Chapter 48- night thoughts (interlude).

Saturday, July 22, 1995

Harry plumped his pillow, and reached for the blankets Janet had left for him. After one video, six stories, two rounds of goodnight hugs and kisses, a sip of water apiece, three "lullabies," quite a bit of rocking, and one half-finished conversation, Kitty and Becky were finally tucked into their beds and sleeping soundly.

They'd put up a fine fight, he'd give them that. There at the end, both of them had barely been able to keep their eyes open. Of course Harry couldn't say he was especially surprised. They were excited about their father's arrival, and had really wanted to stay awake and greet him, poor things.

He'd indulged them for a while, reading stories and granting their pleas of staying up "just a little longer." Unfortunately, Janet and her husband failed to appear, and as the hour grew later and later their eyelids had drooped lower and lower.

By the time he'd finally chivvied them upstairs they'd both developed a severe case of the "late night stares." Becky, especially, had been grumpy and out of sorts, wanting to be held and crying fretfully. Harry had been a little concerned about that, until he recalled Janet's parting warning about not letting Becky become overtired. Giving himself a mental slap, he decided he'd probably done just that. They'd had a very busy evening after all, and it was way, waaaaay, past both of their normal bedtimes.

Kitty had actually gone down easier than Becky, which Harry found surprising. Once he escorted them to their frilly domain, he'd expected the older girl to fuss about bedtime, and try to talk him into letting her stay up later than her sister just on general principles. Both girls were very sweet, but Kitty had a more intense nature than her sister. She could be almost argumentative at times. Becky, on the other hand, even in the midst of the "terrible twos" was usually more laid back and easy-going.

Usually...but not always.

There had been nothing "laid back" or "easygoing" about the youngest Wright tonight.

Harry rolled his eyes as he recalled the scene, grateful he hadn't had a large audience. Kitty had been quite enough, thanks, and no help at all. She'd given him an impatient look from her bed, as he tried to soothe Becky, I'm tired, can't you do something to shut her up? written all over her face. She hadn't said anything aloud, though, for which Harry was grateful. She'd obviously been through this before. When he hadn't been able to calm Becky immediately, she'd simply hidden her head under her pillow in an effort to muffle her sister's cries.

So, Harry had found himself essentially alone, holding Becky in the crook of one arm and murmuring nonsense to her, while frantically scanning the paper Janet had left him, and wondering if now would be a good time to summon help. He'd been both relieved and horrified when he'd finally found some advice: "If you have trouble getting Becky to sleep, rock her, rub her back, and sing to her..."

Sing? He had blinked in disbelief, certain he must have misread it. Rocking and rubbing he could probably do, but singing?!

Yeah.

Right.

Let's traumatize the poor thing beyond all hope of recovery, shall we?

On the other hand, nothing else seemed to be working, and the paper hadn't steered him wrong yet...

A white glider rocker with a fluffy ruffled cushion sat near the foot of Becky's bed. He'd approached it with trepidation, afraid any attempt he made at calming her would only make her cry all the more, but it had actually worked! Becky hadn't seemed to mind his singing at all, proving, as far as Harry was concerned, that there really was no accounting for taste. In fact, once he'd realized that "rubbing" meant moving his hand gently up and down her back and stopped his awkward patting ("Becky not a doggie!"), she'd settled down without too much fuss. Completely knackered from the evening's events, it hadn't been too long before she'd relaxed and her breathing had deepened.

Harry smiled gently recalling how she'd snuggled contentedly on his shoulder, then stopped short and tutted impatiently. Turning his attention back to the blankets, he scolded himself roundly for turning into a giant sap. Voldemort had been resurrected, and he could be hearing from the Ministry any minute now! He didn't have time to get all soppy and sentimental, for crying out loud!

Still... Harry finished smoothing out the covers and quirked an eyebrow. It had been two hours or more since Dobby's "visit." If the Ministry was going to send him an owl for the "improper use of magic," they were certainly taking their time about it. Indecisively, he picked up his bag, then set it down again, wondering if it was safe to change into his pajamas and get ready for bed.

Frowning slightly, Harry wandered over to the living room window, and scanned the sky for owls. He hadn't heard from the Improper Use of Magic Office, true, but he wasn't comfortable enough to relax yet. If he was going to be dragged away to the Ministry or to Hogwarts, he'd just as soon go in his regular clothes, thanks.

Sighing again, Harry crossed his arms on his chest and continued to scan the horizon. This lack of response was bloody confusing. When Dobby had cast his hover charm, summer before second year, the Ministry seemed to know immediately, and responded within seconds. It just didn't make any sense! Even if they decided to just give him another warning, he should have heard from them by now, shouldn't he?

Well, okay, maybe not, the teen admitted, recalling when he'd accidentally inflated Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, summer before Third Year. The Ministry had been too busy chasing after Sirius, and trying to make sure Harry didn't run afoul of him. His little burst of accidental magic had been small potatoes in the grand scale of things, and largely ignored.

Could that be the case now? Did someone in the Ministry (besides Mr. Weasley) believe Voldemort was back? Harry twisted his mouth to one side. It was possible, but no. Given Minister Fudge's attitude a few weeks ago that didn't seem at all likely. Maybe an owl couldn't be delivered because he was currently in a Muggle's residence. Was there, perhaps, a letter from the esteemed Ms. Hopkirk waiting for him back at the Leaky Cauldron?

Frustrated, Harry raked a hand through his hair. He was still afraid of having a nightmare, and would dearly love to cast a Silencing Charm on the couch, but until he knew what was going on he didn't dare. Dobby's magic might have gone unnoticed this time, but he certainly didn't want to push his luck.

Although...

Harry turned from the window, and raised a speculative eyebrow. Dobby wasn't the only one who had cast magic this evening. Kitty had. Becky, too. Heck, even he had! He wondered briefly if the Ministry hadn't noticed because it was wandless magic, then dismissed the thought. Dobby had never had a wand. Harry hadn't used his wand either when Aunt Marge had finally provoked him beyond endurance. The Ministry had certainly cottoned on to those incidents soon enough! So why then? Was it because he wasn't on Privet Drive?

The boy frowned again, considering. That, actually, made the most sense. The protective wards around his uncle's former home had probably been set to snitch on him! Brilliant. Harry made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat, then wandered back to the couch and flopped down on it.

Actually, casting a Silencing Charm probably wasn't a good idea, anyway. On balance, it made more sense to risk the indignity of a nightmare. Bad dreams were easily explained at least, unlike magic. Even if his spell was overlooked by the Ministry, he reckoned Janet would have questions if she returned and found him mumbling soundlessly on the couch.

Besides, there was always a chance he wouldn't have bad dreams or visions at all. Voldemort had been strangely quiet of late, and physical exhaustion always helped keep his regular nightmares at bay. If the way he felt right now was an indicator, he didn't reckon he'd have too many "normal" nightmares tonight. That was a side benefit he'd discovered when he'd worked so hard those first few days at the Leaky Cauldron.

Smiling slightly, Harry leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. Scrubbing floors had nothing on chasing after Becky. She certainly earned the nickname "Snidget.*" Regular little streak of lightning, that one.

Kitty was challenging too, but in a different way. She was the one with the questions. She had grown rather quiet after the ball incident, and said very little throughout the movie and the subsequent bedtime ritual. She'd been so quiet in fact, he thought she had dropped off while he was getting Becky settled. As it turned out, she hadn't. When he'd finished tucking Rebecca in and turned to check on her before leaving, he discovered she had come out from under her pillow at some point, and had been watching him.

"You need to sleep, miss," he had said, straightening her covers, then sitting on the edge of her bed. "You can see your mum and dad in the morning."

Kitty had looked down a minute, then met his gaze again. "Are you going to tell?" she asked quietly, a strange blend of hope, fear and resignation in her sleepy brown eyes.

Harry had regarded her seriously for a long moment, unsure how to respond. What was he supposed to say to that for Heaven's sake? There was no sense playing dumb. He knew exactly what she was talking about. He just wasn't sure what the rules were in this case.

Squirming inwardly, he had grappled with the problem, cursing his own tendency to procrastinate. He'd been meaning to ask Tom how Muggleborn children were approached and integrated into Wizarding society for days now, he just hadn't known how to broach the subject. Before tonight, he had merely suspected that the Wright children might be magical. The matter hadn't seemed all that urgent, so he kept putting it off. Now that his suspicions had been proven correct and he really needed some guidance, he was sitting here looking like a proper fool because he hadn't bothered to ask one tiny question.

Mercifully, Tom had come to his rescue once again, albeit indirectly. As Harry cast around for something to say, he found himself recalling an eerily similar conversation. It seemed he, too, had been uncertain, and in need of a little reassurance not so long ago...

"Are you going to tell him I'm here?" Harry still cringed when he thought about how his voice had quavered when he'd asked that. He'd sounded like a right twit. Fortunately, the other wizard hadn't held it against him.

"Why don't you tell me what happened first?" Tom had asked instead. Even though he clearly didn't understand Harry's reluctance to contact his headmaster, the old innkeeper hadn't made any snap judgments or accusations. He'd simply shown a willingness to listen, and offered Harry a chance to explain himself. That seemed like the best way to proceed now.

"Why don't you tell me about it first?" he had offered with a lopsided grin, hoping to put her at ease. Kitty had balked, however, evidently afraid of ridicule.

"You'll think it's dumb," she'd declared, crossing her arms and frowning sulkily.

"Try me," he'd invited, and at length, she had.

As Harry had expected, she was afraid of losing her parents' approval, but not for the reasons he imagined. Kitty wasn't nervous about admitting her magic. In fact, she'd reckoned her mum and dad would probably think it was pretty cool.

No, the problem was the night light of all things! When she had discovered her magic, Katrina had been sleeping with a full-sized lamp on at night, not a just tiny wall-light. This had evidently been a pet peeve of her mother's.

Consequently, when Janet discovered Kitty had awakened in a dark room, and managed to go back to sleep without raising a fuss, she had been delighted. She had made a special effort to praise her daughter, and let her know how pleased and proud she was. Not wanting to disappoint, Kitty had reluctantly agreed to give up the lamp in return for the two tiny night-lights she used now. "I figured if I had the ball, it would be okay," she'd said, yawning hugely and starting to slur her words. "I was afraid if I told Mom and Dad I still wanted my big light, they wouldn't be happy anymore."

Harry toed his trainers off and snuggled deeper into the corner of the couch, crossing his arms on his stomach, and tucking his feet beside him. Kitty had been relieved to have someone to confide in. She had told him how she hated the little night lights and the creepy shadows they cast on the walls and floor, and admitted that she'd nearly lost her nerve the first night she'd slept without her lamp. The magic had been purely accidental. She'd had no idea what she'd done to produce the ball in the first place, and wasn't sure she could do it again. She even wondered if she'd been dreaming. By the time she finished, she was teetering on the edge of sleep. "I just had to practice," she mumbled before dropping off. "It was sort of like...when I learned...to whistle..."

Yawning himself, Harry shook his head as he recalled the conversation. "Silly little git," he tutted fondly. He'd stayed at Kitty's side for a few minutes, making sure she was asleep and regarding her with a kind of amused astonishment.

That Kitty had told Becky when she hadn't confided in her parents seemed odd. Becky was a sweet little thing, but she was almost guaranteed to babble anything she knew. After thinking about it for a few minutes, however, Harry began to strongly suspect Kitty had been caught in the act by her baby sister. The two of them had shared a bedroom almost from the time Becky had been brought home from the hospital. It would have been difficult for Kitty to hide her magic indefinitely-especially if she used it to calm herself when the lights went out. And since Becky called the game "ball," Janet wouldn't suspect anything out of the ordinary, even if Becky had told her.

Harry grinned, struck with a thought. Was the name a lucky accident, or had Kitty dubbed it "ball" on purpose?

Everything made a twisted sort of sense actually. The only thing he didn't understand was why Kitty believed her mother would hold such a small thing against her. Anyone with eyes could see that Janet was mad about both her girls. Admittedly, Janet might not have liked leaving a lamp on all night, but Harry had no doubt that she would have, if Kitty truly needed it.

Maybe that just comes from not wanting to disappoint someone you look up to, Harry mused, closing his eyes, and letting his thoughts begin to drift. Almost immediately, his "argument" with Sirius and the others came to mind. He was guilty of much the same thing.

It was hard to describe the rush of apprehensive panic he'd felt earlier when he'd entered his room and spied Dumbledore's message. His first (admittedly childish) instinct had been to pretend he hadn't seen, and simply ignore it. On balance, he'd realized he was being stupid. Aside from sending the enchanted parchment to him in the first place, Dumbledore hadn't bothered to write before now. Whatever his headmaster wanted, it was probably important. Harry's heartbeat had quickened in anticipation. Had the Order figured out Voldemort's next move? Was it finally safe to visit his friends?

Not exactly sure what to say, he'd written "Professor Dumbledore?" and tapped the phoenix icon. It seemed wasteful to use an entire sheet of enchanted parchment that way, but it was the closest thing to knocking Harry could think of. He hadn't really been expecting an immediate reply, but Dumbledore had obviously been nearby. He'd been a little taken aback when the old wizard had written "Where have you been?"

Harry had blinked once, feeling like he was being reprimanded for sneaking in after curfew.

Since it was impossible to tell from the written words alone whether the question was angry or merely curious, he'd been unsure how to proceed. Hoping it was the latter rather than the former, he had hesitated a bit before shrugging and writing "At work." Dumbledore knew he had a job this summer, but Harry didn't believe he'd ever shared the exact schedule he kept. His own curiosity had gotten the better of him, so he'd tacked on, "Is something wrong, sir?" before tapping the headmaster's phoenix again.

Things had steadily gone downhill from there. He'd tried to reassure Dumbledore that everything was under control and wound up in a row with his Godfather.

Harry frowned slightly, then pushed the thought aside. He really didn't want to deal with that now. He'd write Sirius a letter and try to explain tomorrow...assuming, of course that his godfather and the rest of the Order weren't waiting for him en masse when he went back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Meanwhile, it didn't look like anything was going to happen tonight. All things considered, it was probably safe to change into his pajamas and lay down properly, but Harry was too comfortable to move. As he sat there half dozing, he wondered idly what errand Professor Dumbledore had sent Dobby on.

Dobby.

Harry grinned sleepily. He couldn't forget Dobby. It really was amazing how powerful the little house-elf was. He had cleaned up all the clutter in Janet's living room in a snap-literally.

He had also sealed the portal leading to platform 9¾...

And made a bludger go berserk...

All with Harry's best interests firmly in mind, of course.

Yeah, Dobby had come to see him on Privet Drive...

And the Hogwarts Hospital Wing...

And no one...

had...

noticed!

With a startled gasp, Harry's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. It was true! No one had suspected a thing! By all evidence the little creature could even apparate inside of Hogwarts, where Apparation and Disapparation were supposed to be impossible!

As a matter of fact, the only time Dobby's magic had been detected was on Privet Drive the summer before Harry's second year! Dobby had shown up while the Dursleys had been entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Mason, potential clients of Grunnings Drills. Harry, of course, had been banished to his room for the duration of the dinner party, lest he do something "freakish" or "abnormal." He'd discovered the little house-elf in his room once he'd been sent upstairs, and things had quickly gotten out of hand.

Dobby had warned Harry about a plot (which he couldn't disclose the details of) and had tried to make Harry promise that he wouldn't return to Hogwarts (which Harry wouldn't do.) When he hadn't been able to twist a promise out of Harry, Dobby had resorted to more drastic measures. Before Harry could stop him, he'd scampered downstairs, and dumped Aunt Petunia's pudding on Mrs. Mason's head! Since Harry had been the only (known) magical being on the premises, he'd been blamed for the whole mess by the Dursleys and the Ministry of Magic!

Why that dirty little sneak! Harry fumed, indignation, disbelief, and a kind of grudging admiration warring for dominance. He couldn't believe it! Hogwarts non-apparation wards notwithstanding, if the Ministry had been aware of Dobby's hover charm on Privet Drive, why had they not noticed the little elf's comings and goings?

Why hadn't he been noticed at the train station, or at Hogwarts?

Harry got up again, and went back to the window to gaze at the still owl-less sky.

Dobby had always seemed a bit more...creative than others of his kind. Most of the house-elves Harry had observed were timid creatures, seemingly happy in their servitude, absolutely devoted to their masters, and easily cowed. Dobby, while not exactly defiant, seemed to be willing to at least consider bettering his lot. Of course considering how horribly he was treated by the Malfoys, there was probably nowhere to go but up.

One might think his attitude would be applauded and emulated, but Dobby was actually looked upon as something of an oddball by the other house-elves at Hogwarts. Most saw his status of "freed elf" as a badge of shame, not honor. Most of them would never have dared to do what Dobby did.

Harry had never thought about it before, but the whole thing was really kind of weird. Most wizards scarcely took notice of house-elves, if Ron's attitude was anything to go by. That seemed a bit...imprudent, given what the little creatures were capable of.

He shook his head distractedly. house-elf freedom was one of those knotty issues where "right" and "wrong" were sometimes hard to precisely define. Heaven knew his two best friends had gone around and around about it this past year. Ron didn't see a problem; Hermione thought the whole thing was horrible. Personally, Harry wasn't sure exactly what his feelings were. Normally he would agree that slavery was wrong, but after seeing the way Winky reacted when she was freed, he wasn't so sure. Perhaps it would be kinder to consider each elf on a case-by-case basis.

Coming back to the subject at hand, since house-elves were not typically seen as a threat by the majority of wizard kind, were they sort of "under the radar" then? Were normal protective wards not keyed to detect them?

Harry cocked his head, considering. It was possible, he supposed, and it would certainly explain why he hadn't gotten busted by the Ministry just now. They hadn't noticed because Dobby hadn't been trying to get him into trouble!

As for the magic done by Kitty, Becky and himself, it was probably too weak to be detected without someone specifically watching for it. That little ball was cute and all, but there hadn't been a lot of power behind it.

Whoa. Harry felt a little bowled over. That cuts it. I definitely need to talk to Hermione! She probably knows loads about house-elves, what with S.P.E.W. and all. In the meantime, I should probably get ready for bed, he thought, after cringing at the time. He went to retrieve his pajamas, toothpaste, and toothbrush out of his bag, planning as he did so. If he left late enough tomorrow morning, he could stop and ring her up on his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. If not, he supposed he could try later, or send her an owl.

As he brushed his teeth, Harry found himself speculating on Dobby's errand for Dumbledore again. It had been a little weird when he popped in like that...and what was it he said?

"Dobby is glad to see that Harry Potter is not hurt! Harry Potter is being very naughty-causing much worry at Hogwarts!"

Yes, that was it. Causing much worry. But why? Harry wondered, peering into the mirror above the powder room sink. I told them I was all right. Why didn't they believe me? Frowning, Harry flipped though his parchment "conversation" with Dumbledore and Sirius again. He was missing something, somewhere.

"Harry, we know you aren't in Australia with the Dursleys. Tell me where you are, and I'll have you brought to Hogwarts until all this can be sorted out."

Harry nearly choked on his toothpaste. When he'd blabbed to Dumbledore about his uncle's house being for sale, his headmaster must have done what Harry himself had not, and discovered that the Dursleys had moved out of country! If that was true, Dumbledore probably assumed he had accompanied them, Harry realized with a miserable groan. You're an idiot, Potter, truly! It's a wonder you manage to dress yourself in the morning!

There was that procrastination thing again. Or maybe this time it was just hard feelings. With Kitty and Becky, he had actually been meaning to take an action. With his relatives... Harry rinsed his toothbrush and shrugged. Since he never planned to darken their doorway again, he simply hadn't bothered. It was obvious, now, that this hadn't been the best decision he'd ever made. If he'd just taken the time to track down where his aunt and uncle went, maybe this could have been headed off, somehow.

He wondered if he should have just kept quiet, but even that was no guarantee. With Voldemort back, Dumbledore probably would have checked up on him, even if the Ministry couldn't be bothered, and Mrs. Figg! She did always pop 'round a few times during the summer-usually wanting him to help her with some small chore. Was that just an excuse so Aunt Petunia wouldn't suspect? Perhaps he hadn't been as isolated as he'd first thought.

Back to the matter at hand, clearly, someone had gone to the Dursleys' new home, probably to set new wards or bring him back to Britain, and had found out he wasn't there. Harry grinned impishly, enjoying a mental image of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia trying to think up a plausible explanation for his absence, then sobered again. He'd only wanted to protect his friends. He'd thought he was doing as he'd been told. Now it looked like all he'd managed to do was cause a lot of fuss and bother. Had he successfully escaped his headmaster's notice all this time because they'd been looking in the wrong place? Was that why everyone was so angry?

And Dobby! Dobby knew where he was! So did Fawkes, come to think of it, but Harry wasn't sure how completely the phoenix was able to communicate. Dobby was the bigger problem right now. He had found Janet's house, after all. Had the little elf not told anyone? Was that why no one had come? Thinking quickly, Harry tried to remember exactly what Dobby had said...

"Dobby has not come to fetch Harry Potter. Dobby is running an errand for Master Dumbledore."

Was that it? Had Dobby come around to check up on him without being told to? Harry frowned calculatingly. Would Dobby feel obligated to tell Dumbledore about Janet's house if he'd simply stopped by of his own accord? Possibly, but it didn't seem likely. Harry didn't get the feeling that house-elves routinely discussed their personal lives with their masters.

Of course this was Dobby and Professor Dumbledore being considered. If Dumbledore asked Dobby directly, then yes. Harry rolled his eyes. He could just imagine that conversation...

(Excited bounce, big smile) Yes, Master Dumbledore, sir, Dobby knows where Harry Potter is. Harry Potter is fine, Master Dumbledore. Dobby saw Harry Potter just this evening.

(Benevolent smile, eye twinkle) Splendid, Dobby, now would you please tell me where Harry is?

(Ear droop, mournful expression) Harry Potter is in London, sir, but Harry Potter said that Harry Potter must stay. Harry Potter told Dobby he could not leave because Harry Potter is sitting on babies...

Oh, great. Now what do I do? Harry felt a little shiver of dread as he dried his toothbrush, suddenly feeling a lot less sure of himself. The idea of Dumbledore bringing his formidable power and network of colleagues against him was nothing short of terrifying. What would happen when he was found? Would he become a ward of the Ministry? As such, could Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic have him committed to St. Mungos? Would his abandonment be splashed all over the Daily Prophet tomorrow, so that witches and wizards could read every sordid detail?

Harry began to think that heading back to the Cauldron when Janet came back was sounding better and better all the time. She wouldn't like it, but he could tell her something. Perhaps that he didn't feel well. That wasn't too far from the truth, really. His stomach was jumping queasily, probably from all his nervous fretting.

He thought about changing back into his clothes, then decided not to bother. There was nothing indecent about his sweat pants. And who was going to care what he was wearing, anyway? Rattled, he shook his head distractedly, unsure what to do next. Perhaps he could make his apologies to the merchants of Diagon Alley and Mr. Lancaster, then resume the "night shift" at the Leaky Cauldron.

I'm too fuzzy-headed to work this out now, I'll think about it in the morning. He walked over to the window for one last look around, the settled on the couch to wait.

Sirius Black sighed moodily as he glanced at the items laid out on Arabella's coffee table. Nymphadora Tonks, another Ministry Auror in the Order had been kind enough to watch the place while he and Remus and Arabella went to Hogwarts.

Amazingly, everything they'd left out was still in place. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tonks, but she could be a bit of a klutz. At the very least he'd expected the container of floo powder to be upset, but it was still sitting on the table, ready for firecalls. A piece of Flitwick's parchment and a quill lay beside it, (message already written) and the mirror in Arabella's living room could have been mistaken for a landscape shot of number four Privet Drive.

Everything was ready for the attack that was surely coming. When the Dark Wizards showed up, the entire Order could be warned in a matter of seconds.

Now came the hard part. Now came the waiting.

Sirius sighed again, feeling restless. He had always hated waiting. James had too. Remus, perhaps because of his special circumstances, was more patient and accepting, and seemed to tolerate it better.

That or he faked it awful damn well.

Even back at Hogwarts when the Marauders had sneaked around, setting up pranks, they'd favored the direct approach. Jokes that had to be chanced upon by some unsuspecting soul were fun every now and then, but it was agony hiding quietly and waiting for the payoff.

"What are you thinking of?" a quiet voice asked, starling him. Turning toward the sound, he saw Remus was awake on the couch, propped on one elbow, and regarding him curiously.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he chided. The werewolf shrugged.

"I did, a bit," he said, sitting up and stretching. "I guess I'm still a little keyed up from earlier. So, what were you thinking of?"

"Waiting. And James. And Hogwarts," Sirius said, giving the extremely edited version.

Remus grinned fondly. He understood. "Yeah, I never could figure out how you managed, as twitchy as you both were." His amused gaze flicked to Sirius. "And still are."

Sirius stopped pacing for a second and mock-glared at him. "Shut it, you."

Remus chuckled abruptly, making Sirius raise a questioning eyebrow. "What's funny?" he asked.

Remus shook his head. "Nothing really," he said, indicating the mirror where number four Privet Drive still sat, serene and unattacked. He noted absently that a lawn service must have been by-the grass had been cut at some point. "All this nervous waiting just reminds me of when Lily was expecting Harry. Poor James, I never saw him in such a state."

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