here today, Mister Potter?”

“Harry Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio! This will be a steal.”

“Half the Order of the Phoenix too, blimey!”

“Is that Ginny Potter of the Holyhead Harpies too! Mrs. Potter, will you be coming back to the Harpies after your child is born? When are they due?”

“Mrs. Potter, look over here! A photo for Witch Weekly!”

“Ron Weasley, any news to share on the wave of Neo-Death Eaters?”

Ron’s face turned tomato-red, and Luna curled her hand inside his so that he turned to look down at her. His coloring immediately returned to normal.

“And Hermione Granger, well, lookie what we have here, boys.” He would know that slimy voice anywhere. Rita Skeeter. “I didn’t think they were right that you were stirring up the news cycle again until I heard about you making a scene in the Daily Prophet offices trying to issue a gag order.”

“Rita,” the curly-haired witch deadpanned. “I suppose I should be flattered that even after all this time I’m such a personal topic for you. Wonder why that could be.”

“Oh, you’re a goldmine, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Always have been. The plucky, brainy, muggleborn best friend of the Chosen One catching the eye of famous wizards left and right. Then you grew up and took a walk on the wild side.” Her eyes flared wickedly with a kind of hunger that made the hairs on the back of Sirius’ neck stand on end.  

“Just remember that Mrs. Phipps signed that gag order as you so aptly named it,” Hermione warned.

“Ah yes, but you’d do well to remember that I left the Prophet years ago. I’m independent now. And as such, I’m not bound by your gag order,” Rita sneered.

Sirius’ blood ran cold when he sensed movement behind them. The kids. Rigel. Fuck.

“Where is the Golden Girl’s little brat?”

“Piss off, Rita,” Ron spat. “All of you.”

“We’re just trying to celebrate a family birthday,” Luna pointed out, her voice having that far-off, dreamy quality that used to disturb Sirius about her mother Pandora in school. “We’d appreciate some privacy to do so. Hence the box.”

“Public figures don’t get privacy, Miss Lovegood.”

“That’s Weasley to you,” Luna’s voice dropped an octave, and Sirius was reminded of the girl holding her own quite well back in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago.

“And Sirius Black.” Rita’s eyes turned to him, and he felt himself go cold. Where was Rigel? “Conveniently linked to the Golden Girl herself. Tsk tsk tsk. Naughty boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

He bristled at the implication. “As my friend Auror Weasley said, Rita, why don’t you piss off and take your friends with you?”

“I should be offering my congratulations. ‘It’s a boy!’ Isn’t that what the muggles say?” The blonde witch tittered. “Never a dull moment around here. But this is a young witch’s game. You shall be hearing from me, Lord Black. Miss Granger. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” With that, she retreated, and the reporters began to try and force their way inside, those surrounding the box on broomsticks growing and soon the repeated flashes were causing dancing dots in Sirius’ line of sight.

“Mister Potter! Mrs. Potter! Look over here!”

“Mister Potter, is it true that your godfather is the father of Miss Granger’s son?”

“Yeah, Harry, how do you feel about that?”

The flashbulbs continued to go off and Harry snapped, “Gin, let’s get the boys and get out of here.”

Just then, Ginny let out a cry and curled in on herself as she was carefully lowered into a seat by her sister-in-law, Fleur. “Harry,” she gasped.

James and Albus scrambled over even as the flashes continued to go off.

Hermione, quick thinker that she was, drew her wand and aimed at the glass of the box making it instantly pitch black so that they were protected from the reporters hovering outside. The reporters inside gasped and staggered back at the sight while a few of the smarter ones decided not to press their luck and left.

Tonks and Ron slipped into auror mode quickly and began pushing back against the reporters at the doorway while the Weasleys swarmed around Ginny to try and conceal her from sight.

Luna murmured softly to avoid the press overhearing, “We need to get her to healer. St. Mungo’s would be better.”

“Right,” Molly snapped and her children, biological and otherwise, snapped to attention.

They split their efforts holding the reporters at bay while the other half of them escorted the Potters through the floo towards St. Mungo’s where they could attempt to get help for the pregnant witch.

Molly, Andi, Cissa, and Draco’s wife Astoria began gathering up all the children and preparing them to go through to the Burrow.

Sirius watched the chaos around him with disappointment. He had intended this to be a fun birthday for his godson, a change of pace. And apparently it had been old news for those that were accustomed to being harassed and mobbed by the press for good or for ill. Rita had unfortunately been correct in her assessment that public figures, such as war heroes, aurors, or barristers, rarely got the luxury of privacy. And now despite his best intentions, the day had fallen apart, and they had probably made it worse for Harry and poor Ginny. Sirius hoped she and the baby were okay.

Later that day – The Burrow

Sirius sat with the other Weasleys with the exception of Molly and Arthur. Hermione had also been asked by Harry to accompany him and his wife to the hospital. Sirius had been able to tell that it pained her to leave their son’s side after the scene at the quidditch match. But she loved the Potters like they were her siblings. Sirius had vowed that he would stay with Rigel and make sure he was okay.

Rigel and the other kids seemed to be somewhat shaken up but after the first hour or so, they had mellowed out being soothed by their parents and siblings. Now it was getting late. Percy’s wife Penelope had taken charge and with the assistance of her fellow sisters-in-law, Fleur and Katie, they had whipped up a dinner for everyone.

Sirius had gravitated towards Moony and Dora as usual, feeling ancient in this crowd without the presence of Molly and Arthur to act as a buffer. Andi, Cissa, and the Malfoys had left for home already. The Lupins followed soon after dinner. And now Sirius could see Rigel’s energy flagging. He rose from his seat by the fire, having held out hope that Hermione would return that night. But he remembered how Harry’s own birth had taken hours. It was unpredictable. When the clock on the mantel struck 11 o’clock, he rose from his seat and called for this son who had been reading a muggle comic book with James, Albie, Rose, and Hugo on the carpet by the light of the hearth. “Pup, it’s getting late. I think it’s time to go home,” he announced, still somewhat unused to be being a figure of authority. He tried to mimic the tone he’d heard Hermione use with the boy as if she expected to be obeyed, firm yet fair.

Rigel looked up, his eyes looking heavy and tired. “Mm?”

“It’s time to go home, Pup. Say good night to everyone,” Sirius repeated a little more firmly.

His son looked up at him for a few moments as if weighing his choices, or more likely whether he’d comply without kicking up a fuss. “Five more minutes?” the boy tried to push back, testing his boundaries.

Sirius looked around at the other parents in the room, the fathers in particular and saw the knowing smirks and subtle nods of approval telling him to stick to his guns. “No, now.”

Rigel groaned and got to his feet. “Alright. Good night, guys! I’ll see you on Sunday for practice and dinner.” He took Sirius’ offered hand where he stood by the floo.

“Will someone send a patronus if they hear back from Harry?” Sirius asked of the room at large.

“Of course, Sirius,” Bill answered. “Good night.”

“Night.” Sirius waved and tossed a handful of floo powder into the hearth calling out “Grimmauld Place” before he tugged his son through beside him.

Meanwhile – St. Mungo’s

Hermione stood at Ginny’s side while Molly held her other hand. Harry for his part was standing at the foot of the bed speaking in hushed tones with the midwife. “And you’re sure?”

“Harry, what’s happening?” Hermione snapped, knowing that if she were in Ginny’s position, she’d be miffed about being excluded from this conversation.

Her best friend had the good grace to look sheepish at the reprimand. The healer turned to the three witches – the ones in the room who’d actually given birth before, Ginny reminded her husband – and said, “Muggles have a term for this. It’s called Braxton-Hicks and essentially it’s a false alarm. You said before you came in to see us today, Mrs. Potter, that there was a stressful situation involving the press?”

“Yes,” Ginny said warily.

“That triggered a response in your body akin to panic and your brain, being so close to your due date, assumed that it was due to the fact that the baby must be coming. However, we know that you’re nowhere near ready to deliver. You have at least another five weeks if not seven before this baby is ready to be born.” The healer had aimed for a cheery tone, but it came across as forced.

“Will this happen again?” Molly asked, her concern for her daughter evident in her expression and body language.

“It could,” the healer replied. “Which is typically why we suggest bed rest in situations like these.”

“What do you mean ‘situations like these’?” Ginny asked.

“This is your third child, and the last two were difficult pregnancies and deliveries according to our records, Mrs. Potter,” the healer explained. “We would recommend you take it easy. Take time off of work if you haven’t already. And nothing stressful or strenuous. I understand you come from a large, close-knit family. Ask for help.”

“But – I –” Ginny stammered. “I can’t. I have two little boys who need me. The oldest is only nine.”

“This could develop into something much more concerning for mother and child if you don’t take this seriously, Mrs. Potter. Please.”

Ginny appeared torn. But Hermione gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “She’s right. You have all of us, so use us. Ask for help when you need it.”

The redheaded witch nodded reluctantly. “I’ll write to my boss in the morning.”

“So will I,” Harry chimed in.

Hermione smiled at him. “Ron will be thrilled to be saddled with twice the paperwork.”

“Ron will get over it. I did the same for him when Rose and Hugo were born,” came Harry’s retort. Then he leaned forward from the foot of the bed, braced his hands against the footboard, and smiled at his wife. “Let’s go home, love. I’ll stop by the Burrow to get the boys after I get you settled.”

“I could keep the boys overnight,” Molly offered.

“Thanks, Molly, but if I know Albie he’ll be worried sick until he sets eyes on his mum,” Harry replied.

“If it’s not showtime, I should probably check in on Rigel and make sure Sirius hasn’t taken him to get matching tattoos or riding on that blasted flying motorbike while we’ve been away,” Hermione snarked and it drew chortles from Harry and Ginny.

Molly balked and scolded her, “Don’t even joke about that, Hermione Granger!”

“Oh! Not to put anything else on your plate at the moment,” Hermione began, treading carefully as she looked at her friends, “but what’s going to happen tomorrow morning?” At the Potters’ tandem look of confusion, she clarified, “Quidditch practice.”

Harry sighed with relief and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Ron can handle it.”

“Mm,” Ginny hummed before she and Hermione exchanged a look which the bespectacled wizard didn’t miss.

“What is it? You don’t think Ron can handle it?” he asked.

Hermione waved her hands. “No! Ron is great with the kids,” she said, her gaze flickering to her fellow witch who bit down on her lip to keep from chortling. “There’s just a lot of them. Which is why you two usually do this together.”

Harry scratched at his stubbled chin. “Well, you might be right. We’ll find someone to step in while Gin and I are out of commission.”

Ginny must’ve taken offense at his turn of phrase because she swatted him in the chest with the back of her hand. “I resent that.”

“Sorry, love. But healer’s orders. Bed rest. And I’ll carry the lion’s share with the kids and the housework so you can take care of you and our girl,” he said, leaning in to caress her belly. It seemed their daughter wanted to be part of the conversation because she chose that moment to make her presence known by kicking her father’s hand and making her poor mother wince.

“This little one is going to be a beater, for sure,” the redhead groaned.

She rose to embrace each of them and make her farewells before heading back to Grimmauld Place. She didn’t personally give a toss about quidditch, and she might’ve preferred a lie-in on a Sunday for once. But she knew Rigel would be heartbroken if it was cancelled so she would keep calm and carry on for his sake. It seemed to be her lot in life to be surrounded by quidditch-obsessed wizards while she spectated from the sidelines chewing her nails down to the quick.

Moments later – 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione stepped through the floo into the family room of the townhouse mansion and was greeted by the sounds of silence. They must be asleep, she thought to herself as she waved her wand to clear the soot from her clothing. Even Kreacher’s usual puttering around was subdued. She headed up the stairs silently to check in on Rigel. She hadn’t expected to find Sirius and Rigel curled up together in Rigel’s small bed, their son snuggled into his broad chest and Sirius’ arms wrapped around the boy protectively. The lights were still on, so she flipped the switch by the door to turn them out and carefully shut the door trying to silence the thoughts racing through her mind in contradiction with each other.

They looked so wholesome and precious together – mirror images of one another, almost.

Sirius was cuddling their son in his bed, reading him books, feeding him dinner and giving him baths. Little by little he would take her place in their son’s life, and she would become unnecessary. Rigel would prefer his fun dad to a neurotic, nagging mum.

Would Sirius really stay in their lives? What would that mean for the, she hesitated to call it a relationship – perhaps a partnership was the better term – that was growing between them? And it was fine and somewhat straightforward now, but this was Sirius Black. What would happen someday, perhaps soon, if he decided to get back out there and date? Would he introduce his floozies and slags to their son? She didn’t delude herself into thinking he’d spent a decade of freedom being celibate. Hell, she hadn’t been entirely celibate either. But she didn’t date. Not really. Between her career and her son, she didn’t have the time. But that wasn’t the case for Sirius.

Why do you care? That nasty, bitter voice in the back of her mind that sometimes sounded like Snape and sometimes like Bellatrix hissed at her, tearing her down brick by brick. Why does it matter to you whether or not he dates?

She wondered about this in her private moments. Why did she care? Why did it matter? Hermione tried to tell herself that it was solely out of a desire to protect Rigel from being exposed to unsavory characters. But if she were being honest with herself, which she tried to do at all times, it was more than that. It had become more than that. She didn’t date. She didn’t make the time for it. Didn’t prioritize that part of her life. But Sirius might. And if he did, where did that leave her? Where did that leave Rigel? Would he become bored of them – of the tedium and responsibility of parenthood – and dump them when a better offer came along?

Mountain climbing in the Himalayas.

Driving the Grand Prix in Monte Carlo.

Free diving in the Amazon Rain Forest.

Being a roadie for a rock band touring across Europe.

Or just a month spent in the loving arms of a warm, willing witch that wasn’t tied down to a young child.

All of it suddenly sounded far more appealing than whatever ‘options’ she presented. Hermione shuffled to her room and shut the door behind herself, quickly disrobing and stepping into her ensuite bathroom to bathe before bed. She looked at her naked reflection – at the dark circles, at the stretch marks and sagging skin around her midsection, at her pendulous breasts, her flabby arms and thighs, and her frizzy, sometimes impossible hair – and sighed heavily. She braced her hands against the lip of the sink and hung her head between her arms.

Why do you care?

What does it matter to you?

You were doing just fine before he got here, and you will be fine after he leaves.

If he leaves.

Hermione raised her eyes to the mirror once more and tried to remember Katie’s positive affirmations. “You are smart. You are kind. You are hard-working and talented. You are accomplished and driven. You are loved and appreciated for all that you do. You belong. You are loved.” And deep down she knew that. She did. She was loved by so many good people in her life that had enveloped her and Rigel into their lives so seamlessly that to think of it even more made her want to weep with gratitude. But in moments like this where she knew that all that awaited her was a cold, massive bed with only her to fill it and an endless procession of weeks with no one to share any of it with, she realized that she was lonely. And it rankled her to no end.

She was Hermione Bloody Granger! She should have her pick of the litter. Instead, she was this sad, misshapen thing down on herself and tying herself into knots because of her mama pooch and someone as insignificant to her life as Sirius Black. They had slept together once! That was it. They were no more a part of each other’s stories than that. He had fathered her child. Hells, there were plenty of species that mated for a season and never interacted again, she told herself.

Hermione was determined to pick herself up, keep calm, and bloody well carry on. She tucked her curls up under a shower cap, set the tap to a nice cool temperature, and stepped under the spray of her tepid shower to let it cool her overheated skin.

That night as she lay down to sleep, she should’ve realized that in all the chaos of the past two weeks, the past few days, especially, her mind would conjure up ways to torment her. But these days it often began the same way…

“Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback. Wait. All except… except for the Mudblood.” The chill that still made her tremble a decade after the demented witch’s death made her curl into her duvet and tremble all over even as she slipped into unconsciousness.

The next morning – 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione had woken around 3am on a scream, momentarily disoriented and forgetting where she was before she began her exercises of focusing her five senses to ground herself –

What did she see? Her bookshelves and her cozy reading chair. Her emotional support nest.

Bellatrix’s untamed curls and her manic eyes.

What did she hear? The sounds of the house settling and her son’s snoring two doors down.

Greyback’s dry cackle like crackling firewood and the sounds of her own whimpering.

What did she smell? Her favorite fabric softener that Peanut liked, that sometimes clung to her clothes and seemed to comfort him on his bad days.

The scent of urine and the metallic tang of fresh blood mixed with the sulfuric scent of dark magic hanging heavy in the air.

What did she taste? Blood in her mouth. She must’ve bitten her tongue or her lip while she was dreaming.

What did she feel? Exhausted. Relieved.

Vulnerable. Fragile.

Afraid. Pitiful.

Broken. Messy.

Like the walking fucking wounded. And sick to death of it!

Hermione climbed out of bed and kicked off the covers stalking down to the kitchen, too tightly wound to avoid the stairs she knew to be creaky. The witch sat at the table nursing a cup of strong coffee in the very wee hours of the morning. She’d tossed and turned for hours, trying to push herself past her nightmares and muscle through with brute strength only to be rebuffed. Her arm still sizzled and burned for hours, even though it was all just psychosomatic at this point. The residual tremors of the Cruciatus were awful this morning and she tried to hum softly to herself to force out the voices of Bellatrix and Greyback. Of Lucius and Scabior. Of Ron’s shouts and Dobby standing up to Bella – Her stomach turned at the memory of that bloody dagger. She was up before Kreacher and that was saying something. But she just couldn’t sleep anymore.

She couldn’t tell how long she’d been sitting there when Kreacher finally appeared, but her legs had fallen asleep. He didn’t say a word, used to finding her like this after a bad night. The house elf nodded and went about his tasks for the day while she tried to soothe her frayed nerve endings.

“More coffee, Mistress?” Kreacher croaked.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” She accepted the fresh pot and began doctoring up her own mug, her mother’s mug. Each time she looked at it, held it, she felt that familiar, bittersweet pang of missing her dearly and blaming herself for the loss of her.

“Mistress is strong. Mistress is here,” he said and tapped at his temple.

“It was a bad night, Kreacher.”

“It was a bad day, Mistress. Kreacher is not surprised.”

After a long silence, she asked, “Will you sit with me, Kreacher?”

The house elf froze and turned to look at her over his shoulder with a shocked, wide-eyed look. “House elves are not permitted to share a table with their masters.”

“You may call me ‘Mistress’, Kreacher, but I don’t own you. You can leave whenever you want,” Hermione reminded him for the umpteenth time since their truce when he’d revealed Rigel on the tapestry. That was perhaps the first time she realized that the old elf was in her corner. “Please, join me. I would consider it an honor.”

The stooped elf hesitated for a long moment before he shuffled over to the table and pulled out a chair by hand, climbing up onto it and sitting to face her. With a twitch of her hand, she transfigured the seat into one that would suit him better – higher off the ground, smaller so it wouldn’t swallow him, so they could ultimately face one another as equals. “M-Mistress.”

“Don’t go soft on me now, Kreacher. I need you.”

“Kreacher lives to serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” His lips quirked in a reluctant smirk that appeared a bit too much like a grimace to her eyes.

“I am not a Black,” she murmured and twitched her fingers around her mug.

“Not in name, perhaps, but in deed. Mistress has served this house nobly as well. Saved Master Sirius numerous times, Mistress Hermione did. Helped to redeem the House of Black and give it a purpose again. Completed Master Regulus’ final task. Cleansed this house and made it new. And the ultimate gift, Mistress has breathed new life into the House of Black. Young Master Rigel will be an amazing head of this house someday,” the elf said softly.

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

“We all need to hear we are doing well every now and then.”

Hermione levitated over a teacup for Kreacher and shrunk it down before serving him some coffee.

He sipped from the cup, handling it as if it were priceless treasure. “Kreacher usually prefers tea, but Kreacher will make an exception this once.”

She held out her mug to him in a toast and when he did the same, his small mouth quirked as if he were fighting a smile or perhaps it was a frown. She couldn’t be sure, but she liked to think it was the former.

Later that day – Catchpole Pitch

Morgana, this was going to be a long day.

Hermione sat in her camp chair alongside Dora, Luna, and the other Weasley Wives present. Molly, for her part, was at home with Arthur making sure Sunday dinner would be ready by the time the kids were done at practice. Ginny and Harry were at the Burrow relaxing, as per the healer’s orders. Ron was in the center of the pitch clearly struggling to keep order over two dozen eight- and nine-year-olds. As predicted. Hermione stole a glance at Sirius and Remus where they stood off to the side talking quietly amongst themselves, and she thought she’d heard a mumble something like: “Those kids are going to fly circles around poor Ronald.” She snorted into her thermos which prompted Luna and Dora to both turn and look at her.

“What’s got you smiling?” Dora asked, waggling her violet eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, just the humor of the situation,” Hermione said and gestured discreetly to her best friend who stood in the center of the pitch looking frazzled already. It was barely a half-hour into the typical four-hour practice.

Luna smiled. “I love my husband, but he isn’t always great at multitasking, it’s true.”

“He’s a great strategist, gives a solid pep talk, good friend, wonderful father, but I predicted that 20 small children would be a lot, even for him.” Hermione nodded just as Rose fell off her broom sending the contraption spiraling into her little brother so that he always went down with her.

“Oh, bother,” Luna murmured.

“It’s alright, Lu,” Dora said. “They bounce.”

Hermione kept her eyes on Rigel and Teddy where they flew a little higher above the pack, and a little more self-assured alongside Jamie. Albie hung around Hugo, Rose, and his other cousins. “I don’t want to test that theory right now, Dora.”

“All that padding? They’re fine.”

She couldn’t have had poorer timing, because no sooner had the words left her mouth than Rigel got hit by a bigger boy who spun his broom around in a circle and swatted her son so that he went teetering off his broom and landed with a heavy thud on the grass. “Rigel!” she cried.

Ron spun to see his nephew on the grass and landed immediately, barking at the others to do the same while he checked on the fallen boy.

Sirius was already stalking over towards their son faster than her short legs could carry her. He sunk onto his haunches beside Ron and Rigel. “You already, pup?” he asked.

Rigel winced and nodded. “I think I broke my bum.”

Hermione arrived just in time to see Sirius lift their son to his feet and dust him off. “Peanut, you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, Mum. Dad told me that you cannot break your bum though,” he said.

Struck by momentary confusion, she canted her head to one side and then turned to look at Sirius. “Parenting with you is going to be interesting,” she remarked and turned back to their boy, “You feel okay to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw that boy push you,” Sirius snapped.

Rigel flinched at his father’s tone and Hermione laid a hand on Sirius’ bicep to make him aware that this wasn’t the time or place to give into his legendary temper. “Sirius, they’re children.”

“And I know a bully when I see one,” he spoke loud enough for the kid to hear him, and Hermione watched the boy blanch and toddle away behind his snickering friends.

“Okay, he’s fine,” Hermione said. “And you cannot hex small children for looking sideways at our son.” She began to tug him away, surprised when he let her. But not before he stopped to brush Rigel’s curls out of his eyes and press a tender kiss to his brow. It made her heart stutter to see it. Good heavens. That traitorous coil twisted tighter, and she felt the urge to fan herself.

------

Sirius allowed himself to be pulled away by the small witch, content to keep her hands on him though he wouldn’t go into just why he enjoyed it so much. He was a red-blooded wizard, and he enjoyed the attention of lovely witches. It was a simple biological response. And the fact that the scent of her arousal filled his nostrils every time he inhaled was no matter. Another uncontrollable biological response. Women loved to see a man who was ‘good with kids’. “I can be very discreet when I want to be,” he drawled, and he hadn’t missed the way her cheeks turned rosy at the double-entendre of his words.

“Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it, Mr. Black,” she stepped away from him and began marching off the field towards her abandoned seat between Moony’s wife and Ron’s.

He missed her closeness and her touch already. Or perhaps it was her undivided attention. The little witch had a way about her that made one feel as if they were the only one in a room. And her presence was simultaneously soothing and set his teeth on edge. “What – I’m behaving!” he called out after her.

She turned to smirk at him over her shoulder and his eyes raked down the line of her neck, the curve of her spine as it led down to her shapely arse – it was a very nice arse at that, round, plump, and fucking edible – over thick thighs, tapering to slender ankles and dainty feet. Merlin save him, he was losing it. It had only been a matter of weeks, and he was salivating over a mum in denims and jumpers, tee-shirts, and trainers. But that knowing look in her eyes, and that saucy little smirk. It made a thrill skitter down his spine that reminded him of the man he’d been before Azkaban. And he’d always loved the chase. Part of him wondered what ten years had done with Hermione Granger’s libido, or her taste in wizards, or even her preferences in bed.

He had to physically restrain himself from making a lewd joke considering their location, their ‘audience’, and the fact that Moony was presently glaring at him a little too knowingly as well. Bollocks. “Padfoot, may I have a word?” his old friend asked even as his eyes flashed gold.

“Of course.” Sirius forced a smile even when he felt like he was being called into Minnie’s office again for a tongue-lashing.

Remus grabbed him by the shoulder roughly and shoved him towards the little outbuilding where the loos, water fountains, muggle vending machines, and public floos were all located. “Get in there,” Moony snarled.

“Ow, what bloody gives, Moony?” Sirius snapped, whirling on his friend with a furrowed brow and bared teeth.

“What do you think you’re doing? You think I can’t smell you two circling each other like it’s a bloody mating dance?” Remus snarled.

“Two points, Moons. One, we’re grown adults and it’s not like this is unmarked territory for either of us, so if we want to explore where this goes – and I’m not saying we are, because we’re just getting reacquainted for Rigel’s sake, and that’s all! – then that’s our bloody choice. And two, and perhaps most importantly, I’m not looking to get involved with the mother of my son. That’s the last thing either of us needs right now,” Sirius seethed.

“Keep it that way. You’ve done enough, Padfoot.”

“Thanks for that, Moony.”

“Why are you checking her out then? Flirting and smiling?”

“Why do you care?” Sirius threw his arms wide, and his eyes bulged.

“Because we all care about her! We want to see her happy, not devastated when you hop out of her bed and into someone else’s the next day.”

“You might want to speak to your wife, then, Moony, old friend. Because you two must’ve gotten your wires crossed somewhere,” Sirius began. “Dora keeps trying to throw us together while you’re giving me shovel speeches!”

Remus’ brow furrowed. “What?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? I suppose the meddling must be a couple activity in the Lupin household.”

“No, Padfoot, I didn’t know –”

“Whatever the case, before you bite my head off, maybe have a little talk with your mate.”

The sandy-haired wizard looked sheepish now. “I’m sorry, Padfoot. I didn’t mean –”

Sirius held up a hand to silence him. “Stop, Moony. I know I have a reputation, but I’m working on it because I want my son to look up to me someday.”

Remus’ eyes faded back to their usual moss-green hue. “I really am sorry.”

“I know you are. We have tempers.” Sirius braced his hands on his hips and hung his head.

“I’m going to go have a chat with my wife,” his friend announced and strutting out towards the pitch.

Sirius looked up to see Dora turned and spot Remus advancing on her before she quickly stumbled out of her seat, calling over her shoulder to Hermione and Luna, “I’m gonna go check in with my mum, ladies. Speak later?”

“See you at dinner,” Hermione called back, waving her off in confusion.

“Dora!” Remus bellowed.

Half the parents on the sidelines watched the spectacle, some of them chuckling and others gossiping.

“Mum!” Dora called out to Andi.

Andromeda quickly turned from her conversation with her sister before the Black Sisters rose gracefully from their seats, packed away their chairs and parasols with a swish of their wands, and made their way towards Sirius and the floo he assumed, to make their escape. Nymphadora was still scurrying after Andi to try and make her own getaway before Remus could catch up to her.

Sirius was smirking now.

“Mum!” Dora caught her mother by the floo.

“No, dear. You made your bed, you have to lay in it. He’s your husband, just go talk to him.”

“He’s upset.”

“Well, what did you do?” Andi asked.

Cissa held her smile behind a polite hand.

Dora stomped her booted foot. “Why do you assume I must be the one who did something?”

Andi patted her on the cheek. “Because, dear, I know you well, and despite your best intentions, you have a talent for pushing people’s buttons.”

Dora gasped dramatically and turned to face Cissa. “Aunt Cissa, you believe me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, darling. Mr. Lupin seems like a very even-tempered gentleman. It would take a lot to push him over the edge,” Narcissa reasoned.

“Sirius?” Dora spun to face him, her eyes pleading.

He looked at his cousins and arched a brow. “I don’t know, Dora.”

“Ugh, traitor.” She scoffed and turned back to her mother. “I am the victim here.”

“I tend to doubt that, dear.” Andi patted her shoulder now in that patronizing manner. “Now, time to face the music.”

“Dora!” Remus called out again.

Andromeda and Narcissa made their way through the floo, and Sirius scampered out of the veranda towards the pitch where he spotted Ron looked flustered once again. Another kid was on the floor. Oh, good Godric.

-------

“Ronald,” Hermione called for her friend. “Face it. This is too much for one person.”

Her oldest friend snapped, “I can handle this, Mione!” his pride most likely wounded.

“I’m not saying you can’t, Ronald. I’m saying that you could use help, so that all the kids are being minded, and no one gets seriously hurt,” Hermione explained, trying to make it more palatable.

Just then, Sirius wandered up beside her. “Did I hear my name?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Now’s not the time, Sirius.”

“Mum!”

“Auntie Mione!”

Rigel, Teddy, James, little Albie, Hugo, and Rose came closer and landed their brooms demonstrating a mastery that even she didn’t possess at almost three decades of age.

“What is it, gremlins?” she asked.

“We have an idea,” James announced.

“Can it wait until after practice, love?” Hermione asked.

The kids shook their heads. “No, it’s about practice,” Rose explained.

“Oh?” Luna asked as she joined the group even as little Hugo clung to his mother’s leg. “What’s this?”

“The kids have an idea about practice,” Ron explained, no longer surly. “Go on, then.”

“What about Uncle Sirius being the new coach?” Teddy suggested.

Rigel beamed up at his parents and Hermione felt her eye starting to twitch. The universe had a bloody sick sense of humor. “Dad, you used to play at school. I bet you could do it.”

Sirius seemed to turn white as a sheet and Ron balked. “B-But, he hasn’t played in years!”

Luna placed a hand on his shoulder. “Neither have you, my love.”

The ginger wizard turned to gape at his wife. “B-But that was a decade ago. Not decades, plural.”

Hermione grew offended on Sirius’ behalf and folded her arms across her chest. She glared up at one of her oldest friends and snarled, “What is that supposed to mean, Ronald?”

“Kitten, it’s fine,” Sirius murmured, taking a cue from Luna and laying a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged him off, feeling her foul mood building and bruising for a fight. “Are you insinuating that Sirius isn’t capable of keeping an eye on a few children? Or are you objecting to his fitness, because I can assure you that he’s healthy as a horse.”

Ronald had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I –”

“Love, this is a league for children. Fresh air, exercise, and socialization with other children their age. You need another set of eyes and Sirius seems… knowledgeable about the game at the very least,” Luna soothed over, the mediator that she was naturally. “Let him help.”

That seemed to be the end of it. Hermione didn’t miss the way the ‘Mini-Marauders’ were whispering amongst themselves before she sauntered over, leaned down, and asked, “What are you up to?”

Teddy jumped out of his skin, but Rigel turned to her with a poker face. “Nothing,” he chirped.

“I might’ve believed the fib more,” she replied with an arch in her brow. Then she looked over the others and warned, “I’ve got my eye on you lot.”

“Yes, Auntie Mione.”

Sirius was standing there when she turned around, his toned arms folded across his chest. “Fit, am I?” His lips were quirked in that devastating smile.

“I would swear that you have selective hearing,” she said and brushed past him to return to her seat just as an uncharacteristically subdued Nymphadora Tonks retook her seat.

Remus was seated beside her working on his crossword puzzle and Dora was picking at the decoratively frayed hems of her denims. “Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it, Mione?” Remus asked.

Her eyes flickered from one to the other and she murmured, “Sure.”

Later that afternoon – The Burrow

After a rousing morning, the kids all went home with their parents to get cleaned up and changed for a family dinner at the Burrow. And regardless of how large her family grew, Molly Weasley was not intimidated at the prospect of nourishing them with a good meal every week. Ever since the war, they would all come together like this without fail and over the years it had come to include the Malfoys who attended when they could, along with Andromeda and Narcissa, the Potters, the Lupins, and the Grangers.

Sirius Black found himself stepping through the floo into the heart and hearth of the Burrow to the sounds of cacophonous chaos with all of Molly and Arthur’s brood, their spouses, and their children… he felt like there was constantly a tiny person underfoot. Rigel had stepped through with Hermione a moment before Sirius followed on their heels after much reassurance that ‘of course, he was welcome!’ But Sirius hadn’t been prepared for this level of noise. He wondered how Moony was coping and immediately sought him out with his eyes.

Rigel had already been subsumed in the crowd of children who were playing on the nursery upstairs, all million of them. Sirius would have to learn all of their names eventually if he were ever going to stand a chance keeping track during his son’s storytelling, but for now he gravitated towards the familiar – Moony and his cousin Dora. “Moony!” he called out.

Remus waved him over, their tempers from earlier that day already water under the bridge. Though Dora still looked somewhat subdued. He wondered what Remus had said to have that effect on the typically rambunctious klutz. “Padfoot. So, you’ve caved and joined the madhouse.”

“How can you stand this every week?” Sirius murmured where he leaned in beside him, the two tall wizards standing shoulder-to-shoulder by the back door to the garden.

Remus discreetly gestured to his ears where Sirius could see muggle earplugs. “Mione got them for me. She carries spares for her and the other animagi in the room when it gets to be too much,” his friend explained.

“Bloody witch thinks of everything,” Sirius mumbled.

“It comes with being a mum,” Dora said with a fond smile, nursing a bottle of butterbeer.

“Where’s Teddy?” Sirius asked.

“Upstairs in the playroom,” she said. “You couldn’t get me to go in there for love or money.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Oh, there are regular explosions if Fred and George have anything to say about it,” Remus said with a wolfish grin. “Giving us a run for our money, Pads.”

“Good to see the Marauder spirit still lives. They will teach our pups well.”

“I can already imagine the owls I’m going to get when they go off to school,” Dora groaned dramatically.

“Blimey, I didn’t think about that.” Sirius’ eyes went comically wide, and this drew a laugh from the Lupins who watched him dissolve into imagined terror of what little Rigel Granger might put his parents through when unleashed on Hogwarts and out of their direct supervision. “Do you remember what we were like?” Sirius balked, starting to panic.

Remus clapped him on the shoulder. “How could I forget?”

“Shite.”

Hermione chose that moment to join them. “Profanity already? Must be very good… or very bad.” She was swirling a glass of sweet, fruity white wine that he could scent on her breath.

“We were just reminding Sirius that now he’s joined the parent club,” Dora began.

“There’s a club now? Do we all meet up once a month and share our stories – may go out for drinks and get matching tattoos?” Hermione interjected teasingly.

His cousin went on unimpeded, clearly used to the curly-haired menace’s sense of humor, “he’s got letters from teachers to look forward to once Rigel is off the school.”

Hermione threw her head back and let out a cackle. When she regained her senses, it was so abrupt and her tone so deadpan, that Dora snorted into her butterbeer when Hermione asked rhetorically, “Just occurred to you, did it?”

“You know, I often wonder what a child with your intellect and Padfoot’s craft might be capable of,” Remus mused.

“That thought keeps me up more nights than I’d like to admit,” Hermione admitted. “He will either be a mad genius or end up in a padded cell. There is no middle ground. But I’m doing my part to make sure it’s the former and not the latter.”

Sirius watched their banter as if it were a tennis match and something in him envied the ease with which they all seemed to communicate and relate to one another. Ten years away had deprived him of that as well. And he had no one to blame but himself. “So, I should be prepared for mayhem?” he asked.

“Oh, most definitely.”

“More than once, smoke has come pouring down those stairs.” Dora gestured towards the narrow, winding staircase that led up to the playroom.

“Fred and George were the same,” Hermione remarked wistfully.

“They’ve trained their boys a little too well,” Remus snorted.

“But once he’s at Hogwarts, he becomes Minerva’s problem,” Dora raised her bottle of butterbeer in a toast.

Hermione and Remus did the same. “To Minnie!” Moony said.

“I still can’t believe you two got away with calling her that,” Hermione said as she lowered her wine glass to her lips to take another sip. “Clear case of favoritism.”

“Sprout never went easy on the ‘Puffs,” Dora remarked. “I think I can recite every trophy and medal in that award room in Hogwarts because of how many times I was made to polish them all in detention.”

“I never got many of those. But the ones I had were memorable,” Hermione grumbled and flexed her left hand.

-----

The tone went tense for a moment before Dora changed the subject. “Mione, can I talk to you?” she asked.

Hermione looked at Remus and Sirius for a moment as if to gauge whether they knew what it might be about. But their faces were blank, and it seemed they hadn’t the foggiest. She turned back to Dora and nodded. “Sure. Let’s get some fresh air.”

Dora looped her arm through hers and tugged them out, her long legs eating up the space between them and the tall oak where Molly and Arthur had set up a bench in the shade to watch the children play on their family quidditch pitch. “Mione, I’ve been meaning to chat with you.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched. “A-About?”

“About the other night… at the club,” Dora began, her expression turning sheepish and apologetic. “I was drinking, but I don’t want to blame it on the alcohol because that feels like not taking accountability for my own actions. I know I can pushy. I know that sometimes I’m a bit shameless. And perhaps it comes from working in a very male-dominated field for much of my adult life, or maybe because I’m a Black and a Tonks. Whatever the reason, I know that I can come on strong. And I know that I tend to push people’s buttons.”

The curly-haired witch sat with her wine glass clutched in her hands, the heat of the day making the glass sweat in her hands and become slippery, and the curls at the nape of her neck began to frizz. But she watched the violet-haired auror ramble and stumble through her apology with bated breath.

“You’re one of my closest friends. You’re family. You’re pack. And I pushed you out of your comfort zone in public and made an arse of myself in doing so,” Dora said, wringing her hands in her lap. “I never meant to embarrass you or try to force you into being someone you’re not. I know I can be loud and brash, and sometimes I have no filter. I just say the first thing that pops into my head. Or I let the intrusive thoughts get the better of me. But I spoke with Luna and Fleur the next morning, and Remus several times since then, and they’ve all made something very clear to me that perhaps I wasn’t seeing before, and that’s the fact that in pushing you I hurt you.”

A long silence stretched out between them and when Dora didn’t seem to have anything else to say, Hermione took her turn to speak, choosing her words with care. “Thank you, Dora. I know you mean well. I know you all mean well when you try to set me up. But the fact of the matter is that I’m not ready. Emotionally or otherwise for a relationship. And I’m a hot mess anyway. Any wizard would run for the hills. You all might think I’m a catch, but to most of the wizarding world at large I’m either a trophy or a cautionary tale. And I don’t want to be fetishized, collected like some chocolate frog card, or pitied. I think I deserve better than that.

“For better or worse, it’s easier to focus my time and my attention on my family and my career. My son needs me. My clients need me. I don’t what that says about me as a person, but I like being needed. But more than that, I like being wanted. Maybe being ‘Hermione Granger’ is a bit of a double-edged sword because there’s no way to tell until it’s too late why someone wants you. But I think I’m worth more than a pity shag or being someone’s trophy wife. And if that means that I never find the right one, well, I would rather be alone than settle.”

Dora’s brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought, and she turned on her bum to face Hermione dead-on before reaching out to take her hand. “Don’t you want this?” she asked, gesturing to the couples outside enjoying each other’s company, or the children fliting around the expansive grounds of the Burrow in the last light of dusk. “Don’t you want to be happy?”

Hermione felt her face growing warm and that inky voice slithering in the back of her mind telling her she would always be alone. “I am happy. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in all this time it’s that if I can’t find happiness by myself, then there’s no way I will with someone else. Happiness is in here.” She put her finger to her temple. “I’m not incomplete without a partner. I wasn’t incomplete before Rigel. He’s just added more to my life. Made it richer. And if I find a partner someday, I hope it’ll be the same. I’m not looking for a missing puzzle piece, Dora, because I’m not missing anything.”

“I don’t get you,” the other witch confessed. “Remus makes me so happy.”

“You’re mates. You’re meant for each other. Not everyone can be as fortunate as you two.” Hermione tried to lighten the mood by bumping her shoulder into the older witch’s playfully.

“I suppose I just wanted the same for you. But I wasn’t listening to what you wanted.”

Hermione spotted her cheeky grin and said, “Well, if you and Remus know of any other down-on-their-luck werewolves who enjoy loud-mouthed, opinionated, career witches who also happen to be massive swots and single parents –”

“Oh, is that the new criteria?” a new voice asked, that she immediately recognized as Ginny.

The witches turned to watch her waddle out onto the grass and made room between them on the bench for her to sit.

“Gin, you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I have been resting all day and if Harry hovers over me for another moment or my mum tries to feed me anymore, I may accidentally set the Burrow on fire,” the redhead blurted and lowered herself onto the bench with a huff.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Hermione retorted cheekily.

“I feel like a beached whale,” Gin sighed heavily and rubbed at her distended belly. “And I want this little beater out of me.”

Hermione and Dora laughed together at her way with words before Molly Weasley called out, “Dinner is ready!”

The two non-pregnant witches helped their friend to her feet with a heave and a groan. “Here we go, feeding time at the zoo,” the redhead grumbled under her breath.

“Be nice, Gin. People show their love in different ways, and this is how Molly has always shown hers,” Dora chided.

“You were both smart,” she said as they crossed the threshold under the family marquis and were immediately surrounded by the scents of a homecooked meal, “you stopped at one.”

Ever since the family had started to outgrow the Burrow during Sunday dinners, the tent and marquis had become standard practice to fit them all. And as it was, they were seated at a long oblong table that they had to shout across to be heard and where table manners often devolved into throwing dinner rolls or corn cobs long distances just to irritate Molly and Fleur. The kids were all situated at their own separate table beside the adults, chattering happily as they took their seats. As usual, Molly had the kids’ food laid out first, their little cups charmed to refill with pumpkin juice whenever they emptied, and their utensils spelled to keep them from falling to the floor.

Dora chuckled and said, “Remus barely survived Teddy. It was for the good of the marriage, honestly.”

Hermione stifled a laugh and said, “As for me, it’s not like there’s a gaggle of viable suitors lined up outside my door.”

“You still keep your home locked up tighter than a crab’s arse, woman,” Gin deadpanned.

“Regardless, the point stands. We are not remotely in the same boat, and once the sucky third trimester passes, you will realize how happy you are to finally have your little girl,” Hermione murmured as they found their seats.

Gin blushed prettily and gave her hand a squeeze before slipping into a seat Harry was holding out for her between him and Luna, Ron seated on Luna’s other side. Hermione was seated across the table from the Potters between Andi and Narcissa, the other single witches in attendance. She tried not to let it get to her, not to let herself feel singled out, as it were. Sirius was left to sit beside Remus and Dora. But the older witches were great conversationalists, had impeccable table manners – much to Hermione’s relief – and never nagged her about her non-existent love life. Perhaps, she mused, they too were exhausted by fielding questions about their own and could empathize with wanting to keep some things private.

Molly finally seated herself to the right of her husband who took his customary seat at one head of the table while Bill, the oldest son, took the other. “Tuck in, everyone,” the matriarch announced.

It was like the onset of a Hogwarts feast the way they all sprang into action, reaching out and seizing serving spoons or sets of tongs to secure themselves a piece of oven-roasted rosemary chicken, medium-rare steak, or tender and thinly sliced roast beef, and green beans sauteed in butter and garlic, and a lovely and fresh summer salad. There were three different types of potatoes on the table that she could see: fluffy, buttery mash, scalloped cheesy potatoes baked with onion slices interspersed between them, and roasted potatoes that had been tossed beforehand in olive oil, garlic, rosemary, and parmesan cheese.

Hermione canted her head to one side and when she spotted Rigel eating his fill and laughing merrily with his cousins, then she began to eat herself. A bowl of freshly baked dinner rolls was making its way around the table, passing from one hand to the next. She smiled at the look on Harry’s face when she realized that this was the same feast that her friend requested each and every year for his birthday without fail and with very little alteration. A creature of habit, that one.

“Wine?” Andromeda offered and held up the bottle for Hermione to see.

“Mm, yes please,” Hermione hummed and held the stem of her glass steady for the other witch to pour.

“Cissa?” the dark-haired witch leaned forward to ask.

Narcissa nodded. “It’s delicious, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling smugly.

“Yes, yes, we know the Malfoy cellars are divine,” Andi teased her baby sister.

“One of the perks of marrying into that family, I assure you.”

“Are the others?” Dora asked from her seat across the table.

“Well, Lucius was very well-endowed,” Narcissa replied without missing a beat.

Andi chuckled into her wine glass, while Dora’s eyes went comically wide at her aunt’s outburst.

Hermione nearly choked on a glazed carrot. “Sweet Circe’s knickers,” she rasped as the vegetable nearly went down the wrong tube.

Remus blushed at the turn of conversation and then turned to Dora to see her trying and failing at not laughing aloud.

Sirius had no such hang-ups and reached around the back of Remus’ chair to thump his cousin on the back. “Steady on, Cissa. It’s still early.”

“I was referring to his vaults, Sirius,” the blonde witch teased.

“Sure, you were.” Dora snorted and lost it along with her mother and aunt.

Meanwhile, Remus and Hermione’s gazes locked and held for a long moment before they turned determinedly to their respective plates. Perhaps Dora was onto something when she implied that the House of Black had no shame.

Hermione leaned in, to whisper to Narcissa, “I think I could’ve gone the rest of my life not knowing about the size of Lucius Malfoy’s… vaults.” She lowered her voice an octave and arched a brow at the witch.

“Pity. They were quite sizeable.”

“Okay, Mother, that’s enough,” Draco cleared his throat pointedly from his seat further down the table.

Astoria had an incredible poker face where she was seated beside him cutting into her chicken delicately.

Narcissa simply looked her daughter-in-law in the eye and deadpanned, “You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Hermione lost it and Draco blushed to the roots of his pale, blonde hair.

“Are those things inherited?” Astoria leaned forward to murmur to her closest female neighbors, Angelina and Penelope.

All the wizards within earshot smiled and chuckled knowingly to themselves. And of course, nutter that she was, Hermione couldn’t help the train of thought that left her mental station at the moment wondering if it were true. It had been a long time since she’d seen Sirius naked. Would Rigel –? Nope! “You’re all mental cases,” she announced and lifted her glass to mockingly toast them.

They all cheered and raised their glasses, mugs, and bottles right back in mocking applause. “Back at you, love,” Harry called out.

“Rude.” She went back to sawing into her steak and using it as a vehicle to transport mash into her mouth.

-----

Rigel had no idea how it started. One moment he was enjoying his dinner – he loved his Grandma Molly’s cooking – and the next there was shouting at the grown-up table. Part of him resented still being seated at the kid’s table when clearly, he was one of the oldest here along with Teddy, Jamie, Rosie, and Scorp. When would he be considered grown-up enough to sit with his mum and dad at the grown-up table?

“Merlin, enough, Dora!” his mum shrieked. She only yelled like that on her really bad days. He could only remember three of them in his whole life.

First was the time he had tried to fly his broom off the roof of the Burrow with Jamie and Teddy. She had yelled like that for him to come down and then hugged him so tight it felt like his eyes might pop out of his head.

Then there was the time he’d gotten through the wards in the attic and a bunch of angry magical portraits up there had all started yelling and calling him and his mum mean names. She had scooped him up, put him outside in the hall, and had not come out for what felt like forever. But when she did, her face was red, splotchy, and very pinchy like she was angry and had been crying at the same time. His mum had grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, telling him never to go to the attic again because it was dangerous. And he’d been only 4 and so scared of all the loud yelling that he’d listened and avoided the top floor at all costs even now. Only Kreacher went up there to clean.

And the final time had been when he was really young – so young that the memory had no more sound, and it was fuzzy around the edges. But he remembered being in his pram and looking up into his mum’s face. He remembered her smiling down at him. Rigel thought he remembered the shops in Diagon Alley. But then someone yelled at his mum and spit at her, called her names, and she’d put herself between him and the stranger, yelling back at them until they went away. Then his mum took him home and called Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron over. They had held her while she cried.

Rigel hadn’t understood his mum’s reactions at the time, but after yesterday he thought maybe he was beginning to. She didn’t always yell when she was angry. Sometimes it was when she was hurt or scared. Scared for him. But now she was yelling because she was angry. She was yelling at Auntie Dora.

“Why must you keep pushing?! We just spoke outside about respecting each other’s boundaries! And why are you so invested in whether or not I’m shagging someone or dating someone?!”

Grandma Molly tried to speak up, “Now, Hermione, dear, this isn’t the time or place for this conversation –”

“Oh, I agree, but apparently, it’s open season on Hermione Granger’s love life. Why not everyone take a shot while we’re here, eh?!”

“Hermione.” Rigel turned in his seat to see Aunt Andi looked angry too. “The children.”

“Everyone just mind your own bloody business and leave me in peace!” his mum snapped and stormed away from the table, headed directly for him. “Come on, Rigel, we’re going home.”

He looked around at his cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. “But – But I’m not done.”

“Rigel, we can eat at home. Please, don’t kick up a fuss. Let’s go.” Her voice softened into something that sounded like she was begging. His mum looked like she was trying not to cry. He hated when she cried and never wanted to be the cause.

His eyes settled on his dad who was standing behind her now with a hand extended as if he might try to touch her but unsure about whether he should. “Dad?” He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. He knew it was childish, but he wanted to stay. He’d been having such a good day and didn’t want it to end.

“Kitten, I’ll bring him back. Why don’t you –?” his dad suggested softly.

“Fine!” his mum snapped. “You listen to your father, okay?” she said to Rigel, her voice low and her eyes shiny like the tears were coming. She raised her hand and summoned her purse before storming back inside the Burrow, most likely to use the floo.

His mum was gone and when the boy looked back at the table of adults, they all looked shocked, scared, some of them sad and angry, and his dad… well, he couldn’t quite make out the emotion on his father’s face. Adults seemed to feel so much more complex-ly than kids did. They had so many more words for what they were feeling. Rigel wished he had more words. But all that came out was, “Is my mum mad at me?”

Auntie Dora let out a sob and fled the table altogether, running out from under the tent towards the tree line.

Auntie Andi hung her head and Auntie Cissa laid her hand on her shoulder.

Uncle Remus pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll go after her.”

“Which one?” Uncle Ron asked, his brow pinched the way that it always got when he got upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Remus said and went after Auntie Dora.

Rigel’s dad knelt in front of him and reached out to pull him into his arms. “No, pup, she’s not mad at you. She’s mad at the situation.”

“She’s mad at Auntie Dora,” Rigel chirped. “Why was she so mad, Dad?”

“Well… she’s mad because sometimes your aunt can be pushy, and your mum doesn’t like to be pushed. Simple as that.”

“What was all that stuff about shagging and dating? Is Mum dating someone?!” Rigel panicked. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen! His mum and dad had to fall in love. They had to date each other and hold hands, kiss, and stuff. He didn’t know what shagging was, but if it was along the same lines as holding hands, hugging, kissing, cuddling, and dating, then they had to do that together too. She couldn’t be doing that with anyone else or his plans would be ruined!

His dad’s face turned slightly pink. “N-Nothing, pup. It’s adult stuff.”

Rigel hated when adults said that. It just meant that they didn’t think kids were smart enough to understand. But Rigel was one of the top students in his class. He was plenty smart.

His grandparents were whispering amongst themselves, and Grandma Molly looked especially weepy. Rigel noted to himself that girls cried a lot. Even when they were angry. It was very confusing. “Grandma, do I have to go home?” he asked in a small voice.

His grandmother dashed away her impending tears and turned a bright smile on him. “No, dear. You sit there and enjoy your dinner. We’re sorry we made a fuss. The adults are just having a discussion, and we got a little loud.”

“Did Auntie Dora hurt my mum’s feelings?” Rigel asked.

Auntie Andi lifted her gaze to him and said, “Yes, she did, because my daughter still hasn’t learned when too far is too far.”

Rigel’s face contorted because he didn’t understand. “I don’t get it.”

His dad smiled at him and said, “Just go back to your dinner, pup. You and I can check on your mum later when she’s had some alone time to cool down.”

“Is Auntie Dora mad too?” Rigel whispered.

“I think she’s just embarrassed, pup.”

“Oh, okay.” Rigel said and turned to face forward in his chair. He found that he had lost his appetite worrying about his mum.

Meanwhile – 12 Grimmauld Place

Hermione stormed through the floo, not bothering to remove the soot from her clothing, into the family room fuming and muttering to herself, “Bloody witch, always pushing me and interrogating me! Assuming that I don’t know my own mind! Morgana’s girdle, can’t a witch just thrive in being single and at peace?!” She stomped towards the stairs that would lead her towards her bedroom and a long, relaxing bath. That’s what she needed after today. Some quiet, alone time. “Why does everyone think I need a man to complete me?! I am happy, damn it! I AM BLOODY HAPPY JUST THE WAY I AM!” She shouted, her head thrown back, towards the ceiling even as excess magical energy crackled along the length of her curls like down power lines.

She pushed into her bedroom and warded the door behind her, throwing up locking and silencing charms.

Only when she was soaking in her bath did her stomach gurgle and she bemoaned the fact that in storming out, she’d missed out on a lovely dinner and what was sure to have been a delicious pudding. And then she thought of all their faces – their startled, shocked, disappointed faces.

She had lost her temper. She had made a scene. She had effectively ruined a family dinner and a birthday celebration for her brother and oldest friend. She had most likely offended Molly and Arthur in doing so. Ginny probably hated her right now. Remus probably felt much the same after the way she yelled at Dora – she knew him to be very protective of his wife and mate. Hermione wondered if Andromeda would give her the cold shoulder now too. And Rigel… Oh, her precious boy.

Oh, Peanut. Mummy is so sorry, she thought to herself even as she took a long pull from a splif and a large, fat tear rolled down her cheek. She never spoke to him that way. She had raised her voice, shaken him roughly, and startled him from what had surely been a pleasant day by all accounts. And then stormed off and abandoned him there, entrusting his care to Sirius. After a couple of weeks, she more than trusted that Sirius could get him to and from the Burrow without incident. It wasn’t that, that worried her. Rather, it was the fact that she didn’t want him to feel like she’d left him behind. She held the soothing smoke in her lungs for a long moment before exhaling towards the cracked window out into the dusk where the sky was just darkening, and the stars were making themselves known.

Hermione had put her needs – her comfort – over his child’s. She felt ashamed. She felt like a failure. A bad mother.

You are a bad mother.

As if a filthy mudblood could properly parent a magical child.

What did you think would happen?

You will fail spectacularly, and Rigel will loathe you for it.

The curly-haired witch set down her joint in the ashtray on the windowsill and clapped her hands over her ears as if that would silence the voices in her head. It sounded like Bellatrix, Greyback, Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, and Severus Snape. Her old potions professor had always accused her of being an insufferable know-it-all, and to a certain degree he’d been right. She had sought to make up for her lack of knowledge by overcompensating, and it had nearly driven her friends away from her as a First Year. Over time, she had tempered those impulses to be a demonstrative walking encyclopedia because she’d helped win a war and no longer felt she had anything to prove regarding her ‘place’ in the wizarding world.

She waved her wand at the small boombox on the counter and an old Eagles CD started up. She cranked it to max volume and hummed along off-key to try and let it drown out the voices.

“There she stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell.
And I was thinking to myself,
"This could be Heaven or this could be Hell".
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way,”

But one of her bigger remaining insecurities revolved around failing. That one had persisted since earliest memory. Her parents, both driven academics, had impressed her with the value of being first. Of having a strong work ethic and being the most informed person in any room. She had taken it to heart. And they had rewarded her at home for every good letter grade and commendation she’d received from her professors. Only as she grew older did she realize that though they loved her, it had felt somewhat conditional upon her continued success. And Hermione had promised herself never to become that kind of parent to her own children should she ever have any.

“Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice.
And she said, "We are all just prisoners here of our own device.”
And in the master's chambers they gathered for the feast.
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast.”

Yet now she wondered if Rigel were secretly harboring any of the same concerns. Did he think she only cared for him if certain ‘conditions’ were met? What did that say about her and the kind of parent she was? Hermione realized she was spiraling and pulled herself out of the tub, casting a quick-drying charm over herself and pulling on her terrycloth bathrobe, she propped herself on the lip of the clawfoot tub and finished her joint. She had to speak with her son when they were all more level-headed. But she anticipated that tonight would be another rough one and didn’t want to resort to dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile – The Burrow

“Nymphadora,” Remus’ voice called to his wife where she sat perched on the little bench beneath the mighty oak.

His mate turned to face him, her hair gone a lank, mousy brown and her cheeks red and splotchy. She was hunched over, her elbows braced against her knees where she’d had her face in her hands and still appeared to be shaking with rough sobs. “R-Remus… Don’t.”

He thought he’d made his position clear to her earlier that day – that the talk between her and Hermione just hours prior would’ve hammered it home. But no. His mate was obstinate, tenacious, and driven. Often good qualities, particularly in an auror. But sometimes a little less well-suited in interpersonal relationships. “Why did you say those things?” he asked, lowering himself down beside her.

“I – I didn’t mean it that way,” Dora moaned. “I just wanted her to be happy. Settled, like we are.” She turned to look at him, her grey eyes dull with misery.

“Whatever gave you the impression that she was unhappy?” he asked.

“The other night in the club she said she just ‘wanted to be railed within an inch of her life’. I thought that she could do better than a one-night stand,” Dora explained. “She’s worth more than that. She deserves better than that.”

“Maybe that’s all she’s emotionally prepared for, Dora.” He took a breath and tried to find the words to explain, remembering his own youth and when he’d shied away from anything permanent and meaningful because of his own hang-ups about his condition. “Not everyone is as self-assured as you. And relationships require a lot from us – trust, communication, and transparency, all of which are difficult for people like Hermione or even me.”

“I didn’t even think –”

“No, you didn’t.” He glared at her. “Let’s just not assume we know better than the person we’re trying to ‘help’ about what they ‘need’ moving forward. Okay? She’s a grown woman, and at the end of the day, she knows her own limits and her own mind. And she will tell us if she ever needs assistance in that department. Until then, please, for the love of Merlin, back off. I’m worried that any meddling might just push her in the other direction.” He scratched at his stubble in contemplation.

“Give her time and space and just try to keep your word.”

“And Rigel? You know how protective he is of his mum.”

He huffed a breathless laugh. “I’d be more worried about Andi or Sirius if I were you.”

She blanched. “Oh, crikey.”

He nodded. “Oh, Andi was livid. And Sirius was mortified. Molly might filet you for wrecking Harry’s special night now that I think about it.” Remus teased her. “Come to think of it, maybe I should back away since you have a target on your back now.”

“Remus John Lupin!”

“Yes, love?” he chuckled.

“You’d never give up on me,” she murmured cheekily.

He brushed away the trails of tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Not in a million lifetimes.” Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “Even if you are a pain in my arse.”

Dora swatted him in the chest and leaned in to clean a wet kiss. “I love you too, old wolf.”

Their moment was interrupted by the harsh yell of one Molly Weasley, “Nymphadora Tonks Lupin! You get in here this moment! Head Auror or not, you and I will have words!”

“Do you think I could make it around her and get to the floo before she hexes me?” Dora whispered.

“She might be getting up there in years, but she still took down your batshit crazy aunt, love. I wouldn’t put it past her to have a few tricks up her sleeve.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

“Time to face the music,” Dora said and pushed herself to her feet to stride back towards the house while the majority of the others remained beneath the tent to finish their dinner.

Chapter Text

-------

Later that night – 12 Grimmauld Place

A knock at her bedroom door pulled Hermione from her musings and she quickly stamped out her third joint, vanished the ashtray to her vanity, and stepped out of the bathroom to see who it was. She was still clad in only her robe, her wand stuck through her pile of curls on top of her head, feet bare, and her face probably red from crying. Phenomenal. She didn’t know who she dreaded speaking to more in this moment – Sirius or their son. But her mind was already jumping to the worst-case scenarios for each of them.

Still, she cleared her throat and pulled open her bedroom door. “Yes?”

Sirius was standing there, eyes wide, and fanning the air in front of his face. “Holy fuck, Kitten. Is that what you’ve been doing for hours?”

She blushed from head to toe and shut the door on him before running into the bathroom and casting a breath-freshening charm on herself before pulling the window open farther and banishing the lingering scents of marijuana out into the night air. “Shite! Bollocks. Bloody, buggering fuck!” She was an idiot. How had she forgotten?! How bloody baked was she?! Oh Merlin.

Another knock at her bedroom door drew her attention back to the fact that she’d slammed a door in Sirius’ face. Mortified, she called out, “Just a moment!” and tugged on a faded old Ramones tee-shirt she’d nicked from her father’s old collection, and a pair of red and gold, plaid sleep trousers that had always appealed to her Gryffindor sensibilities. When she answered the door again, it was to the smug, smirking face of one Sirius Black and he was leaning against the wall opposite, arms folded across his chest, waiting. “May I help you?” What time was it?

“I had intended to come up and let you know we’d returned safely, and that Rigel is waiting in his room to read with you before bed,” he drawled in that sensuous way of his, “But it seems you had your own plans.”

She tried to remind herself that there was nothing inherently wrong with her self-medicating – that any embarrassment she might be feeling was due to the fact that there was still a social stigma surrounded pot and parents who willingly partook. But this man and her shared an interest history and knew each other in ways that others didn’t while simultaneously not knowing one another very well at all. It was startling for Hermione to realize that she valued his opinion and was wary of it at the same time.

“Yes, I did. And I feel much better now.”

“I can imagine.” He chuckled. “That’s not a scent I’ve smelled in a long time, Kitten.”

“I don’t think you should get in the habit of calling me that,” she chastised him, one hand on her doorknob and the other braced against the doorframe. “It might lead others to draw certain conclusions.”

“Such as?” he asked, canting his head to one side.

“Such as the fact that you’re making it seem like we’re more intimate that we truly are.”

He had a teasing, amused expression on his face and ran his tongue over his teeth as he gazed at her assessingly. “We’re getting off topic, love.”

“I don’t like that either,” she murmured.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“Pardon?” She arched one brow at him, caught off-guard by his impertinence. But then, look who she was talking to. Was it any wonder with one such as Sirius Black? What else had she expected, honestly?

“I think you enjoy it very much when I use my little pet names and terms of endearment,” he elaborated.

“You often seem to be under the impression that I require an explanation, but really I just like to be generous and give people a moment to recant their previous statement before I eviscerate them,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“If this is how you are in court, I can imagine you have a staggering success rate.”

“Those records are for public consumption. Feel free to look at any time.”

“And the pot?” he asked, catching her off-guard once more.

“What of it?”

“Is this a regular habit of yours?”

“Habit implies regular, Mister Black. That’s redundant.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

The verbal sparring was awakening her senses, sharpening them from their previous marijuana-induced haziness.

“Do you partake often?” he asked, rephrasing the question.

After a long moment, she nodded simply. “I do.”

“And… does Rigel know?”

“Not particularly. But he’s a child and wouldn’t understand.”

Sirius pushed himself away from the wall. “He’s quite clever and understands more than you think.”

She bristled at his tone. “Don’t presume to tell me about my son. I’ve been with him since he was born. You just got here.”

“And we’re back to this,” he mumbled. “Look, I’m not assigning blame, Hermione, but I wasn’t made aware of his existence for the past ten years because you all kept it a secret from me.”

“Because you would’ve been a shitty father!” she yelled back, funneling all her anger at herself – all of her insecurities – into her vitriol and spewed it at him maliciously. She was hurting, she was feeling fragile like an exposed nerve, and she wanted to pass that off to someone else. Sirius just happened to be the unlucky bastard who knocked on her door and got yelled at by the new dragon lady of Grimmauld Place.

His lips flattened into a thin line and his face was unreadable. “I can see this is no longer a productive conversation. I’ll say goodnight before either of us says something else we might regret later.” His tone was flat and emotionless and for some reason it just made her angrier. Sirius bowed his head in a very old-fashioned, gentlemanly manner and turned on his heel to head for the stairs.

She stomped after him. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

When she grabbed his shirt, he spun to face her and backed her against a wall and lowered his voice to a gravelly whisper, “You’re always on guard, always so defensive, always spoiling for a fight, and always jumping to conclusions. It’s like you don’t think someone could just enjoy your company or want to make conversation without having ulterior motives. I just want to get to know the woman who’s been raising my son. The woman who saved my life. The woman who sacrificed her future to bring that little boy into the world.”

Her heart was in her throat as she watched him, with his hand and arm extended in the direction of Rigel’s bedroom door, his chest heaving, and his eyes like a growing storm. “I… don’t like feeling pressured, judged, or like a failure,” was all she could say.

Sirius sighed heavily and dropped his arm to his side before running a hand over his face in clear exasperation. “Hermione, you are not a failure. And I just came from the most uncomfortable dinner where I watched Andromeda and Molly bloody Weasley give a thorough bollocksing to my adult cousin who’s a head bloody auror for being nosy and pushy at the table just to prove it. You have every right to feel the way you do. But maybe next time talk to me… I’m here. I’m listening. And I would never judge.”

Her lower lip got dangerously close to wobbling, and she had to take a fortifying breath before she murmured a paltry apology. “I’m sorry for saying that. I don’t even know why I did. I don’t feel that way.”

“Not about me, but it’s clear you’re working on some issues of your own,” the dark-haired wizard replied.