Tales from the River House
The Birds, the Bees and the Snakes

By copperbadge

Previous Russian Literature Fever Dream Bullfinch's Mythology The Birds, the Bees and the Snakes A Lesson in Hiding Next

THE BIRDS, THE BEES, AND THE SNAKES

Bethany Vaughan had a lot of theories about the two men living on the outskirts of Betwys Beddau, where she had been born and raised. It was a small town, and bred a large number of gossips, but Bethany was an oddity -- she didn't gossip, she didn't want to marry a farmer, and she'd already decided she was going to University. So, despite both subtle and unsubtle needling on the topic of the two men by the older people of the town who had nothing better to do, she kept her thoughts on Remus Lupin and Sirius Black to herself. It wasn't easy; she was the closest to them of anyone in town, because she was Harry Potter's babysitter.

Harry was universally adored by the adults of Betwys Beddau; somehow, probably through hints Mr. Black had dropped, they'd gathered the information that he was an orphan, that his godfather had only recently been able to get custody of him, and that he'd been brought out here to have a healthy upbringing away from the big cities, along with help from Mr. Black's cousin Mr. Lupin. Bethany had her own ideas about the reason two thirtysomething bachelors would be raising an adopted child together, but what consenting adults did on their own time -- and while they paid her to watch their child -- was really no business of hers. Besides, she liked them; Mr. Black was a smiling, easygoing man, and Mr. Lupin always asked after her mum when they met in town, and often slipped her a discount on the music magazines she bought.

She liked Harry too; he was a well-behaved child, when he came to stay -- Mr. Black insisted that he stay the night with her rather than she come to their house, which she'd never seen, but he paid double and Harry was never very difficult, so she didn't mind. So, when she saw possible problems arising, she decided for Harry's own good to have a word with Mr. Black, when he came to pick Harry up that morning.

"Thank you, Bethany," he said, as Harry gathered up his backpack and clung to his arm, beaming up at Bethany. "No trouble, I hope?"

"None at all. We made collages," Bethany said, indicating the rolled-up bit of paper clenched in one of Harry's hands. "Could I have a quick word with you, Mr. Black?"

Mr. Black frowned, but nodded, and gave Harry a gentle push. "Run out to the bikes, Harry, and get your helmet on," he said, and Harry dashed out the door. "Is there a problem, Bethany?"

She twisted her fingers together. She'd rehearsed this speech, but it was much harder with Mr. Black standing there, handsome and imposing and somehow a little larger than life.

"I'm a bit worried about Harry, sir," she said. "He, er...he's been telling me things..."

"Things?" the man asked, suddenly alert, like a hound on a scent.

"Yes, he...I know all boys have a bit of an active imagination, but he's been...telling me that snakes are telling him things," she said worriedly. "His pet snake, you know, that goes with him everywhere."

Relief washed over her when Mr. Black broke into a broad grin.

"Well, all boys do have imaginary friends and that," he said reassuringly. "He doesn't always get on with lads his own age, you know how it is with precocious youngsters. Probably imagines his little snake talks. Quite the fantasy life, eh?"

"It's more the way he said it," Bethany pressed on, not quite convinced. "As if it was something he didn't mean to tell me, as if it were a secret."

"Perhaps the snake told him not to tell," Mr. Black said, and the amusement in his voice cleared away the last of her concerns. Of course that was it; children were secretive sometimes. Well, that solved one problem anyhow, and the other one was something she'd had to broach to quite a few parents, so the words came easier.

"He also, er, he's been asking about sex," she said, and Mr. Black snorted. "I mean, I'm fairly certain he knows some basics, you know how children pick these things up, but we saw a picture of a sheep with a little lamb, and he was sort of asking about how the lambs...get there, and all."

"I see," said Mr. Black, gravely -- taking it much better than many parents of her acquaintance. "What did you tell him?"

"I changed the subject."

"Ha! Well done, Bethany. Not really in your job profile, is it?" Mr. Black said amiably. "Thank you for telling me -- I'll handle it. Had to come up sooner or later," he added.

"Thank you, Mr. Black," she said. "Most people are a lot less understanding."

"I imagine so," he said, counting out her payment and adding a few extra pound coins with a wink. "Thanks, Bethany."

She watched from the window as he helped his godson up onto the bicycle, then climbed on his own. They rode off at a sedate pace, Harry still wobbling a little, Mr. Black riding behind him to watch in case he fell.

Such a nice man, Mr. Black, so even-tempered and normal.

***

Remus was settled in a corner of the big, deep living-room sofa when they returned, curled up under a blanket and nursing a cup of hot tea. Since coming to Betwys Beddau, where Harry could safely be left under another's supervision one night a month, his recoveries from the full moon had been faster; there was a large open space just the other side of the river, where Moony and Padfoot could run wild. Harry was happy to have Remus up and about sooner, and Sirius doubly glad that Remus didn't wake torn and bleeding anymore.

"Hallo Harry," he said softly, and Harry climbed up onto the arm of the sofa, a little too old now to join Remus in an undignified snuggle as he used to. "How was Bethany's house?"

"Fine," Harry said, unrolling his collage to show it off. Remus looked suitably impressed, while Sirius shucked his jacket, and hung up Harry's bicycle helmet. "Did Bethany want to talk to you about me mentioning Snake?" he turned to ask Sirius, who was unlacing his boots. "I didn't mean to tell her he talks to me, but Snake said something really funny," he said to Remus.

"I told her it was just your active imagination," Sirius said. "You have to be careful about that, Harry."

"I am!" Harry said, injured. "It was just the once."

"All right, well, there's no harm done," Sirius grinned as he moved into the kitchen. "Remus, how's your tea?"

"Still hot," Remus called, sipping it and winking at Harry. "So, what're your plans for this lovely Sunday?" he asked Harry.

"Reading to you," Harry said promptly.

"You're a good lad, Harry, but it's a nice cool day out -- sure you don't want to go fishing with Padfoot?"

Harry shook his head, and went to one of the bookshelves on the opposite wall. "Then what would you do?" he asked.

"Oh, sleep and read," Remus replied. "Honestly, Harry, if you want to go out -- "

"No, s'okay, I think it's going to rain," Harry said, scanning the books. "I like reading to you. You explain the hard parts. Do you want Kipling or something gothic?"

"Knows your tastes," Sirius murmured, carrying a mug of tea into the living room and settling into the other corner of the couch. "Something gothic, I think, Harry. Somewhere in the red bookshelf in our room there's a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey, we'll see if it's to your liking."

Harry nodded and left the room, accepting Sirius' hair-ruffling as he went.

"I do worry that he spends too much time with books sometimes," Remus murmured.

"Worry about me instead," Sirius said urgently. "Bethany said Harry's been asking about -- sex and things."

Remus grinned at him. "Well, you said when it was time you'd be the one to give the birds and bees to him, in case he got ideas from me."

"I'm surprised he hasn't got ideas from both of us already," Sirius answered.

"Not to mention your choice in reading materials."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oscar Wilde, Sirius?"

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Harry arrived back, flopping onto the couch between them. "What's this about then?" he asked, regarding the cover curiously.

"It's about a Muggle with a magic painting," Sirius answered, because Remus had closed his eyes and was looking slightly exhausted. "Maybe we should read it later..."

"No, it's all right," Remus said, eyes still closed. "It's about a Muggle who never gets old, Harry; everything that happens to him shows in the portrait instead of on his face."

Sirius thought he understood the sudden fatigue, at his summary of the book. It was a tradition among the noble houses of the Wizarding world to have such a portrait done; it wasn't quite as effective as Dorian Grey's, but they did slow the aging process considerably. And Remus, though still young, was already showing grey in his hair and fine lines in his face.

After a minute of silence, Remus smiled and opened his eyes. "I'm all right, Sirius. You won't mind if I sleep a bit while you read, will you, Harry?"

"I never do," Harry answered, paging to the beginning. "Do you want me to read the preface too?"

"That's the best part," Remus answered, and Harry settled himself crosslegged, book open on his lap, to read.

"The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things..."

***

Remus dozed off around halfway through the first chapter, and Sirius reached over to gently close the book, once he was sure the other man was asleep. Harry set the book aside and looked up at him, thoughtfully.

"There's something you have to tell me, huh?" he said, and Sirius grinned.

"Perceptive kid, you are," he said. "It's nothing bad or serious, just something we have to talk about."

"Okay," Harry said, turning on the couch to face him, and Sirius turned likewise, crossing his legs, a larger, blue-eyed version of Harry, facing him. Harry laughed a little.

"Bethany says you were asking her where lambs come from," Sirius said.

"Sort of," Harry agreed. "I know a bit of it."

"Oh?"

"Well, some of the boys at school talk about it," Harry said, suddenly blushing furiously. Sirius, just as embarrassed, nodded. "And I just thought Bethany might know."

"You think I don't?" Sirius asked, surprised.

"No, but..." Harry squirmed a bit. "You're my dad...I mean, just as good as."

Sirius nodded. "Remus too?"

"I thought maybe I shouldn't be asking about it. The teachers at school looked upset when I talked about snakes laying eggs..."

Sirius touseled his hair. "You can ask us anything, Harry, I promise we'll never be angry."

"Oh, okay." Harry nodded. "So are you going to tell me about it?"

"Yes I am," Sirius said, then paused. "Er. This may take a while."

"That's fine," Harry said encouragingly. Haltingly, Sirius began to sketch out quite a lot about sex -- at least, the biological side -- at least, the heterosexual biological side...

This had been much easier when he was a child. Though of course walking in on Narcissa and Walden McNair in the greenhouse is not the ideal way to discover how things were done.

Nor was a rambling forty-minute monologue on the sins of the flesh from his father, when he was caught at age fourteen studying certain woodcuts in some of the older, naughtier books in the library.

He finished outlining the reproductive process, in a somewhat stammered fashion, and added a few sentences on respecting young women and how one ought to wait until one felt one was ready. He found this somewhat ironic, given his own checkered past, but Harry took it all in with those intelligent green eyes, and when he was finished, Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.

"Er...do you have any questions?" he said, watching as Harry almost visibly digested the information. "Was anything unclear?"

"No..." Harry said slowly. "I knew a bunch of that from the snakes."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe humans did it differently. Cos...when a man and a woman get married he doesn't dig a big hole for her in the back garden."

Sirius fought slightly hysterical laughter.

"No, that's very true," he agreed.

"And girls don't lay eggs?"

"No. Well....no." Sirius decided that he would buy Harry a biology textbook that might explain the particulars better.

"Okay." Harry rested his elbows on his knees, and propped his chin in them. "So what about you and Remus?"

Sirius froze.

"What about us?" he asked.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what, Harry?"

"What a man and a woman do," Harry said. "You aren't a man and a woman but you sleep together and stuff, right? He kisses you sometimes."

Sirius felt the blush returning. He thought they'd been cautious enough that Harry wouldn't be curious; clearly he was wrong.

"And you take care of him when he's sick," Harry said, jerking his head at where Remus slept on, behind him. "And he looks after you when you're sick."

"Yes, but -- "

"And he'd be mad if you kissed a girl, right? You yelled at him when that girl was making eyes at him in the bookshop."

"Well, all right..."

"And you do sex stuff, right?" Harry asked.

"You haven't seen that, have you?" Sirius said, voice cracking.

"No, but it makes sense," Harry answered. Sirius glanced at Remus, willing him to wake up and intervene. "So how do you do it with all boy parts?"

Sirius could hear Remus' sly murmur in his head. Any number of enjoyable ways...

"Er..." Sirius said, stalling for time. "There's more to understand about it than just how it happens, really. The biology I mean. It's got to do with...well, how you choose who you love, or...or how it chooses you...we'll get you a book about it, how's that?"

"Okay," Harry said agreeably. "I don't think the library has books about that, though. Jamie Meredith would have found it by now. He's found most of the books with naked pictures in them."

"You might want to keep your distance from Jamie Meredith," Sirius said slowly.

"Yeah, he's not really interested in real books," Harry agreed. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Remus loves you, right?"

Sirius grinned. Here, he was on firm ground. "Yeah, he does."

"He told you so and all?"

"Yes."

"And you love him?"

"Yes I do, Harry."

"And you told him?"

Sirius bit his lip and wondered if, in all the time they'd spent together, he ever had actually said it. Just for no reason, just because it was true.

"Yes he has," Remus said quietly, from behind Harry. Both of them turned to look at him, but he had already shifted his shoulders and rolled a bit, curling deeper into the blanket, and seemed to be asleep again.

"Good," Harry said decidedly. "Can I have a sandwich now? It's nearly lunchtime."

Sirius laughed, and followed him into the kitchen to make sandwiches, fingers lingering on Remus' shoulder as they passed, affectionately.

END

Author's Endnote: The idea of Dorian Grey-style portraits being done in the Wizarding World is actually Heidi's, used with permission; you can find a discussion of the concept in the Portrait Of Mrs. Black thread at Fiction Alley.

Previous Russian Literature Fever Dream Bullfinch's Mythology The Birds, the Bees and the Snakes A Lesson in Hiding Next