Work Text:
Nothing could dampen Harry’s good mood, absolutely nothing. Not the week he had had to suffer through with the Dursleys on Dumbledore’s orders and not the fact he was spending the rest of his summer holidays in Grimmauld Place. He got to spend the rest of his summer with Sirius. He looked down at the huge black dog as they waited to cross the road and grinned. The dog bared its teeth in reply.
***
Grimmauld Place showed all the signs of being recently cleaned. Sirius still muttered “Sorry about the mess” as he hung his jacket up for him.
“It’s okay,” he kept his voice low in deference to Mrs Black’s portrait. Although, looking closer-
Sirius caught where he was squinting and grinned, “Think I’ve managed to shut her up for a while.”
The curtains were being held closed by what looked like the head of a particularly vicious Venus Flytrap in the job of a muggle bulldog-clip. For the first time since the horrors of the Ministry of Magic, Harry felt himself start to laugh. It didn’t take long at all for Sirius to join him.
***
Harry was oblivious to many things, but he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that, left all alone in his ancestral house, Sirius had probably spent his days wallowing in depression and self-pity like a pig in muck. Which was why he didn’t say anything about the obvious attempt at cleaning, the bed made up on the sofa, the half-empty bottles of fire whiskey in the cupboard or the lack of any food to put together a decent meal.
“Suppose I ought to go shopping,” Sirius mused, leading him up to his bedroom. “Don’t think I’ve done that since before you were born.”
Whatever Harry was about to say in response vanished from his head as the door to the bedroom opened. It was on the next floor up from the one he and Ron had shared last summer, at the other end of the hall to Sirius’ room. There was a bed that had been clearly made the muggle way and a quilt on top of it that was garishly coloured and probably too warm for summer; matching bedside tables on each side, one with a yellow lamp. At some point the dank and moulding grey walls had been repaired and redone in a warm shade of white and in one corner there was a rickety wardrobe with shelves next to it and in the opposite corner under one of the windows was a huge desk complete with mismatched chair. There was a place for his trunk and space for Hedwig and his broom and his books.
What made his eyes begin to burn was when Sirius moved his head and he caught sight of a clumsy label tacked to the door. Harry’s Room.
Sirius regarded him anxiously, “Is it- I mean, you don’t have to stay here. You could go back downstairs, or if you wanted to floo The Burrow-“
Harry rushed forward and hugged him.
“I love it,” he managed eventually, embarrassed to realise his glasses had steamed up and a few tears had dripped onto Sirius’ shoulder. A soft huff of laughter mixed with relief, then his godfather wiggled his arms out of the tangle and wrapped them tight around him in return, a hand settling to rest on the back of his head. Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
***
“There’s a garden?” he asked, bemused. It had never occurred to him that this musty, dirty old house could have such a thing.
“We have a garden,” assured Sirius, twitching the net curtains aside to reveal an overgrown lawn. “When our parents were out of the house, me and Regulus used to sneak past Kreacher and go out there and pretend we were in a jungle on adventures.”
The house elf was conspicuous by his absence. Less on Dumbledore’s orders and more on Harry’s pleas, Sirius had agreed that Kreacher had as much right to stay here as he did and the two had drawn to a truce that seemed to consist of never crossing one another’s paths at all. Harry would have wondered if it was the right thing to do, but given that nothing bad had happened in the meantime he’d decided it must be.
“Could we have a picnic?” he asked. “In the garden?” He couldn’t actually think of a time he’d had a picnic before. “If it stays sunny one night we could maybe ask if Ron and Hermione wanted to come over.”
The idea was one he’d been giving a lot of thought to; mostly how to broach the subject, aware his godfather was still adjusting to going food shopping let alone having guests to a house he still loathed.
Sirius brightened like the star he was named for. “That sounds like a great idea.”
***
Ron gave a low whistle, “This place looks nicer than last year.”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, trying to contain his excitement to show them his room.
With a roll of her eyes, Hermione grabbed Ron’s elbow and dragged him up onto the staircase, “Where’s your room?”
He smiled so wide he was afraid his face might break, “Come on!” Stairs and floorboards and carpets blurred under his feet as he flew up them and gave his bedroom door a mighty shove.
“Oh Harry,” Hermione gave a sharp intake of breath. “It’s lovely.”
“Yeah,” agreed Ron, clearly less clear on why a bedroom was so important. “Real nice mate. Like what you’ve done with the place.”
He felt like his heart might burst, unable to stop himself showing them everything, including the sign on the door and the hooks on the back of the door and the boarded up mousehole in the skirting board.
By the time he’d worn himself out, they were both smiling softly at him.
He blushed, sheepish, “So… yeah. This is my room.”
“It’s lovely,” she repeated, taking a seat on the edge of the bed- Ron plopped himself down on the floor, picking at the corner of the rug. “Do you like living with Sirius?”
“Dumbledore still won’t call it living with Sirius,” he explained, half taken aback by the bitterness in his own voice. “He still acts like this is just the same as going to The Burrow.”
Ron’s face was a queer mix of sympathy and befuddlement, “I don’t get why you have to go back to the Dursleys all the time. It’s not as if they want you there.”
“Ron!” she hissed, hitting his shoulder.
“Ow!”
Harry laughed. He’d been doing that a lot lately.
“Although, he is right,” she continued after she’d stopped glaring at him and continuing as if there had been no interruption at all. “Legally you could have Sirius as your guardian instead of your aunt and uncle.”
That would be nice. It was a shame Hogwarts didn’t have sports day or other muggle things- he had often thought about what it’d be like, to have had Sirius turn up for sports day and parents evening and whenever he got into trouble with a teacher. Somehow, he thought it would have been a lot better.
He shrugged and decided he didn’t want to think about Dumbledore anymore. “It doesn’t matter if it’s only for a little while, I suppose. I still get to be here nearly all the time anyway.”
“Is it nice, living here?” Ron asked. Crookshanks batted the door open and he shot a sideways glance of fear in the cat’s direction- sometimes the moggy liked to plop into his lap and woe betide anyone who wanted to wake him up and forgot his claws were as sharp as his owner’s mind.
“Does Sirius get annoying?” Hermione stretched out on the bed with her shoes kicked off.
He sat down with his back against the wardrobe, “Why would he get annoying?”
“Everyone gets annoying once you live with them.”
“Well, it’s been almost two weeks and everything’s been fine so far.” He fought to keep the note of anxiety out of his voice. Everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?
Ron grinned the way he did when he’d come up with a great idea for teasing, “You think that way because everyone you live with pisses you off,” he told Hermione, grin getting wider and wider.
“Hmph!” she responded cleverly.
The conversation continued, twisting to what they had done so far this holiday and what they planned to do next; what would happen once they went back to school, what Voldemort was doing and how they were all doing. All of a sudden Harry found he could hardly pay any attention at all.
***
“Come on, you can do better than that!” cried Sirius, and Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.
Harry screamed and woke up screaming.
“Sirius!” The words got choked up in his mouth, red-hot and soaking wet. Even without his glasses on, the image still flashed crystal clear before him. “Sirius!” he yelled, though it was pointless: his godfather was already in a place he couldn’t hear.
“I’m here,” came a quiet voice, light flooding into the room.
He tried his hardest not to, but he still started to cry.
Something touched his shoulder and he flinched, smacking into the headboard. The weight from the mattress vanished instantaneously, accompanied by a frantic “sorry, sorry”. He bit into the tender skin of his hand to muffle his scream and trembled, enough to shake the bed too.
A long time later, he squinted up to see Sirius still standing there, hands held out in front of him in a futile gesture. “Sorry.”
Why was he sorry? Harry was sorry, Harry was the one who kept having stupid dreams and waking him up. Sirius’ face softened and his hands dropped to his sides- his wand was sticking out of his back pocket and the first night Harry had had a bad dream, he’d come charging into the room with wand already drawn. One burn mark accidentally on the carpet later they’d learnt not to do that. “The dreams aren’t stupid.”
“What’d you call them, then?” Certainly he felt stupid. Perhaps that was why the question was asked harsher than he intended.
He didn’t even blink. “I don’t know,” he replied at last. “But seeing as Voldemort’s tried to kill you at least four times that you remember, I wouldn’t say it was stupid.”
He sniffled. Wiped his face with his sleeve. There was a gentle cooing noise before a hand circled his wrist and pulled it away from his face and started to dab at his eyes with someone else’s sleeve instead. Even without his glasses, he avoided Sirius’ gaze. It was just too kind.
“Want me to stay here tonight?”
Yes. He bit his lip. The answer was the same as it had been all the other nights. The circles under Sirius’ eyes weren’t going away. “Just until I fall asleep?”
“Alright.”
To his surprise, it didn’t take too long until his eyes were daring to shut again.
(Sirius didn’t leave, even after he’d fallen asleep.)
***
In all the time they’d been living together, Sirius had never been late for breakfast. Not that they had breakfast at a specific time every morning, or there was a definitive ‘taking turns’ of who cooked it (plus they mostly just stuck to cereal, it was a lot safer), but Sirius had never been late for breakfast. Harry crept up the stairs, watched the door, then sat on the top stair pondering if it’d be okay to just go and knock.
He’d just garnered up enough courage to stand up and do just that when the door opened from the other side and his godfather stepped out.
“You look terrible,” Harry said, then ducked his head and blushed. He’d meant to say ‘good morning’.
He gave a short, barking laugh, “Hello to you, too.”
At his little nod, Harry started back down the stairs again, “Were you late for breakfast when you were at Hogwarts?” Why he asked he had no idea, except that Sirius had been incredibly good and conscientious about not bringing up his parents unless he asked first and not saying he was like James (Harry though the hushed conversation he had eavesdropped between Sirius and Lupin his first night had something to do with that) and the only stories he had came from people who were quick to tack on the end how good a student and person his father had been and it make his happiness curdle a little each time he heard it.
Sirius smiled, “Mostly ‘cuz of your Dad. Or Moony.”
“Professor Lupin?!”
“Don’t tell him I told you, but the bloke is not a morning person. At all.”
Harry giggled, “And neither was my Dad?”
“Normally he’d make us late trying to impress a girl. Or pranking someone. Or sneaking round looking at the latest, coolest thing we’d found. Frank Longbottom’d sometimes lock the rest of us out the dorm room if we’d been really annoying. Course, then we’d try to get into the girls’ dorm just to make the stairs turn into a slide.”
He was regaled with tales all through breakfast- two slices of toast and a very runny egg (Sirius wasn’t very good at eggs) and most of the washing up, too.
Still amazed by the casual use of magic for mundane things (Sirius was, too, thumbing through the house-book of spells with a child-like marvel) Harry’s eyes ping-ponged between the dishes levitating over the sink and washing themselves to Sirius’ sparkling eyes as each anecdote made him remember another one, giving voice to things he hadn’t spoken aloud in a very long time.
The tales dwindled to an end with a jaw-cracking yawn. “You look tired,” Harry said, getting up and putting the kettle on for another cup of tea, because he thought perhaps not looking at each other made the question easier.
There was a rustling sound as Sirius shrugged, “I didn’t sleep well.”
Guilt flared across his heart, then he reminded himself that he hadn’t had a bad dream last night. “Do you get bad dreams?”
“Eh, sometimes. Wasn’t ‘cuz of that, though, I dunno what it was, I just couldn’t…” the words trailed into a second yawn and when he looked over, Sirius was half asleep at the table already, dark eyes glinting in the lamp light.
He pressed a teacup into his hands and touched his shoulder, “Maybe you should go and take a nap.”
“Mmm. No need, ‘m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
“What about y-”
“I’ve still got two essays to write,” he shrugged, pushing down the desire he’d had that maybe someone could help him with his homework for once. “That’ll take ‘til lunch time. At least.”
Sirius stood, giving in, “You’re the Boy Who Lived and they’re making you write essays?” he grumbled lightly, swaying on his feet. “Seems bullshit to me.”
He laughed and watched to make sure he didn’t trip on the stairs before going to get his school books. He really did look tired.
***
“Sirius?” The potions essay had taken longer than he’d thought, so he didn’t go in search of his godfather until nearly two. “Sirius?” He was getting hungry and realised halfway through making sandwiches that there was no noise upstairs.
He got to the same spot he’d been in earlier that morning, hoping the same thing’d happen and Sirius would appear of his own volition. ”Sirius?” he called louder, ignoring Kreacher’s grumbles as he whisked away to the first floor.
To his immense relief the same thing happened and the last of the Blacks emerged from his bedroom, messy hair hanging in his eyes. Harry went from relief to concern so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash. “Sirius,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, rushing down the hall before he could get any further. The man looked awful and Harry told him as much, peering up at his pale face with barely-hidden worry; he was just in time to catch him as he stumbled, preventing a nasty fall but still knocking the wind out of them. “Whoa- okay. You’re okay- Merlin, you look worse.”
Slowly he shook his head, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears, “‘M fine. Fine.”
On a suspicious whim he put a hand on his forehead, then immediately drew back, “You’re all hot. I think you’re sick.”
“I’ve got a bloody fucking headache,” he at least admitted, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Harry tugged him back into the bedroom and pushed him to sit on the bed, “You need to get some more sleep.”
“Mmm, what about you?” he yawned, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “Are you-” he yawned again.
It took no strength at all to push him back onto the bed. “I feel fine,” Harry replied, deliberately misunderstanding the question. His chest hurt worse than his scar had the past year, but he ignored it. “Go back to sleep. It’s my turn to cook dinner- I’ll bring you some when you wake up.”
Dark eyes were already closed, “Don’t think I’m that hungry.”
“Tea, then, at least. You need to drink.”
Whether he heard him or not was left up in the air, a soft snore already reverberating under the covers. Harry practically ran from the room, tripping over a loose edge of carpet and skinning his knees bloody.
***
“Sirius?” he called, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”
The cupboards in the rest of the house were either empty, or housing jars that looked so suspicious he didn’t dare touch them; Harry had briefly entertained the idea of asking Kreacher but he hadn’t been able to find him. Instead he made do with tea and the last muggle aspirin tablet he’d found at the very bottom of his trunk.
Sirius wouldn’t wake up. Didn’t so much as stir, either. Just carried on sleeping like the princess in the muggle tale. Harry dropped the cup on the bedside table and didn’t care how it landed on its side and the tea started spilling onto the carpet.
Nothing.
His chest grew tighter as he realised Sirius felt hotter than he had just a few hours ago. He’d never done any sort of first aid class and he hadn’t been able to find a thermometer in the house either. At a loss, he stumbled to the door and tried shouting for Kreacher again, then begging, then waiting.
Nothing.
I bet he’s out he thought to himself absently. The house elf had been doing that a lot since ‘the incident’ at the end of last term. As if now he’d realised his freedom, the world had grown too large for him to stay indoors. He tried one more time, not thinking he breathed in once.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Call Hermione- no, Ron- no, Mrs Weasley- not Mrs Weasley- Professor Mcgonagall? No- no- Lupin? Professor Lupin would do, he decided, feeling comfort just at the mere thought of his old professor.
How to get him here, was now the issue. Harry couldn’t apparate- broomstick would be too slow- and Hedwig- portkey? But there was none at Grimmauld Place, as far as he knew, anyway. Frantically scanning the room for ideas, his gaze fell upon the fireplace. Floo powder! There was none he could see up here, but there was a box in the kitchen, right above the hearth.
A second later, he realised he was halfway down the staircase. He fell to his bruised knees in front of the kitchen hearth, threw the powder onto the flames so violently he choked on the dust and buried his head into the fire, trying not to let his voice crack as he shouted the name of the little cottage Sirius had said Lupin was recovering from the full moon in. I hope he’s still there.
His head whirled to a stop in an unfamiliar parlour room. It was empty, but there was a sound from the next room he hoped wasn’t just a prowling cat. “Professor Lupin, Professor Lupin!”
As if by magic, the thin grey figure of Remus Lupin pushed the door open and sped over to the fire. “Harry? What are you-”
“Sirius is sick,” he cut him off, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t wake him up and- and- please can you come and help?”
With a firm resolve, Professor Lupin stood up and started to root round on top of the mantelpiece for something Harry couldn’t see. “Step back from the fire, Harry”, he instructed, his voice calm like still water. As soon as Harry had gotten clear of the hearth, he stepped out of the fire, the hem of his robes trailing in the ash.
Harry took off for the stairs at a run, not even caring to look behind to see if he was following; he could hear his strained wheezes at the back of his neck anyway.
“Oh,” Lupin said as soon as he crossed the threshold and peered over his shoulder. Gently, he took Harry’s arm and stopped him getting any closer, “I need you to go back downstairs and use the Floo to go to my place. Go through to the room I was in- there’s a cupboard above the sink with a box in it. Bring the box up here, alright?”
Later he remembered none of the short but harried journey, only reappearing quick as a ghost with the box damp in his palms. Lupin took it from him without hesitation, opening it on the floor and rifling through its contents until he found a small purple vial with a grubby label. Turning back to the bed- Harry couldn’t breathe when he finally realised Sirius was now half awake and watching the both of them with a sleepy curious expression- he put the vial to Sirius’ lips.
“Never mind the damn taste of it,” he snapped at his friend’s disgusted expression. “Drink it all, now. You scared us back half to death.”
He obeyed, grimacing as the potion slipped down his throat and pouting when Lupin patted his head sarcastically, “Good doggy.”
***
It was some time deep in the night when Harry finally snapped from the doze he had fallen into and realised he was in the first floor bathroom sitting on the floor propped up against an old tin bathtub, staring at the horrendous shower curtain. The door eased open and Professor Lupin padded in, even his light step making the old floorboards creak. A tray floated at his elbow, with a teapot and cups and two bars of chocolate.
Harry took the proffered teacup, then his hands started to shake and the scalding liquid splashed all over his lap and he burst into tears.
“Hush,” knees cracked as Professor Lupin knelt beside the tub, awkwardly embraced him as best he could. The tea tray floated off to hover in the corner, lonely and forgotten, the teapot’s steam slowly running out. “Everything’s alright now. Sirius is just fine already, he’ll just be a little tired tomorrow.”
He tried to choke out a few words between heaving sobs. “What happened?”
He frowned, his mouth curving like the crescent of a full moon as he shifted to a more comfortable position. “I think it’s a side effect of Azkaban- they don’t have a name for it, yet. No one really leaves Azkaban, so they haven’t looked into it much. Every once in a while, a person will spike a fever and get tired- that’s why you couldn’t wake him up. Their minds need rest so they fall asleep for a long time. The body thinks of it as an illness, which causes the fever and the headaches. It’s not dangerous, unless the fever gets too high. And it never lasts longer than a couple of days.”
Harry sniffed and tried to wipe his face without leaning away from the touch, “How do you know so much about it, professor?”
The question actually made him smile, a little, “I’ve got a lot of time to read, these days. And Dumbledore’s got me to research things like this- he thinks people will go to Azkaban more and more, now. He wants to be prepared. More than likely Sirius has been through this before and didn’t realise it.”
He pulled away as the tray floated back and nudged forlornly at his shoulder. This time he didn’t spill a drop. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t wake him up,” he stuttered. “I was scared.” Professor Lupin didn’t say anything, just smiled kindly. “W-what happens if this happens again. Will you- can you teach me how to make that potion? And- what about when I go back to Hogwarts, who’s going to check on him?” More questions came until he was genuinely afraid he’d never be able to stop talking again.
Lupin waited, then waited a bit more. Until he was all done.
He took a sip of his tea, then cast a muttered warming charm on both cups. “The potion’s a fever reducer- a powerful one, but that’s all it is. They’re three a galleon in Diagon Alley. Muggle medicine would work just as well, so long as it’s liquid. I’ll never understand the muggle desire to put everything in a pill.”
His nose wrinkled in distaste and Harry laughed in spite of himself, his tongue heavy and tea and spit drooling from the corner of his mouth. “As for when you leave- well, Kreacher is here in an emergency. They care about one another more than they let on. And I’m sure it won't be too difficult to have someone check in once a week. Like I said, it’s not always so bad or dangerous- there’s no pattern to this thing, he might not even ever get like this again… And he isn’t actually stuck here now, which helps.”
The next words emerged before he could stop himself, “The way Dumbledore talks, it doesn’t seem like it.” His feelings for his headmaster had changed an awful lot over the course of a year.
Lupin sighed, “This isn’t a talk I’m in any shape for tonight- with you or Sirius.”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt washed over him in a tidal wave, “I was just scared-”
“It’s not your fault,” he interrupted, though not unkindly, “I’m glad you fetched me. I’m just tired- perhaps I’m getting old.”
He giggled again and drank some more of his tea. But he still couldn’t help the guilt. “You could stay here for the night,” he offered. “If you’re tired. You could have my bed. And I’ll cook breakfast.”
A queer expression of tenderness stole across his scarred face, “Perhaps I will.”
***
Peering into the darkened room, nothing stirred. Harry eased the door open a little further and padded inside as quiet as he possibly could be.
A floorboard creaked, soon followed by a stirring in the bed. There was a hum of a word that sounded a little like ‘lumos’ before sparks of light appeared round the room. Harry stood frozen with one foot forward, caught red-handed.
When Sirius sat up and saw it was him, he also looked very sheepish, “Hi.”
“Hello.” He felt on the verge of tears again, but his eyes stayed dry. “I was just, uh, I just thought I’d check on you.” Check up on him, in the pitch black? Yeah right.
Sirius nodded sleepily and shuffled to one side of the bed. Harry didn’t hesitate to rush over and claim the space beside him. “Moony still here?”
“He’s in my bed,” Harry blurted out, then blushed and looked away with a shrug.
“That was kind of you.”
“He was tired and- and-” Now the tears came again and he hid his face, ashamed. There was a soft noise from the other occupier of the mattress and then for the first time in his life Harry knew what it was to have a grown up hold you as you cried at the end of a very long day.
He apologised anyway. Again.
Sirius waved his apology away, “I should be the one sorry. For scaring you.”
“But that’s… that’s just stupid. You couldn’t help it.”
“You should stop apologising for being upset then.”
He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them, feeling the arm around his shoulders tighten. “I was scared,” voice barely audible, deliberately muffled into Sirius’ shoulder.
“Because you couldn’t wake me up, or because you didn’t know what to do?”
“Both. But- but more than that. After. When I started thinking how even if Voldemort doesn’t kill everyone, you’ll still die. From- from something normal, like old age or something.”
He laughed, but it didn't last very long. He felt his own mouth quirk into a smile- old age was probably the last thing his godfather would die of.
After a while Sirius started to stroke his hair. And a while after that, he started to speak in a very low voice. “After everything, I think I deserve to die from something normal. Everyone dies, I suppose. Except maybe Voldemort. Or Nicholas Flammel- I certainly hope I don't end up like him. Lose my good looks.”
More tears came, despite the laughter.
“Even if it’s in another… forty years, I don't think I can cope with losing someone again,” he confessed the words, each one quivering as he trembled. Especially not you went unsaid, though Sirius heard it anyway.
“You’ll…” he struggled for the right words for several moments. “I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you won’t feel this way forever. The war will end and you’ll… you’ll heal. It still won’t be easy, but it won’t always be as bad as it seems like it will be now. I never thought I would die of old age, now I think I’d like that, you know?”
Harry had already made him promise to be extra careful after his encounter with Bellatrix last year. He didn’t make him promise again.
“Maybe,” he began hopefully, “Maybe I don't have to go back to Hogwarts after the holidays. Maybe I could just stay here with you. Or just go for classes and come home every day like the muggles do.”
The hand didn’t stop stroking his hair. “No.”
“But-”
“You’ll miss it, if you do that. And half the fun of Hogwarts is living with your friends and sneaking round and going to Hogsmeade and all the other stuff.”
He sighed, letting his head at last drop down onto Sirius’ shoulder. “But I like it here.”
“You’ve got all summer. And all the other holidays if you want. Even after Hogwarts, I mean… it’s not as if this old dump is going anywhere.”
He giggled again, this time with no tears, “Okay.”
They both yawned at the exact same time, then laughed about it.
Sleepier than perhaps he had ever been in his life, Harry was about to say he was going to bed, then remembered Professor Lupin was fast asleep in his room. Sirius seemed to know what he was thinking, shrugging his free shoulder and adjusting the arm he had round him. “Plenty of room,” he grunted, already half-asleep himself. It was kind of uncomfortable- to sleep sitting up with his back slightly bent and his neck twisted and the smell of wet dog in the air. Harry thought he was going to have the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long time.
“Night Sirius.”
“Night Harry.”