The world spun violently around Harry, a blur of color and sound, until he landed with a jolt on a cold stone floor. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of a wooden table. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and faint traces of cleaning potions. Blinking rapidly, he steadied himself and looked up.
Sirius Black was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Welcome to Grimmauld Place," Sirius said, pushing off the counter.
Harry straightened, brushing off his robes. "That was… unpleasant," he muttered.
"You'll get used to it," Sirius replied with a grin. "Though, I suppose we could work on a softer landing for next time. You alright?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… Portkeys aren't exactly my favorite way to travel."
Sirius chuckled. "They're no one's favorite. Hungry?" He gestured to the table, where a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches sat waiting.
Harry's stomach growled loudly in response, and Sirius's grin widened. "I'll take that as a yes. Sit down."
As Harry slid into the chair, he thought back to the hours before his arrival. He had woken up that morning to the bustling of St. Mungo's healers. After a thorough examination and a lecture about taking care of himself, they had declared him fit to leave.
Arthur Weasley had arrived shortly after, looking both relieved and slightly nervous as he handed Harry the Portkey—a battered tin cup. "This will take you straight to Sirius," Arthur had said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "You take care of yourself, Harry. And if you need anything, you know how to reach us."
Harry had nodded, his thanks subdued but heartfelt. The Burrow had always been a sanctuary, and the warmth of the Weasleys lingered with him even now.
Back in the kitchen, Sirius poured them both tea and slid a sandwich across the table to Harry. "So," Sirius said, his tone lighter. "How was your last day at St. Mungo's? Healers drive you mad yet?"
Harry shrugged. "They were fine. A bit overbearing, maybe, but they just wanted to make sure I was alright."
"Good," Sirius said, his voice softening slightly. "You've been through a lot."
Harry bit into the sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, studying Harry. "You've got that look," he said after a moment.
Harry frowned. "What look?"
"The one that says you're overthinking everything," Sirius replied. He gestured broadly. "This is a safe place, Harry. You're allowed to breathe here. To be yourself."
Harry managed a small smile. "It's… nice, I guess. Not having to worry about someone bursting in to bother me."
Sirius chuckled. "Enjoy it while it lasts. This house might be under a Fidelius Charm, but it still has a mind of its own sometimes."
At Harry's curious expression, Sirius waved a hand. "We'll get to that later. For now, just settle in. There's a lot to see—and even more to clean—but it's home. And it's yours now, too."
The conversation shifted, and Sirius began to recount stories about the house, sprinkling in tales of its eccentricities and its history. Harry listened, a faint warmth spreading through him.
And then Sirius paused, his expression shifting slightly.
"Harry," he said, his tone quieter now. "Did I ever tell you about the time your mum wanted me and James to take a muggle trip?"
Harry blinked. "A muggle trip?"
"She had this wild idea," Sirius said, leaning forward with a wistful smile. "Wanted us to travel like muggles—trains, buses, the whole thing. She thought it would be fun, and, well, she could be pretty convincing when she wanted to be."
"Where were you supposed to go?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.
"Latvia," Sirius said. "Madona, specifically. Lily said it was beautiful, especially in the summer."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Latvia? Really?"
"Your dad thought it was ridiculous," Sirius admitted, grinning. "Said we could apparate there in seconds. But Lily wasn't having it. She wanted the full experience. We were going to make it a big adventure."
"What happened?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
Sirius's smile faded, replaced by a shadow of sorrow. "The war happened. There was always something more urgent, something more dangerous. And then…" He trailed off, his voice tight.
Harry looked down at his cup of tea, unsure of what to say.
"But," Sirius continued, his voice stronger now, "I've been thinking. Maybe it's time to make good on that plan."
"You mean… go to Latvia?" Harry asked, surprised.
Sirius nodded. "For Lily. For James. And for us. What do you think?"
"I think… I'd like that." Harry answered with a shy smile.
"Good," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the back. "It's settled, then."
As the conversation wound down, Sirius stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Alright," he said, smirking. "One last thing before I let you off the hook tonight."
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Homework," Sirius said, his smirk widening.
Harry stared at him. "Homework?"
"Yes, homework," Sirius replied, crossing his arms. "You've got school starting soon, and I don't want you slacking off just because you're living with me now."
"Are you serious?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"Yes," Sirius said, grinning. "I am Sirius Black."
Harry groaned, hand on his forehead, but Sirius's laughter made the corner of his mouth twitch.
Harry followed Sirius up the stairs, stopping as they reached a door on the second floor. Sirius gave a mock-dramatic bow as he opened it wide.
"Here you go, your new kingdom. It's not exactly Gryffindor Tower, but at least you won't have to deal with any poltergeists."
Harry stepped inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the cozy setup. Against one wall stood a comfortable-looking bed with a deep red blanket neatly spread over it. A wardrobe stood nearby, its dark wood polished to a shine, and a small bookshelf sat empty, waiting to be filled. Near the window, perched on a wooden stand, was Hedwig, her amber eyes fixed on him as if in greeting.
Harry crossed the room and stroked her feathers gently. "Hey, girl," he said softly. Hedwig gave a low hoot, her gaze seeming to say she approved of the new place.
"Well?" Sirius asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.
Harry turned, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's brilliant. Really."
"Good," Sirius replied with a satisfied nod. "This is your home now, Harry. No tiny cupboard, no ridiculous rules. If there's anything you need, just let me know." He paused, his grin turning teasing. "I'll leave you to settle in. Have a look around, get some rest." He gave a playful wink before stepping back and pulling the door closed behind him.
Harry stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The room wasn't particularly large, but it felt more like home than anywhere he'd lived before. He sat down on the bed, the mattress soft beneath him, and let out a deep sigh.
After a while, he stood and started unpacking his trunk, organizing his belongings into the wardrobe and on the shelves. His clothes were few, worn from years of hand-me-downs, but he folded them neatly nonetheless. When he reached the bottom of the trunk, he hesitated, looking at the small stack of books and school supplies.
His eyes drifted to the empty shelves of the bookcase. It struck him how much he didn't have—not just books, but proper clothes, and little things to make the space his own. He'd never thought about these things before; the Dursleys' house had never felt like his to care about.
But here? This was different.
Harry straightened, resolving to talk to Sirius about getting new clothes and maybe a few books. For once, the thought didn't feel awkward. It felt… right.
Sirius appeared at Harry's door just as he was finishing unpacking, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Well," he said, his voice carrying a note of mischief, "if you're done rearranging your empire, I thought I'd show you the crown jewel of Grimmauld Place."
Harry looked up, curious. "Crown jewel?"
"Come on." Sirius beckoned him with a wave, already halfway down the hall.
Harry followed him through the twisting corridors of the house, his footsteps muffled by the thick, faded carpet. The house creaked faintly, like it was alive and listening. Sirius finally stopped in front of a heavy oak door, its surface carved with intricate patterns that glinted faintly in the dim light.
Sirius pushed it open with a flourish. "The Black family library," he announced.
Harry stepped inside, his eyes widening. The room was vast, its high shelves crammed with books of every size and color. A heavy chandelier hung from the ceiling, its candles casting a warm glow over the polished floor and the faintly sinister decor. The air smelled of aged parchment and something faintly metallic, like old magic lingering in the room.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Sirius said, his tone wry. "My family was many things—mostly horrible—but they did have a knack for collecting knowledge. Half of this is likely cursed, but the other half… well, there's some useful stuff."
Harry approached a nearby shelf, his fingers brushing over the spines of the books. Many were bound in dark leather, their titles etched in faded gold. Some had no titles at all, their surfaces marked only with strange symbols.
Sirius joined him, plucking a particularly thick tome from the shelf. "Hexes of the Old World," he read aloud, flipping through the pages with a grimace. "The sort of thing you'd read if you fancied ruining someone's life." He shoved it back into place and selected another, smaller book.
"This, though," he said, holding it out to Harry, "is more up your alley."
Harry took it, reading the title. "Practical Defensive Charms for Duels." He opened it, scanning the first few pages. The text was clear and straightforward, with detailed instructions for casting and countering various spells.
"You'll need it," Sirius said, his tone turning serious. "If you're going to be fighting people like Selwyn, you can't rely on sheer luck or instinct. You need to be prepared."
Harry nodded, clutching the book tightly. "Thanks."
Sirius smiled faintly and moved to another shelf, pulling out a slim, red-bound volume. "Ah, here's a classic," he said, holding it up. "Duelling: Art and Precision." He tossed it to Harry, who caught it deftly. "Bit dry, but effective."
As they continued browsing, Sirius's commentary became more colorful. He pointed out titles like "The Noble Art of Magical Domination" with a sneer. "Total rubbish," he muttered, shoving it aside. "One of my charming ancestors wrote this. Utterly obsessed with control and blood purity."
At another shelf, he gestured to a set of identical black books, their spines marked only with Roman numerals. "Family spells. Some useful, some downright nasty. I wouldn't touch them without gloves."
Harry glanced at the shelf warily and moved on.
Eventually, Sirius stopped in front of a smaller cabinet at the back of the room. He opened it carefully, revealing a neat row of scrolls and slim, ancient tomes. "This," he said, "is the good stuff. Advanced defense, counter-curses, spell theory. You'll want to work your way up to these, but they're worth it."
Harry leaned closer, his curiosity piqued. "Did you read all of these?"
Sirius laughed, a short bark of sound. "Merlin, no. I was too busy trying to annoy my family and impress your dad. But I wish I had. Might've saved me some trouble."
After a while, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. "Alright, that's enough for now. You'll have plenty of time to dig through this place. But there's something I need you to understand, Harry."
Harry glanced up, the weight in Sirius's tone pulling his attention.
"This might sound strange coming from me, of all people," Sirius said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "But knowledge and well-practiced habits can change the course of a fight. I've seen battles lost by sheer recklessness—and others won because someone knew just the right spell at the right moment."
Harry nodded slowly, taking in the gravity of Sirius's words.
"These," Sirius continued, gesturing to the books Harry held, "aren't just dusty old tomes. They're the same kind of things I studied to become an Auror. I'll teach you what I know, and then I'll test you—dueling, counter-curses, the works. But don't expect quick fixes. Real skill takes time. It'll be hard, and it'll hurt sometimes. But you've got the fire for it. I can see it."
"I believe in you, Harry," Sirius said.
Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "Besides, I could use the practice. Ten years in Azkaban made me a bit rusty. Wouldn't hurt to sharpen my own skills while we're at it."
Harry cracked a small smile at that.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly.
Sirius ruffled Harry's hair in his usual carefree manner, but there was a warmth in his gaze that spoke volumes. "Don't thank me yet. Save it for when you can take me down in a duel."
The next day dawned crisp and clear, sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains of Grimmauld Place. Harry woke to the sound of Sirius's cheerful whistling from downstairs.
By the time Harry made his way to the kitchen, Sirius was already there, poring over a battered travel guide. A steaming cup of tea sat beside him, and a stack of official-looking documents lay on the table.
"Morning, sleepyhead!" Sirius greeted without looking up.
Harry blinked blearily at the sight. "You're… enthusiastic for this early."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Sirius said, his grin wide. "Today, my dear godson, we embark on an adventure. Flights are booked, disguises are ready, and the muggle world awaits!"
Harry slid into a chair, rubbing his eyes. "Disguises?"
"Think about it, Harry," Sirius said, leaning back. "You're the famous Boy Who Lived, and I'm a supposedly deranged mass murderer. We're not exactly inconspicuous. So…" He pulled out his wand, twirling it with a flourish. "Glamours. Simple, subtle, and effective."
Harry frowned. "Isn't that, you know, illegal?"
"Technically," Sirius admitted with a shrug. "But we're not robbing Gringotts. We're taking a vacation. Besides, I've already taken care of the IDs." He gestured to the documents on the table.
Harry picked one up and stared at it. It was a passport, complete with a photograph of himself—except it wasn't quite him. The boy in the picture looked a bit older, his features slightly sharper, his hair tidier. The name on it read "Henry Peverell."
"Peverell?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sirius smirked. "A little nod to your family's history. And this…" He slid his own ID across the table. The name read "Stephen Black."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Stephen?"
Sirius feigned offense. "It's respectable. Better than something ridiculous like… I don't know, Bartholomew."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. So, how does this Glamour thing work?"
"Watch and learn," Sirius said, his wand already in hand. He tapped it lightly against his temple, muttering, "Mutatio Vultus." Slowly, his features shifted—his cheekbones softened, his jawline rounded, and his hair shortened to a dull brown. The lines on his face faded slightly, leaving him looking like an ordinary, nondescript man.
He turned to Harry with a triumphant grin. "Ta-da! Stephen Black, unremarkable muggle extraordinaire."
Harry snorted. "You still sound like you."
"Of course I do," Sirius replied with a shrug. "Changing voices is trickier and, frankly, not worth the effort unless you plan on being an actor. Now, your turn."
Harry hesitated, his wand in his hand. "You said it's simple, but…"
"It is, if you follow my instructions," Sirius interrupted, stepping closer. He pointed to the forged passport lying on the table with Harry's name on it. "Your ID says you're Henry Peverell. That means blond hair, hazel eyes, no scar, and a slightly tanned complexion. Picture him in your mind, every detail."
Harry picked up the passport, staring at the photo of his disguised self. The boy in the picture looked older and more composed than he felt, but he nodded. "Okay. I think I've got it."
"Good," Sirius said. "The incantation is Mutatio Vultus. Say it clearly—this isn't a spell you want to mumble, or you'll end up with half a Glamour, which is more noticeable than no Glamour at all."
Harry repeated the words softly, testing them on his tongue.
"Now the wand movement," Sirius continued, demonstrating with his own wand. He traced a small, slow circle in the air in front of his face. "Clockwise. Small and deliberate. Think of it like a focus lens—you're framing the changes you want."
Harry mimicked the movement, his hand steady but his grip slightly tight.
"Relax your wrist," Sirius said, gently adjusting Harry's arm. "The magic needs to flow smoothly. No jerking, no hesitation."
Harry nodded again, exhaling deeply.
"Now the focus," Sirius said, his tone serious. "This is the most important part. You need to hold the image of Henry Peverell in your mind as clearly as if you were looking in a mirror. Think about the details—hair, eyes, skin tone. Smooth out the scar. Don't rush it."
Harry stared at the passport again, memorizing the photo. Then, with a deep breath, he raised his wand. "Mutatio Vultus," he said, his voice steady as he traced the circle in the air.
A tingling sensation spread across his face, warm and almost pleasant, like a soft summer breeze. He could feel the magic settling into place, reshaping his features.
"Don't open your eyes yet," Sirius warned. "Let the spell finish."
After a few moments, the tingling stopped, and Sirius handed Harry a small mirror from the table. "Alright, take a look."
Harry blinked as he looked at the mirror. The face staring back at him was familiar but different—his hair was now a neat dark blond, his green eyes replaced with hazel, and his scar completely smoothed away beneath tanned skin. He tilted his head, touching his cheek cautiously, half expecting the illusion to ripple.
"Not bad," Sirius said with a grin, clapping Harry on the back. "You're Henry Peverell through and through. A solid first attempt."
Harry set the mirror down, still processing the change. "It feels… strange."
"It always does at first," Sirius said, picking up the passports and tucking them into his jacket. "But you'll get used to it. The key is that you look nothing like Harry Potter."
Harry glanced at his reflection again, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. "Think we'll pass?"
"With flying colors," Sirius assured him, his grin widening. "Now, let's get moving. The muggle world awaits, and we've got a plane to catch."
Harry finished his tea and made his way upstairs to gather his things. He packed lightly—just a small rucksack with a change of clothes, his wand tucked safely into an inside pocket, and a notebook Sirius had given him for anything he thought might be worth remembering. When he returned to the kitchen, Sirius was already waiting, a weathered leather bag slung over his shoulder.
"You ready?" Sirius asked, glancing up with an eager grin.
Harry nodded. "I think so. Not my first time out in the muggle world, you know."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," Sirius replied, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "But it's my first time navigating all of this without, you know, causing some minor magical incident."
Harry smirked. "So I'll be teaching you, then?"
Sirius gave him a mock-serious look. "Let's call it teamwork. Between the two of us, we'll manage just fine."
The journey through London proved just that—a joint effort. They took turns reading the Underground map, Sirius grumbling at its complexity while Harry confidently pointed out the correct lines. Buying tickets at the automated machines was another exercise in trial and error, with Sirius muttering something about "bloody genius muggle contraptions" as Harry nudged him aside to make the machine work.
"See? Easy," Harry said, holding up their tickets.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Easy for you. I'm more used to magical shortcuts. But I'll admit, it's pretty clever."
The bustling train stations were overwhelming at times, with streams of people rushing in all directions. Still, they navigated together—Harry recalling his experiences with the Dursleys and Sirius relying on his innate charm to ask for directions when they hit a snag.
By the time they reached Heathrow, they had developed an unspoken rhythm. At the check-in counter, Sirius handed over their forged IDs while Harry chatted amiably with the staff, keeping any suspicion at bay.
"You handled that well," Sirius said as they moved on to security.
"Dursley holidays," Harry replied. "I had plenty of practice pretending everything was normal."
"Wish I could say the same," Sirius said with a grin. "But hey, we've made it this far."
As they sat in the departure lounge, they shared a look of mutual triumph. It hadn't been entirely smooth, but they'd managed without magic—and, more importantly, without catastrophe.
Sirius leaned back in his seat, his leather jacket slung casually over the armrest. "It's strange, isn't it?" he said, following Harry's gaze. "Seeing all these people with their simple lives. No wands, no curses, no wars."
Harry nodded. "It feels… different. Calmer."
Sirius chuckled. "That's one way of putting it. Though, I wouldn't trade their lives for ours. They've got taxes, Harry. And traffic jams."
Harry smirked. "Yeah, and they also don't have Death Eaters."
"Fair point," Sirius admitted. "Still, there's something… refreshing about this. No one's looking over their shoulder for someone trying to hex them. Makes me wonder what Lily saw in this world. She always said muggles had a kind of magic of their own."
Harry's smile faltered slightly. "Do you think she'd be proud? Of me, I mean?"
Sirius sat up, his expression softening. "Harry, I know she would be. Both of them would. You've faced more in fourteen years than most wizards do in a lifetime, and you're still standing. That's not something everyone could do."
Harry looked down at his trainers, unsure how to respond. Instead, he changed the subject. "So, what happens when we get there? Latvia, I mean."
"First, we land in Riga," Sirius explained, pulling out a small travel brochure he'd picked up in the terminal. "Then we'll take a train to Madona. From there… well, we'll figure it out. Your mum had a list of places she wanted to visit. I'll see if I can remember any of them."
Harry tilted his head. "You mean you're not entirely sure what we're doing?"
Sirius grinned. "Not a clue. Isn't it great?"
Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"
Sirius's laughter rang out. "Probably. But it'll be our disaster."
The flight to Riga was uneventful—at least, as uneventful as a plane ride could be when surrounded by the chaos of a packed cabin. Harry found the experience novel but slightly overwhelming. The sensation of takeoff left his stomach somewhere near his shoes, and the constant background noise—a mix of chatter, the hum of engines, and the occasional crying child—made it impossible to relax fully.
Sirius, however, was in his own unique battle.
"Do they ever stop screaming?" Sirius muttered, rubbing his temple dramatically and glaring at a toddler two rows ahead, who had been wailing incessantly since takeoff.
Harry hid a smirk. "What did you expect? It's a plane, not the Hogwarts library."
Sirius groaned, slumping back into his seat. "I expected some peace and quiet. That's what the muggle in-flight brochures promised—calm skies and serene travels. False advertising if you ask me."
Harry was about to retort when he felt something wet on his hand. He glanced down, startled, to find a small dog—a fluffy terrier with bright eyes—staring up at him from the aisle, its tail wagging furiously.
"Er…" Harry began, unsure how to react.
The dog barked softly and licked his hand again, its pink tongue warm against his skin.
"Friendly little thing," Sirius observed, leaning over to take a look. "Though I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be wandering around mid-flight."
A flustered-looking woman hurried down the aisle, scooping up the dog. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. "He must have slipped out of his carrier."
"It's fine," Harry said quickly, wiping his hand on his jeans.
The woman apologized profusely before retreating, the dog giving one last enthusiastic wag of its tail before disappearing down the aisle.
Sirius smirked. "Well, that's one way to make friends."
Harry rolled his eyes, but the interaction left him feeling oddly lighthearted.
As the flight continued, Sirius grew restless, shifting in his seat and inspecting everything within reach—the safety card, the tray table, even the in-flight meal.
"What is this supposed to be?" he asked, prodding a congealed lump of pasta with his plastic fork.
"Food," Harry replied dryly, taking a cautious bite of his own meal. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either.
Sirius's expression was dubious, but he eventually took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "I've had worse," he conceded. "Az—they didn't exactly serve gourmet meals where I was."
Harry looked at him sharply, but Sirius waved it off with a casual shrug.
By the time the plane began its descent, Harry had acclimated somewhat to the novelty of the experience. The view of Riga from above was breathtaking—lush green parks, winding streets, and terracotta rooftops glowing softly under the golden hues of the setting sun.
Sirius leaned over to get a better look, his earlier grumbling forgotten. "Alright," he admitted, a hint of awe in his voice. "This part, I like."
Harry smiled. "It's not so bad, is it?"
Sirius shot him a grin. "Not bad at all. Though I'll still take a broom over this any day."
The plane touched down with a slight jolt, the roar of the engines dying to a low hum as the flight attendants began their cheerful announcements. Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched, glancing out the small window. The landscape beyond the tarmac was bathed in golden sunlight, and though the airport was modern, it lacked the overwhelming sprawl of Heathrow.
Sirius leaned over, smirking. "Well, Henry Peverell, welcome to Riga. Looks like we survived our first muggle flight."
Harry grinned. "Barely. Between the screaming toddlers and that dog in the aisle licking my hand, I'm amazed I got any sleep."
"Small children and dogs," Sirius said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "The true terrors of modern travel. And here I was worried about Death Eaters."
Harry snorted as they joined the slow shuffle of passengers disembarking. The terminal was bustling, a mix of tourists and locals hurrying past each other. Overhead, announcements echoed in rapid Latvian, followed by heavily accented English translations.
"What did they just say?" Sirius asked, frowning up at the speakers.
"Something about baggage claim, I think," Harry replied.
"Good to know," Sirius muttered. "I've decided I prefer the Wizarding Wireless. Less shouting."
They followed the crowd through the terminal, Sirius marveling at the sheer number of shops and advertisements plastered across the walls. Harry, having experienced this sort of thing with the Dursleys, guided them toward customs.
When it was their turn, Harry handed over his forged passport, doing his best to look relaxed as the officer scanned it. His heart pounded as the man glanced between the document and his disguised face, but the Glamour held.
"Thank you, Mr. Peverell," the officer said, stamping the passport and waving him through.
Sirius strolled up next, his casual air making him look like he had nothing to hide. He handed over his ID with a grin. The officer glanced at it, then back at Sirius's face before nodding and letting him pass.
As they moved away, Sirius leaned in and whispered, "I've faced Dementors with less intensity."
"Bet they didn't have stamp collections, either," Harry replied, earning a chuckle.
The momentary tension faded as they entered the main concourse. Sirius stopped abruptly, staring at the rows of brightly lit shops and kiosks.
"What in Merlin's name is all this?" he asked, gesturing wildly. "Are they selling sweets or potions? Look at this place!"
Harry followed his gaze to a duty-free shop, its shelves lined with liquor, perfume, and chocolate in equal measure. "It's a duty-free shop. They sell stuff to travelers. Didn't they have these when you were younger?"
"Not in places I frequented," Sirius replied, striding toward a rack of keychains shaped like tiny Latvian landmarks. He picked one up, squinting at it. "What's this? A castle?"
"Probably one of their tourist spots," Harry said.
Sirius turned the keychain over in his hands. "I'm buying it. Grimmauld Place could use a touch of culture."
Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Sirius grabbed the tackiest magnet he could find to go with it.
At the checkout counter, Sirius fumbled with the unfamiliar process of swiping a card. The cashier, a patient young woman, tried explaining it in halting English, but Sirius continued to glare at the machine like it had personally offended him.
"Here," Harry said, stepping forward and completing the transaction in seconds.
Sirius grinned sheepishly. "Teamwork, right?"
"Right," Harry said, rolling his eyes.
They stopped at a small café to grab a bite before their next leg of the journey. Harry ordered with relative ease, but Sirius spent an inordinate amount of time examining the unfamiliar menu. Eventually, he pointed at something that turned out to be a sandwich packed with herring. He took one bite and grimaced, nudging it toward Harry.
"All yours," he said.
Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You really don't do subtle flavors, do you?"
By the time they boarded the train to Madona, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks filled the quiet as the Latvian countryside stretched out before them. Sirius leaned back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, looking more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him. For a moment, Harry hesitated, unsure if he wanted to break the calm with his question. But the thought had been nagging at him since their first evening together at Grimmauld Place.
"Sirius?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Hmm?" Sirius turned his head, one eyebrow arched.
"Do you… ever talk to Lupin?" Harry's gaze dropped to the worn fabric of the train seat. "Since you've been back, I mean."
Sirius's casual expression flickered, a hint of something more complicated flashing across his face. He exhaled softly, sitting up straighter. "I do, sometimes," he said. "Not as much as I should, though. Remus has always been… well, Remus. He doesn't like asking for help. Prefers to keep his head down and fight his battles on his own."
Harry frowned. "That doesn't seem fair. He shouldn't have to do everything alone."
"It's not fair," Sirius admitted, running a hand through his Glamoured hair. "But life hasn't exactly been kind to Moony. Between being a werewolf, finding steady work, and just trying to exist in a world that looks down on him, he's always had it rough."
Harry shifted in his seat, unsure of how to respond. "But you're his friend. Doesn't he want to see you?"
Sirius's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, he does. And I want to see him. But it's complicated, Harry. He's spent so much time keeping himself out of trouble, staying off the Ministry's radar. Then there's me—a fugitive who drags trouble with him wherever he goes."
"You're not a fugitive anymore," Harry pointed out firmly.
Sirius chuckled dryly. "Tell that to the people who still think I'm a crazed murderer." He sighed, his gaze turning distant. "It's not just about me, though. Remus… he's scared of what his presence might bring into your life. He's afraid of being a burden. Always has been."
Harry shook his head, frustration bubbling up. "That's ridiculous. He's not a burden. He's—"
"Family," Sirius interrupted gently. "I know, Harry. Believe me, I've told him the same thing. He just needs time to realize it himself. Stubborn git."
"Do you think he'd come to Grimmauld Place? If you asked?" Harry asked, his voice quieter now.
Sirius tilted his head, considering. "Maybe. He doesn't have much of a reason to stay away anymore. And you—you'd give him a good excuse to visit."
Harry nodded slowly, letting the idea settle. "I'd like to see him. I miss him."
"I'll talk to him, alright? Maybe after we get back, we can have him over. Merlin knows he could use some decent company."
Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks."
The conversation lulled, and Sirius leaned back once more, his gaze fixed on the window as the countryside rolled by.
"You know," he said after a while, his tone lighter, "if he does come over, you'd better get ready for his lectures on responsibility and safety. He loves those."
Harry snorted. "I'll take it over the Dursleys any day."
Sirius laughed, his earlier tension easing. "Now there's a low bar."