HP: Monochrome

"Welcome to my neighborhood."

Sirius's exuberant declaration was answered by a blank stare from his godson, and a pair of crows that flew away cawing, obviously disturbed by his sudden and loud voice.

Harry looked around. Given the Dursley's obsession with cleaning and normalcy, he'd never actually been to any place that could be described as cluttered. Say what you will about Petunia Dursley, but the woman had been a cleaning freak and did her best to impart the same values to him. Of course, her method of instruction— a frying pan to the head —left a lot to be desired.

The neighborhood seemed to be stuck in a state of metamorphosis. Several buildings were undergoing renovation, while others stood half-finished. He could see dozens of sites with tarp, drywall and lumber all around. And in the middle of it all was a large box of grime and corroded rock, sticking out like a sore thumb. Knowing wizards, he had little doubt exactly which of these buildings belonged to his godfather.

"That," he pointed a finger at the clusterfuck of smog, dust and grime in the center, "is your home?"

He'd phrased it as a neutral statement, but he hoped the older man would notice the incredulity in his tone.

"Yup. Number 12, Grimmauld Place."

"Oh, it's grim and old alright," Harry deadpanned.

"I know she's a little dusty," Sirius replied, his grin nostalgic, "but she's the one. Other than the sixth year summer, which I spent at the Potters with your dad, this has been my home since I was little."

"That's not dusty," Harry scrunched his nose. "That's a big bag of diseases just waiting to explode. Have you seen this thing? How can—" he looked around at the other houses. "How has nobody done anything about it?"

Sirius chuckled. "That's because of the Mind Fog around it."

"The what now?"

"Mind Fog," Sirius repeated. "It's a ward, or actually a curse on a ward. I'm not all that clear on the details. Point is, anyone but a guest of this building will find it extremely difficult to remember anything about this place, even if they're standing right in front of it."

Harry tried to bend his mind around that little tidbit. "So it's kind of like a giant notice-me-not charm?"

"Sort of," his godfather laughed, "A notice-me-not charm can be dispelled with a strong enough Finite, or if the caster is not paying attention or weakened. This? This is a curse, forever active as long as the wardstone, which is inside the house by the way, stays intact."

Harry blinked.

"Don't worry about the details," Sirius chortled, still staring at the building. "It's a bit of a wreck on the inside too, but between the two of us, we can get some house cleaning done and make it livable again."

Harry bobbed his head. Cleaning was one thing he had a lot of experience with. Besides, at this point in life, getting to clean might be the one normal thing he'd do in a wizarding house. Still, he had one question still buzzing around in his mind.

"Where's Professor Lupin?"

"What about him?"

The man's utter nonchalance surprised him. Sirius and Remus Lupin were supposed to be best friends. "Nothing, I just thought—"

"That because he's a marauder and my friend, I'd invite him to live with me?"

"..yeah?"

The upbeat expression fell from the man's face, only to be replaced by a gaunt smile. "My feelings about Remus are complicated, Harry. Truth is, I don't trust him any longer."

"What?" Harry blanched. "Why?"

"Because he was my friend. No, my brother in arms. We were the Marauders. Peter might have been the one to betray us, but Remus's indifference hurt me even more." He crouched, and grabbed Harry by his shoulders, meeting his eyes. "James, Peter and I— we became animagi at fifteen, taking enormous risks, just to make things easier for him. Hell, Lily and James even tried to set him up with businesses repeatedly after we passed school. And do you know what that friend did in return?"

Sirius's expression turned even darker, his voice more agitated. "He left his only remaining friend to rot in Azkaban. Ten years of friendship, and he let it go down the gutter. Like it was worth nothing. Not once did he come to visit me. I'd have understood if he blamed me. Hell, I blame myself. It was my stupid decision to choose Peter as Secret keeper. I failed you. I failed your parents. Had Remus even tried to curse me or better, kill me in righteous anger, I'd have been glad. I'd know that you'd have someone looking after you where I couldn't. But guess what? He didn't."

Waves of fury began to emanate out of the man.

"But you know what Harry? Even then, I'd have forgiven him. Had he at least kept the sanctity of his friendship to James. To Lily. He could have checked on you all these years, but did he? No, he deserted you, like he deserted me. He abandoned you to be abused by those animals for ten years!"

Sirius was practically shouting now. "To the abyss with such betrayers! The covenant is broken! The marauders are no more!"

Harry paled. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had imagined it, but there was a terrible intensity in the man's eyes, a tangible hatred that made him want to turn around and run. And at the same time, he felt a raging desire to face whatever was coming head on, and crush it with his very—

Harry blinked.

That feeling was gone.

Weird.

"... I'm sorry," Sirius said at last, "I… lost control. I shouldn't have—"

"It's alright," Harry tried, very much in favor of changing the topic. "Say Sirius, I'm not a guest. So how can I see and remember this place?"

"That's right, you aren't a guest," Sirius grinned, his familiar, slightly dopey expression returning to his eyes. "You're family. And family is welcome. Always."

Harry felt his heart lurch just a little.

"Now come on, in."

…

…

The ancestral house of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was a scourge of all things neat and tidy. The derelict building was sunk in pitch-black darkness, with dampness, rust, and a pervasive smell of decay adding to its grotesque ambiance. Soft hissing noises came out of the oddest corners, and decapitated heads of house-elves served as decor and lamps for dim illumination. The entire place was at least four times as large on the inside than outside, its long, gloomy hallways lined with thick muslin carpets.

And snakes.

Lots and lots of snakes.

Serpentine sculptures, engravings, and designs littered the home. On the candelabra, on the railings, on the doorknobs. Hell, even the hallways seemed to curve in an eerily snake-like manner.

Tom Riddle would've felt right at home.

"This… is where we're gonna live?" he asked Sirius carefully.

"Yup. This is the first time I'm entering this place after fifteen long years. Right after I ran out of home to live with the Potters. Still, I thought that the blasted elf would've kept things… neater. Maybe he died."

"You is not welcome here, Master."

It probably said something about Harry that his wand was already out and a blasting curse was ready on his lips. Instead, he found a ragged, ancient elf that trudged its way from the shadows into the light. Unlike Dobby, there was a quantity of white hair growing out of its large, batlike ears. Its eyes were bloodshot and watery and its fleshy nose was large and snout-like.

"Kreacher," said a grinning Sirius. "Master, am I? Then you can either follow my orders or I'll hand you clothes."

It shuffled hunchbacked, slowly and doggedly, and spoke out in a loud, deep voice like a bullfrog.

"Kreacher will stay despite the stain of dishonor who is now his master."

Harry blinked. He had very little experience with elves, but even he knew that they'd die before speaking anything bad about their masters. Dobby had mentioned ironing his hands and ears too many times for him to forget that little titbit.

"And you will not speak of this location, or that we are here, to anyone without my express permission. You will obey only me and will inform no one about my secrets. You will not speak to anyone without my express permission. Is that clear?"

"Kreacher obeys filthy blood-traitor Master who smells like a drain and is not worth the scum beneath Mistress's shoes…"

Harry cleared his throat.

"...if she knew the scum he had brought in this house. Mudbloods and traitors, poor old Kreacher, what can he do?"

It didn't seem Kreacher was listening at all.

Harry pulled at Sirius's sleeves lightly.

"Uh, right," Sirius added, "and this is Harry Potter. He's a Guest of this house until I say otherwise."

"Umm, hello Kreacher," Harry began.

The elf looked up at Harry's face with its large, bulbous eyes and froze in its tracks, and gave a very pronounced start of surprise, and muttered faster and more furiously than ever.

"The son of blood traitors is talking to Kreacher as though he is Kreacher's master. If Kreacher's mistress saw him in such company, oh, what would she say—"

"Enough!" Sirius snapped. "You're a terrible elf! This house has gotten filthy! You're a disgrace upon elf-kind."

"Kreacher always cleans," it continued to mutter. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black. But what can Kreacher do? Nasty ungrateful swine of a Master comes home with a spawn of blood traitors and orders Kreacher around."

'Follow my orders!" Sirius asserted coldly. "You will go prepare rooms for myself and my godson who'll be staying here. Unless I call for you, you will not show your face and stick to whatever hole you've made for yourself."

"Whatever Master says," The elf bowed a little. "Kreacher will obey Master who's not fit to wipe slime off his mother's boots."

"Now go away!"

It seemed that Kreacher did not dare disobey a direct order; nevertheless, the look he gave Sirius as he shuffled out past him was full of deepest loathing and he muttered all the way out of the room.

Harry turned to his godfather. "That was something."

Sirius made a sour face. "Tell me about it. That elf has had it for me since I was a kid. I thought maybe it'd have changed now. Turns out he's worse than ever. Alive for all these years, and he's let the house rot. Still, it should be habitable after we're done cleaning it and stuff."

Harry swiveled his neck towards his godfather. "Cleaning it?"

Sirius nodded wistfully. "This house has done nothing but gather dust and pests since my imprisonment. You'd think that elf'd take cleaning seriously, but no. Honestly, I thought he died from being alone all this while, but he didn't."

"House elves die from being alone?"

"Why, yes," his godfather replied, looking a little too jovial for his taste. "They need a job. They obsess over it. Those that aren't very attached to the family they serve would probably look elsewhere for work. But take away an elf's job and it'll go insane in a month."

Images of a certain free elf came to mind. "Are you sure? I mean, I know an elf that likes being free."

Sirius looked at him, perplexed. "That's odd. Where did you even find such a thing?"

Harry quickly narrated everything he knew about Dobby— about his servitude to the Malfoys and how he had tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing the elf at the end of the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. By the end of it, Sirius was roaring in laughter.

"I'll—" he choked out between peals of laughter as he clapped his shoulder, "I'll make a Marauder out of you yet, kiddo."

Harry grinned.

"So where's this elf of yours?"

"Working at Hogwarts," Harry informed him. "Something about liking work more than freedom."

Sirius frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. House elves need a master, or they just perish. Though, I'd heard tales of elves going rogue, and even attacking their owners. One of my squib ancestors actually wrote a book on it."

Harry blinked at that. Twice.

"Have you read about the Brothers Grimm, by any chance?"

Nothing came to mind.

His godfather's gaunt face suddenly turned wistful. "My uncle Alphard read that to me when I was younger. The Brothers Grimm, my grand-uncles by blood, wrote about a creature called the brownie. Small, brown-nosed faery that went around in rags, helping people in exchange for food and honey and gruel, but would mercilessly attack if paid in human currency."

"Huh? That's weird," Harry commented.

"Not to them it isn't. For creatures like the fae, favors are the currency. Trying to pay them in gold would be blasphemous."

"Is it the same for house-elves?"

"Well," Sirius picked his nose, "the little buggers definitely have Fae origins. If you look at French myths, there are references to creatures called the Farfadets, though they're commonly mistaken to be Wood Elves, no thanks to that Tolkien fellow."

Harry's mind blanked for a moment, as he realized just how little he truly knew about the magical world. For someone whose greatest pleasure had been feeling his magic surge inside him, he had procrastinated a lot. Somewhere between taking classes and Ron and Quidditch and the shenanigans he'd always managed to get himself into, he had forgotten the truth of magic.

He had forgotten the sheer wonder.

He remembered feeling sad at having to bring in worse grades than Dudley in primary school, afraid that Vernon would take out his ire on him. And the mindset didn't change when he transferred to Hogwarts. Despite being there for years, he never truly internalized that it was magic he was studying now.

In his mind, it was homework.

Mundane. Dull. Uninteresting.

Just when and how did that happen?

"You know what? Maybe we'll try our luck at catching some bluebell faeries. Catch enough of those, and you can get yourself some good luck."

"Luck?" he echoed.

"Luck."

"...Right." Harry's expression probably showed just how much faith he had in the man's words. "And how exactly do you catch them?"

"With moonlight, of course," the Black replied, as if it was everyday knowledge. "Back when we were in school, me and Prongs would collect and store moonlight whenever we got the chance. How do you think we became animagi as fifth years without fucking ourselves over?"

"Because you had luck?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"How do you not know this? Moths and flame, moonlight and bluebell faeries, brownies and honey. Don't muggles read about all this in their stories?"

Harry gave him a half-shrug. Fantasy stories weren't exactly encouraged in the Dursley household, thanks to his unique heritage. "Somehow," he replied bemusedly, "I didn't think living with you would be like signing up for summer school."

Sirius's ears pinked at that. Azkaban had turned him rather pale, but a whole year of being on the lam outside of Britain had helped with that.

"So…" Harry trailed off. "About the whole cleaning thing?"

"Oh, right," Sirius replied. "This house has been a mess for a decade. Obviously Kreacher is useless, but I think cleaning would serve as an educational experience for you here."

Harry arched an eyebrow. This house— no, this mansion —was at least ten times larger than the Dursley house. A single bedroom in this place was easily twice the size of the master bedrooms back at Privet Drive.

And there were thirteen of them.

"Sirius, cleaning this will take ages."

"Bah, don't be ridiculous. A little each day and we'll be done in a week."

Harry hummed noncommittally as he began rolling up his sleeves. A house this big, in a week? There was no way they'd be able to get it done by then.

"What are you doing?"

At Sirius's protest, he stopped and looked back at him.

"...What?"

"Why are you folding your sleeves?"

"To clean. If I don't, my sleeves will get dirty."

His godfather looked at him like he had grown two heads.

"...What?" he repeated.

"Harry," the man slowly asked, as if speaking to a dim-witted toddler. "How exactly do you think we're going to clean this place?"

"With mops? Brooms?"

Sirius smacked himself in the face, mumbling various obscenities under his breath.

"What?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the man sighed. "No, I should've been clearer. By cleaning, I meant using your wand."

Now, it was Harry's turn to look at his godfather oddly.

"...What?"

It was funny how their positions had changed so quickly.

"Student," he pointed towards himself. "Summer."

"And?"

Really, was it so hard to understand? The Improper Use of Magic Office had made itself very clear the last time he'd suffered from Dobby's care. For some reason, he'd always pictured Mafalda Hopkirk— the one in charge of that office —to be some kind of large, cartoon tomcat, waiting outside the mousehole for the little mouse to stick its nose out so she could smash it flat with one big paw.

He'd know. He'd been that mouse.

"I use magic, I get expelled."

"Nonsense," his godfather snorted. "This is the House of Black. You can fight a literal war here and the Ministry wouldn't know a damn thing."

Surprisingly, that felt better. Harry was reminded of that cartoon cat show Dudley used to watch on television. The cat always ended up getting the short end of the stick when chasing after the mouse. Maybe the Ministry would too.

It took another moment for Sirius's words to actually sink in.

"Sirius," Harry replied with trepidation. "Does… does that mean I get to do magic while not at Hogwarts?"

The man looked at him like he was terminally stupid. "Harry, every person living in a magical community can use magic at any time of the year. As long as they don't perform it in front of a muggle, it's completely allowed."

That made sense.

Dobby's appearance or disappearance hadn't triggered any alarms. It was the hover charm, cast in the presence of the muggles that came to visit back then, that had registered with the Office and got him reprimanded.

…Wait.

"That can't be true," Harry wheezed at Sirius. "I spent an entire month with the Weasleys back in my second year. Mrs. Weasley didn't allow us to use any magic."

"Molly Weasley is an overprotective mother-hen, even by wizarding standards," Sirius jabbed. "Besides, Ottery St. Catchpole is a muggle-ish settlement. Having seven rowdy children to look after probably drove her around the bend and made her paranoid."

The more he thought about it all, the more it made sense. He'd seen Hagrid perform multiple spells in front of his relatives. Hell, he'd seen the Weasleys visit him in a flying car to Privet Drive, right in front of his aunt and uncle.

And those instances hadn't registered.

At all.

"So I can use magic this summer?"

"Yes."

"Freely?"

Sirius sighed. "Yes."

"With my wand? Without getting in trouble?"

"At the risk of sounding repetitive, yes."

Harry didn't wait a second longer. His wand came out with a sudden whoosh, jetting out of the brand new holster he'd worn up his right sleeve— a gift from Sirius. He had told him to constantly practice drawing it out. Between two wizards, a faster draw could mean the difference between winning and losing in a duel.

Sirius barked a laugh. "Hold your horses, there'll be a lot of wand-waving and spellcasting this summer. I'm fairly certain the upper floors have several boggarts and pixies hiding in the closets. With how long the house had been in this condition, there's probably loads of other magical pests taking shelter in here, too. Should be a good test."

Harry grinned. He'd gone over everything he'd learned thus far at Hogwarts to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament. And then twice over after learning Hagrid was throwing in his favorite creatures for the Third Task.

Frankly, he was surprised there were no dragons waiting for him in that maze.

Then again, he'd already faced dragons in the First Task. And Hagrid knew about enough deadly creatures to ensure some diversity.

Speaking of spellcasting…

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Snape gave me his copy of the DADA text. Told me to go through his collection of curses and counter-curses."

Sirius's face became pinched, like he suddenly bit into an unbearably sour lemon. "Did he now?"

"Yes."

"And why did he do that?"

"So that we could review them one by one during the next year. He told me that while I can escape Voldemort, nothing is stopping the other death eaters from coming after me."

His godfather stilled.

"Sirius?" Harry ventured. "...Is that a problem?"

"I'm trying to weigh the pros and cons of that offer, Harry. Snivellus was never the most skilled spellcaster, though he sure had several interesting spells in his repertoire. Invented half the spells himself, actually."

That made him raise his eyebrows. Snape? Invent spells?

His godfather must have read his confused expression. "Sounds unbelievable right?" He let out a melancholic grin. "Me, your father, Lupin, and the rat," his lips curled in distaste, "we sorta had a feud against Snape, Mulciber, and Avery. Kind of like the one you have with the Malfoy boy."

Harry hummed at that as he twisted his wrist a little, launching the wand back out of its holster. With razor-sharp reflexes from years of playing as Gryffindor seeker, Harry easily wrapped his fingers around the slim wooden frame before it could slip out of reach.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the display. Bringing his own wand out, he summoned two butterbeer cans that came zooming in from somewhere. Harry deftly caught one with his other hand.

"Good catch!" the man praised. "Just like your dad."

Harry flushed, the complement somehow seeming odd to his ears. All his time at Hogwarts, he'd heard the same line over and over from Snape, usually in an insulting context. The description had served to make a mockery out of himself, point out his incompetence, and his penchant for delinquency. Every time Snape had uttered those words, he had felt anger surge within him.

And now, those very same words made him grin.

The fact that Sirius had exchanged the formal 'father' for an informal 'dad' helped too.

"So, Snape," Sirius replied, a little awkwardly. "The offer has its merits, but I'd rather train you myself. I was a senior Hit-Wizard before I was sent to Azkaban. I think I've got a few things under my belt worth teaching."

Harry rolled his eyes. He distinctly remembered Madam Bones mentioning how Sirius Black was perfectly capable of killing thirteen people with a single curse. Funnily enough, his godfather's own competency had acted against him during the accusation.

"Plus we're in my House now. Literally and figuratively. Dark Arts are kind of the one thing this family can boast of. Well, that and psionics— more commonly known as the mind arts. It's a bit of a misnomer, since not everything in psionics has to do with the mind, per se—"

Harry coughed.

"Uh, sorry," Sirius looked embarrassed, "I got a bit carried away."

"You know, you kind of sound like Hermione."

Sirius sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I blame Lily. She made me sit down and mug for an entire month during my NEWTs. She and James took notes for me while I was away gallivanting as a Hit-Wizard." He smiled fondly. "I'd have flunked my exams otherwise."

For some reason, Harry was certain the man was exaggerating.

"But anyways," Sirius clapped, "enough reminiscing about the past. Let's talk about the future. Ideally, I'd want to leave all of this behind, buy a penthouse in the Bahamas, and spend the entire summer there with you."

"What?!" Harry asked incredulously. "What'd I do there?"

"Have fun, what else?" Sirius asked, looking at him with a mixture of pity and incredulity. "You, my godson have practically been walking on eggshells your whole life. You need to learn how to strut."

Right. And once he did that, he could buy himself a large green bowler hat and become Cornelius Fudge.

"I know a place where they have the best veela massage parlors, plus nice cabins by the seashore. As soon as we're done with this stupid trial of yours, we'll leave. And don't worry, we'll take separate rooms. Bro Code and all that."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It could be fun. Though, I'd advise you not to bring your girlfriend along. Wink wink."

"Did you seriously just say 'wink wink'? And I don't have a girlfriend!"

"Oh," Sirius looked a little dumbfounded. "Well, what about Hermione?"

"She's a friend," Harry immediately went on the defensive. "That's all there is."

"Well, all the better I suppose," he mused in a matter-of-fact tone. "Hermione seems pretty straight-laced. She'd have probably thrown a tantrum if you were dating and still went to a Veela parlor."

"She's not," Harry emphasized, "my girlfriend."

"Isn't that awesome? You're single and ready to mingle. Now enough chit-chat. Let's find you a room here, there's got to be someplace that's not covered in grime."

Harry just stared as Sirius strode ahead, humming a Weird Sisters tune to himself as he climbed the stairs.

Slowly, he sighed. "When in Rome..." he muttered, before quickly running after his godfather.