Stand Against the Moon // Tomarry

Chapter 3: Two - Exeunt From Hell, Stage Left

The adult Dursleys were rather sufficiently cowed from Harry's show of force that first morning, and Dudley hadn't yet got to the point where he invented Harry Hunting, so the following week at Privet Drive was remarkably peaceful. He didn't bother demanding the playroom be handed over as his new bedroom, secure in the certainty that he would be given to Sirius soon enough, and he still helped with the meals because he was used to making food – both as an adult in that other reality and before the merge in this reality, he'd spent so long making meals for himself and variations of what he called 'family', that he felt twitchy if he didn't assist – but otherwise refused to help around the house.

Petunia had quickly developed the theory that out of sight meant out of mind and wasted no time every morning ensuring he had anything he might need to keep him busy out of the house until dinner, even going so far as to offer him muggle money, in spite of the fact that he wasn't even five yet and wouldn't get far with the money on his own. One thing she made absolutely certain he had, however, was a key to the house, which he kept on a length of twine with the Peverell ring around his neck, so he wouldn't lose it if he decided to run around as a wolf. The twine and ring had been charmed within an inch of their lives with the strongest Notice-Me-Not and muggle repelling charms that he'd been able to cast with the wand he'd borrowed from a drunk wizard he'd tripped over in Knockturn on his way back from Gringotts that first trip out. (If the wand had been less finicky, Harry would have pocketed it, but in the end it hadn't been worth the boost in the strength of his spells.)

Two days before Harry's fifth birthday – which was, amusingly, the full moon – Harry was woken by a determined knocking on the front door while Petunia was only just stirring upstairs. While he was perfectly capable of opening his locked cupboard – honestly, why they even bothered with the lock any more was a mystery to him, but he supposed it let Vernon feel safer – and answering the door himself, he saw no reason to save his aunt the minor embarrassment of greeting visitors in her nightgown and robe.

Not quite two minutes later, Petunia hurried down the stairs over Harry's head and he heard the front door opening. There was a pregnant pause, then Petunia demanded, "What do you sort want here?"

"Nice to see you again too, Petunia," a rough voice commented, and Harry's eyes went wide as he recognised the speaker: Sirius! It had worked!

"May we come in, Mrs Dursley?" a smooth voice that sounded vaguely familiar requested.

"It's far too–" Petunia started.

Sirius interrupted, "Oh, you wouldn't really leave us to stand on the stoop all morning, would you?"

Harry grinned; Sirius clearly knew enough about his aunt to know exactly which threats would get what he wanted the fastest. And, actually, that was a pretty good indicator that he'd survived the dementors so far intact; Harry knew he'd managed, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder how much better Sirius was now he was freed eight years earlier.

"Fine," Petunia snapped, and there came the sound of multiple people stepping into the hallway.

Harry took a long sniff, trying to see if he could identify anyone by smell, or at least know how many people were there. None of them were particularly familiar to his werewolf senses, which only meant he'd never known them after he'd been turned in that other reality, but he could tell there were three magical males out there with his aunt. One was clearly Sirius, and the other... why was that voice familiar?

"We came to collect Harry," Sirius wasted no time in saying.

"Collect him?" Petunia demanded, shrewd. "Like, what, for good?"

"That is still for deba–" an elderly voice that Harry recognised all-too-well started: Dumbledore.

"Yeah, he's coming home with me," Sirius insisted.