Laocoon's Children - The Philosopher's Stone
Chapter 1
By copperbadge
AU. When Sirius and Remus go looking for Peter Pettigrew, they make a wrong turn and someone else finds him first. Eight years later, Sirius owns a book store and Remus manages it for him. When Harry stumbles into the store and they find out the truth, they decide it's time to be Stealing Harry. (SB/RL slash relationship in later chapters.)
Warning: This chapter contains scenes of M/M sexual contact.
Harry Potter's Hogwarts letter arrived on a perfect summer day, when Harry and Snake -- Snake the Second, as Remus and Sirius knew him -- were sunning themselves near the big rock, down by the
river at the bottom of the garden.
Remus was still at work at the bookshop, and Sirius was working on the house, a new hobby of his; just currently he was re-securing the guttering in anticipation of a wet autumn. They wouldn't be
here in autumn, of course, but Sirius had tried to retain some semblance of normalcy, as the summer drew on; Harry suspected Sirius didn't like change much, and was trying to put off the
inevitable.
Harry blinked when the letter landed lightly on his chest, and waved as the owl swooped away. He tilted his head back and saw Sirius dangle from the guttering for a moment before dropping handily to
the ground.
"Owl post!" Sirius said excitedly, throwing himself down next to Harry. "Open it then! No -- wait -- camera -- and Remus should be here -- "
"Sirius, don't make a big deal," Harry said. "Let me open it."
"Wait till Remus comes home?" Sirius pleaded. "He'd kill us if he missed it."
Harry sighed. "Why can't I open it? We all know what it's going to say."
"Rite of passage, this is," Sirius said, tapping Harry's letter. "Big moment in a young lad's -- ow!"
Harry bit down a grin as a heavy packet hit Sirius in the back of the head, nearly bowling him over, and another owl flapped away. Sirius rubbed his head, and reached for the thick envelope lying in
the grass.
"Bit old for Hogwarts, aren't you, Sirius?" Harry asked. Sirius thwacked his godson, and examined the cream-coloured envelope intently.
"Small wonder," he said. "It's from Severus Snape. He must have told the owls where to go."
"What is it then?" Harry asked. "Or is getting clobbered with a huge bulky letter another rite of passage in a young man's life?"
Sirius gave him a playful scowl, and ripped the envelope open.
"To Sirius Black, Guardian of Harry Potter, et cetera..." Sirius skimmed the letter. "Clippings from the Prophet," he muttered. "News about Peter -- or apparently lack thereof. Suppose this is his
idea of a welcome back to the Wizarding World."
"Does he say hello to me?" Harry asked eagerly, craning his neck to see the neat, copperplate handwriting. Sirius snapped the letter shut.
"Not directly," he replied. "Here, you want to look through the clippings with me?"
"Sirius! Harry!" someone called, and both turned to see Remus rounding the corner of the house, carrying a satchel and walking his bicycle. He leaned the cycle up against the house, under the ladder
Sirius had used to get onto the roof with, and tossed the satchel to Sirius, who caught it. "Couple of books for you. Library was having a -- is that a Hogwarts letter?" he asked abruptly. Harry
waved it and grinned. "Congratulations, Harry. Go on then, open it."
Remus sat crosslegged in front of Harry, Sirius leaning over his godson's shoulder, as Harry lifted the red wax seal and took out his official Hogwarts letter. He grinned as both men let out a low,
relieved breath. There was a moment of slightly reverent silence.
"Your dad and mum'd be that proud," Remus said gently. Sirius ruffled Harry's messy hair.
"We'll take you to Diagon Alley, end of August," Sirius decreed. "Get you your robes and your wand and everything. Send you off in proper style for the son of James Potter and heir of the House of
Black. Get you a racing broom too."
"Says here first years aren't allowed racing brooms," Harry said, examining the letter.
"Oh, it always says that. We'll smuggle one in," Sirius assured him. Harry looked from Remus' quiet smile to Sirius' broad grin, and sighed happily, leaning back against the rock, basking in the
afternoon sun.
***
"Mum! Dad! They've arrived!"
Padma and Parvati raced down the walk and out onto the pavement to greet their parents, waving their Hogwarts letters proudly. Ram Patil caught Parvati up in a big bear hug, and Sarasvati took
Padma's hand, accepting the letter solemnly.
"Both of you, then?" Ram inquired of Parvati, who beamed and nodded while he set her down. Padma saw the glance her parents exchanged, and shared in the relief evident on their faces. Parvati had
been regularly setting the drapes on fire as proof of her magical ability since she was three; Padma had barely shown any magic at all, and what she did show wasn't really all that convincing. She'd
been worried her sister would go off to Hogwarts without her.
It wasn't, she felt, an unjustified worry. She and Parvati had never really been good at doing the twins-joined-at-the-hip thing like the Weasley brothers were; their parents had often wondered aloud
how they'd managed to share the same womb for nine months, since they hadn't been able to share a bedroom for more than three before they started wailing at each other whenever they were put in the
same crib.
Sarasvati squeezed Padma's hand. "Of course they're both going. They're our daughters," she said proudly, as they walked back up the steps and into the house. "This calls for a celebration. Where
would you two most like to eat?"
Padma entered the squabble over restaurants with vigour, as she was usually able to trick Parvati into demanding to go the one place Padma wanted; it was all a matter of triggering Parvati's
competitive streak, and then aiming it in the proper direction. Most of Padma's life was spent calmly using her wits to make sure her sister didn't bowl her over with typical Parvati
enthusiasm.
The rest of the evening was spent in a flurry of celebratory dining, floo-calls to various relatives and friends, a couple of calls to Padma and Parvati's friends to see if they'd gotten theirs yet
(poor Annabelle was a squib, it appeared, though she'd never been much fond of magic so she was taking it rather well). It wasn't until Padma went to put on her pyjamas that night that she really
thought about what the Hogwarts letter meant.
She'd be leaving her bedroom, her books, her games and puzzles. She could take a few of them, she supposed, the ones she really liked, but for the most part she'd be going to a new place, with new
things, and might end up having to share a bedroom with Parvati, if they were sorted into the same house.
Her mother found her clutching the corner of the bedspread, standing indecisively over it, staring at the letter on her lamp-table. Sarasvati stroked her daughter's hair, soothingly, and sat on the
edge of the bed.
"Aren't you pleased?" she asked. "You're going to Hogwarts, like your father and I did. And you'll have your sister there. Besides, all your friends are going."
Padma nodded, and slid into the bed, watching her mother from her pillow.
"It's all right to be a little frightened," Sarasvati continued. "I was. But you'll have a wonderful time, Padma. Hogwarts will be the most fun, and you'll meet so many wonderful people."
"Mum, what house do you think I'll get?" Padma asked softly.
"Well, your father was a Gryffindor and I was a Hufflepuff, so it's anyone's guess, love. Worried about sharing rooms with Parvati?"
"I want to be Padma. Not Padma-and-Parvati," Padma said.
Her mother smiled, and stroked her cheek. "You are Padma," she said softly, kissing her forehead. "That's all you need. Sleep now. Dream good dreams of Hogwarts."
Padma nodded and rolled over, closing her eyes, but sleep was a long time in coming.
***
Narcissa had decided, when Draco was younger, that owls were filthy creatures that should not be inside of respectable homes, no matter how old a Wizarding tradition the Owl Post was. Owl deliverys
to the Malfoy estate were redirected to a perch outside the kitchen, where one of the house-elves would accept the post, pay if necessary, and send the bird off without Narcissa ever seeing it. Draco
thought it something of a shame, as he liked owls, but he contented himself with watching them from the kitchen window.
His tutors, after thoroughly preparing him for the rigors of Hogwarts, had been sent off in early April with suitable letters of recommendation and small bonuses for their services; Draco had nothing
to do all summer but mooch around, keep out of Narcissa's way, and watch for his letter. Surely he'd get one. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he didn't. He'd be seriously contemplating
matricide. After all, if it was good enough for Orestes...
They didn't get much post, at any rate, Narcissa being what Draco now knew to call a "recluse", though he rather thought barking mad covered the bases pretty well also. He felt guilty even thinking
it; it made him want to hide somewhere, but all his old hiding places were too small for him now, and if he wanted to escape Narcissa he had to retreat to the library, and lose himself as best he
could in the sheet-covered stacks. Narcissa didn't like the library, so it was usually safe, unless she was on an especially angry rampage, in which case nowhere was.
They'd only had four owls since April, and two of those had been adverts.
Still, he sat on the stool near the kitchen door that led out to the owl-post depository and the midden, and read, or talked to the house-elves, or simply just stared at the sky. He liked watching
the sky change. You never had to worry when the sky changed moods, because even the stormclouds were lovely in their own right. He could get lost for hours, and it was just as well, because otherwise
he'd just get into mischief again, and Narcissa would come looking for him.
The plain brown barn-owl fluttered down, squawked when it was denied access to the kitchen window, and landed sulkily on the perch provided. As if in spite, it relieved itself right after it landed.
Draco smiled at the caprice, then leapt to his feet when he saw the envelope it held in its beak.
"Mendy is going to get the Owl Post, Master Draco -- " one of the house-elves said worriedly, but Draco thrust her aside and went himself, snatching a handful of owl treats from the bowl near the
door, and offering them shyly to the little brown owl, who dropped her letter into his right hand and promptly gobbled two treats from his left. He tucked the letter in his shirt pocket and stroked
the soft, downy head -- but only for a moment, before the little owl screeched her goodbye and soared away.
He scattered the rest of the treats on the ground, in case any passing owls should want one, and turned to the kitchen door.
The house-elves, all nine of them, were gathered in the doorway, watching him with wide, bulbous eyes.
"Master Draco is going to Hogwarts!" Dobby squeaked.
Draco smiled.
"Master Draco is going to Hogwarts," he agreed, pleasure welling up inside him at the thought, only pinpricked by fear at the very edges. The house-elves looked at each other.
"Mendy is baking Master Draco a cake," Mendy said decisively, and with that, the congregation of elves dissipated.
Draco sighed as he touched the letter in his pocket, gently.
Now he just had to tell his mum.
***
Neville had, it was true, some training in tolerance. Being raised by his grandmother, he'd had to develop quite a bit of patience. When Andromeda had first brought the boy home she'd found him
quiet, polite, shy, and not terribly competent. Then again, after Nymphadora, as long as he didn't drop the dishes on a regular basis, she wouldn't ask for much.
Still, she realised it was a bit much to ask a boy to spend all day in his stifling, formal dress robes, and as soon as they arrived home after Nymphadora's Academy graduation, she let him run
upstairs and throw off the robes, changing into more comfortable clothing for the reception that they were holding in the temporarily-emptied show-room on the bottom floor of Grimmauld Place -- now
known as "Tonks & Tonks, Purveyors of Fine Wizarding Dress". Nymphadora looked like she, too, would like to change out of her Auror's dress uniform, but she was going to be meeting her trainer --
two years of classes, one year of apprenticeship, that was the Auror programme -- for the first time, at the reception, and she wanted to make an impression.
Neville came thumping down the stairs just as people were starting to arrive, and he greeted them with the hurried politeness of a ten-year-old who knows that delicious things are being prepared in
the kitchen and, if he makes a pathetic face, samples will be distributed. Andromeda watched him from the doorway with a smile; two years ago, she would never have imagined this bright, energetic
child could be the same frightened boy who'd been taken away from such a dour, unloving home. And to be sure it had been a long two years; Neville still hid under the bed whenever Death Eaters or You
Know Who was mentioned, and he insisted on checking all the locks at night himself. Andromeda wondered how he was going to fare, sharing a room with a handful of other boys -- and Hogwarts boys were
known for borrowing without asking first -- but she put it out of her mind. He'd come this far. He'd survive.
Besides, Harry would be going to Hogwarts too, and she'd ask Harry to look out for him. She'd already had words with Severus about making sure Neville didn't lose anything -- he was famous for losing
things -- or get too badly picked on by any of the other boys. Severus had muttered that a boy had to learn to stand up for himself, but she was nearly positive he'd intervene, if he had to. If he
wasn't picking on Neville himself, anyway. Nymphadora still feared the name Snape.
Andromeda sighed, and wondered how she and Ted, who were a fairly normal pair, as Magical folk went, could raise a klutz like Dora and a dreamer like Neville. Not that she didn't love them, of
course. She loved them more, on account of it. Still, she did wonder if there wasn't some sort of curse.
Neville was in the kitchen already, pestering Ted for a bite -- just a little bite! -- of the carrot cake he was icing.
"What do you say, love?" Ted asked, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her close as he deftly guided the frosting onto the cake with his wand. He finished with a flourish. "Shall I give
him one of the cupcakes I made with the extra?"
"You take the cake in," Andromeda said. "Neville and I can finish in here."
"You just want me out of the way so you can give him two," Ted said, but he kissed her cheek and carried the cake into the other room, calling out the names of a few family friends. Andromeda found
the cupcakes and gave Neville one, eating the other one herself as he grinned at her. The charmed wriggling sprinkles on the icing tickled their tongues. Ted had made these especially for them, since
wriggling sprinkles were clearly beneath the dignity of most Aurors.
"Dora's a real Auror now, huh," he said, around his cupcake.
"Almost, sweetheart," she replied, licking her fingers.
"I'd be scared to be an Auror," he said. Andromeda, remembering Frank and Alice, smiled gently.
"You'd make a fine Auror. You'll be good at whatever you do," she chided gently. Neville flushed and looked down. She was going to admonish him not to be embarrassed, when there was a scrabbling at
the window, and she reached out to let in the post-owl who was scratching at the glass. The big black owl hooted, and Neville shied away a bit as it hopped towards him, holding a letter in its
beak.
"Oh -- " Andromeda beamed, accepting the letter and giving the owl some carrot-cupcake to maul. "Look, it's your Hogwarts letter."
Neville's eyes went wide as she opened it and passed it to him. After a minute, he looked up, and a broad grin split his face. "I'm going to Hogwarts!"
"Of course you are!" Andromeda laughed, and hugged him. "Come on, let's go tell everyone!"
He caught her hand, and she stopped on her way to the door, turning to look at him quizzically. He clutched the letter to his chest, tightly.
"But it's Dora's party," he said.
"Yes, but sweetheart, everyone's here -- "
He shook his head. "I don't want to."
She turned and crouched to be closer to his level. "But Neville, it's a big day for you!"
"But it's Dora's party," he repeated stubbornly. "Everyone should be talking about her. Not about me."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded. "We can tell Dora and Ted at dinner, and everyone else tomorrow. Please?"
Andromeda looked at his round, solemn face, and finally, she smiled.
"You," she said, "are going to be a wonderful man someday, Mister Longbottom."
He blushed again, and folded the letter carefully, placing it on the windowsill. Andromeda watched him prepare himself to go out into the crowd of people now filling the other room, and followed,
joining in the loud admiration of Tonks' new badge and uniform and diploma.
She couldn't have been prouder of either of her children.
***
The day the Hogwarts letters were mailed to the first years, Severus Snape could not stay still, nor eat properly; Dumbledore met him in Hogsmeade, walking swiftly towards the outlying marshland
north of the mountains, once known as the Hogsmeade Fens. He was dressed in his usual black trousers, a green shirt hanging off his shoulders, his still-short hair somewhat wild; he looked all of
seventeen or eighteen himself, except for the three jagged stripes on his right temple, the mark that was a battle-scar of his fight with Peter Pettigrew two years previous.
"There's no need to be anxious, Severus," Dumbledore said, falling into step next to the pale Potions master. "It's only the letters."
"It's more than that, this year, and you know it," Snape replied, slowing his stride only slightly to match Dumbledore's. "Harry's coming this year."
Dumbledore smiled and walked slower still, forcing Snape to slow as well. "Indeed he is. Are you nervous because he might not remember you? Or because he might?"
Snape looked at him sharply, his expression so surprised that Dumbledore knew he hadn't even been considering that part of it.
"What if the owl can't find him?" he asked finally. "Or -- if they've decided to send him somewhere else?"
"You've told the owls where he lives. If all else, they'll simply wait until he leaves the house. The owls always find the students," Dumbledore said gravely. "That's old magic. And Sirius Black
would not send his child anywhere but Hogwarts. He loved this school far too much to deny Harry his place here."
"How can you know?"
"Because I am not hampered by the same affection you and Sirius hold for the boy," Dumbledore answered.
"It's not the boy," Snape muttered. "It's just he's meant to go here and I haven't invested my own time in his education just to -- "
He stopped when Dumbledore held up a hand.
"The owls will find him, Severus. Sirius will bring him to Diagon Alley and then to the platform. The train will take him and all his companions to the school. You will see Harry again, at the feast,
in a month's time. You've waited this long, Severus. You can wait another few weeks."
Snape ducked his head and kicked dust of the Hogsmeade road, looking like nothing so much as the sullen twenty-year-old boy who'd come to Dumbledore because he had nowhere else to turn.
"I may have missed his...unique outlook on life," he admitted dourly.
"I am sure by the time he leaves school you will be heartily sick of it, if that is any consolation," Dumbledore said, resting a hand on his shoulder and turning him back, towards Hogwarts. "Come. We
have preparations to make for the school year."
Snape sighed, so quietly Dumbledore almost didn't hear it, and followed.
***
After Harry was asleep that evening, Sirius curled up on his own bed, sore from the work he'd done and tired from all the talk that afternoon about Hogwarts. Remus, drowsing against his back, warmed
him some; he'd discovered werewolves ran hot, something that was only an issue in the late summer when Remus would threaten to leave them both for somewhere in northern Canada where the weather knew
what it was about. Now, Sirius welcomed the extra heat; he could feel it leeching the pain from his shoulders.
"So," Remus said quietly, arm draped over his hip, twining one hand in his, "Harry's going to Hogwarts."
"That's the plan," Sirius replied, eyes closed, tired of thinking.
"Do you want me to start looking for flats in London?" Remus asked.
"No," Sirius said, sullenly.
"It'll do us good to get out of Betwys Beddau," Remus mused, ignoring him. "It's lovely here, but I miss big cities, and being able to do magic whenever I pleased. It doesn't have to be London. We
could move back to Little Whinging if you really wanted."
"Don't make fun."
"Or we could go north. York. Newcastle, even. I don't think Hogsmeade would be wise -- too close for my tastes," Remus said. Sirius felt warm lips on the back of his neck. "I mean, if I was Harry I
wouldn't want me living that close. Bit embarrassing, like."
"I like it here."
"Mmm, you would," Remus answered, now touching his stomach lightly, tracing small circles just above the loose pyjama bottoms he wore. "Content to dream your days away..."
"I don't see what's so wrong with that," Sirius said, relaxing into the touch, the reassuring solidity of the man now kissing his shoulder.
"I want," a gentle bite on his earlobe, "to be able," a kiss on his jaw, "to do magic again..."
Sirius turned a little to welcome Remus' kiss, familiar after two years, but still with the capacity to take his breath away. They lay there for a while, Remus propped over him, resting against his
body, hands inching across his skin before finally tugging at his pyjamas. He could feel Remus' arousal pressed against his hip, but just as warm and promising were his hands, everywhere at once,
gliding over sensitive skin, teasing him until he moaned softly, and gave up trying to sulk.
"In London, with our magic back, I could do the most wicked things to you," Remus murmured in his ear. "I know all sorts of lovely charms..."
"Don't need 'em," Sirius answered, gasping under the onslaught of sensation. He managed to catch one of Remus' hands with his own, and guided it across his stomach, and lower. Remus chuckled in his
ear, unresisting, and stroked him lightly.
"A vote of confidence," he said, in a voice that made Sirius whimper.
"You...please..." he managed, and felt another laugh rumble in Remus' chest. The deft, slow strokes stopped and Remus reached across, moaning in his ear as he rubbed against him. Sirius fumbled the
drawer of the nightstand open, and pressed the small jar into Remus' hand. He felt the other man pause as he warmed the oil, and then a slick pressure, Remus whispering things in his ear one would
never believe the studious-looking man could say --
He turned his head for another kiss as Remus pressed against him gently, and then inside him, still wondering at oh how good it was and how Remus, please he had ever gone without it. He closed his
eyes and lost himself in the easy rhythm, the unhurried way Remus kissed and touched him. It was effortless, just to allow the other man to draw him closer, away from the world and its threats, from
everything he was afraid of. It was all right, here, in this bed, and he barely caught his breath as he came, though Remus shuddered and cried out his name.
Silence for a minute, two, as they cleaned up a bit -- this was so much easier with magic -- and readjusted themselves to sleep. Remus finally buried his face in Sirius' broad back, and murmured
softly, lips moving against the skin of his shoulderblade, "We're all right, Pads. S'gonna be okay."
"Yeah," Sirius agreed, unable to remember precisely what he had been worried about. "Love you, Moony."
"Mmm. You too, Sirius," Remus mumbled, slipping into sleep.