To the Masses: This is my third attempt tying this. Not writing it, typing it. I write it at school so I don't get caught staring blankly at the powerpoint with a little drool here and there.

No actual people were harmed in the making of this fic. I did, however, run out of paper twice and witness the end of three pens. Alright then, let's see how well this fic is received.

Soundtrack: Take It Off (Ke-dollar sign-ha), Young (Kenny Chesney), and Let's Kill Tonight (Panic at the Disco)

Warnings: AU and OOC (All fanfics are), Slash, may mention child abuse, vandalism, confusion, and more.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Harry Potter. I just play with them.


Ante-Countenance

The Black-Lupin's arrived in front of the big house at 1427 West Eureka Street late, on a stormy day. Children peeked out of the windows to watch as they unpacked their old Audi. Mothers, those who weren't working, rushed their kids away because they weren't going to be that nosey neighbor. It was a curious sight though, and some folks couldn't help but pause and observe.

It was a man that slowly unfolded himself from the behind the drivers seat and stared up at the old American foursquare house. He was tall, with broad shoulders to cling to and narrow hips to…no, those were bad thoughts. He had sandy brown hair and a thin line of mustache, viewable from a distance, that could make things interesting. His casual clothes were wrinkled slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up. There was none of that sagging jeans or greasy shirt business. There may have also been something unusual about his face, but it was too dank and dark to see just what it was.

A small boy had squirreled out of the car quickly afterwards, and bounced in place excitedly. He was thin, and any curves or sharp angles that existed were hidden underneath the normal teenage garb. Dark pants that clung a little too tightly and threatened to expose his ankles, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. His black hair hung limp in stubborn curls and neighbors watched (while pretending not to) as he waited by the car and the man with the lighter hair quickly made his way to the house first.

That was good thinking, because their neighborhood wasn't the safest. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't the best either and it had it's reputation. It also meant the brown-haired man had a protective instinct, and onlookers realized why, when he returned to unload and unfold a wheelchair from the cars small trunk. Some residents recognize it as a hospital issue wheelchair. It was very minimal, with a leathery plastic seat and back, and a frame of stainless steel. So either they didn't need it for long or they didn't feel they needed better. Some of the nosier neighbors watched as the boy held the back of the chair and the man with the brown hair transferred his friend (lover, husband, brother?)

The man in the wheelchair was likely the boys father. They had the same pale skin and inky hair. He appeared to be clean shaven, his wild mane of hair trailed over his shoulders and quickly feel limp and plastered to his scalp in the drizzle. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing lines of blank in in foreign patterns. So maybe they would fit right in.

Just as soon as the man was released he was in motion, pushing his chair to the mailbox, to the curb, up and down the sidewalk, observing everything as the boy and the brown-haired man maneuvered three boxy suitcases from where they'd been shoved. He was like a toddler, just running around. The boy was also just as mobile, but the other man directed him to help with their scant belongings. Perhaps the moving truck would arrive later, because that couldn't be everything they owned.

Eventually the newcomers made it into the house with their outdated luggage and their childish invalid. There was no yelling, no fussing, but a lot of energy and a careless disregard for the climate. Mothers went back to their own business, sometimes dragging their children, and everything went back to the way it was only ten minutes prior. The only difference was there was a new family at old 1427.

Chapter One

"Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential." – Winston Churchill

"Must you get into everything?" Remus asked, amusement and all coated his tone. He already knew the answer was yes, because Sirius Black had always been an overgrown child, so it was more of a warning.

Curse that American Slang for Dummies book they'd purchased on the way form Salem, because after a moment of thought Sirius said "Your mother" rather cheerfully.

Harry giggled form the kitchen. It was alright though, because eventually they were going to figure out what embarrassed him and then it wouldn't be funny anymore (so far their intel said he was a fortress of impenetrable calm or teen angst, but there was still hope. Thank you Weasley's and Granger).

"My mother adored you, but she would just as soon have smacked you with a spoon if you didn't stop that immediately," Remus pressured on. Sirius did stop his inspection of Remus' suitcase, except they didn't own any spoons, he reminded himself, and continued on his search for his friends stash of dirty magazines. There had to be some, somewhere.

Harry returned from his grand inspection of the large kitchen, with it's plywood cabinets and too-small appliances, but didn't say anything about Sirius' invasion of privacy. He had nothing to hide, and the only thing Sirius gleamed from past explorations were that his kid seriously needed to go shopping. Half of his clothes had other peoples names on the tags (or no tags at all) so either Harry had been stealing clothes from all over Hogwarts or he was living on hand-me-downs.

Remus was hunched in front of the tiny fireplace, probably planning to enlarge it to the wizarding standards of four feet by five. His wand was out and he was casting cleaning charms up the chimney and collecting the old ash to transfigure it back into wooden logs. They wouldn't burn a well, but something was better than the nothing they were working with. He had it all figured out, so Harry turned his attention else ware.

The wallpaper was old and outdated, he noticed first, because it was something his aunt would have liked. However, Petunia would have absolutely hated the stains of color that marred the image in shapes of vulgarity and -was that supposed to be a dinosaur? Someone was also a fan of the Titans and boobs. If kids were breaking in to party and graffiti the place they were going to have to change out the locks and do it soon.

"I say we keep that one," Sirius spoke form his chair, nodding to the poorly drawn silhouette of a rather busty broad while he unfolded another one of Remus' nightshirts.

"No," Remus responded in the same moment he cast a floo-checking charm to make sure the smoke could escape. A moment after that he finally urged the fake timber to ignite, and heat began to emanate from the fireplace.

Sirius applauded him, and left the suitcase open to move closer to the fire. Remus sat back next to his friend and Harry joined them a moment later, one of Remus' books in hand. They would need to go out and purchase some furniture the next day. However, for the moment the sat next to the hearth and let the heat dry their damp clothes.

"We should paint first," Harry suggested, knowing Sirius would make a mess and Remus would just stress about it. They could do that, then sand and stain the old floors before they began moving things in. They were all still able enough to sleep on the floor of transfigure beds for a few days. Magic'd furniture wasn't all that comfortable, but they were all used to sleeping in less than ideal conditions.

Sirius would probably benefit greatly from a few nights on a hard surface. Too many years in prison conditioned him to sleep better on a stone floor than in a down mattress. Harry had the same issues when he'd first started Hogwarts. Even after years of the wonderful beds of Gryffindor Tower his body still remembered how to curl to cushion himself on a flat bedroll. Remus still preferred ratty old mattresses in cheap motels, but in his defense that was still batter than his friend and kid.

They would be fine on the floor, basically. None of them wanted to articulate why, though.

"I still think we should keep the lady," Sirius argued.

Remus responded with a negative grunt. They were probably going to make a thing out of it, so Harry intervened.

"I could make a better one," he offered. When Sirius and Remus turned to look at him, he looked down at his hands and almost began to stutter a careful retraction.

"In that case, can wee keep that dragon looking thing, too?" Sirius asked, "you could make an entire mural out of it, and maybe paint up some Greek titans. Oh, and a hippogriff maybe." He was probably way too exited about it.

Remus didn't interrupt his friend, he just reached over and pulled Harry into a hug. He'd been doing that often since the adoption a month ago. Every time Harry became nervous or questioned how he should act around two dads rather than a godfather and an ex-professor Remus would pull him into his side and rub his knuckles across Harry's temple or forehead.

Sirius told him once that it was because he was a werewolf that he felt compelled to rub his scent on his pup. He said Remus used to do it all the time when he was a baby, and to the other Marauders when they were kids. He probably didn't even realize he did it. So when Remus pulled Harry into his side and rubbed his knuckles across his temple Harry finally reached up and returned the gesture. Yay, for family and all that.

It was Remus who had the final say in what they did, because he was the reasonable one. Even though it was Sirius' family gold that bought them the house, paid for the rushed adoption, and made it entirely possible despite the fact that Sirius and Remus weren't together as lovers. What mattered was that they were together to protect and raise Harry. It also helped that Dumbledore pushed for the American's to give Sirius sanctuary, with memories he submitted as evidence, and he advocated that the remaining Marauders could and should have custody of Harry. It was also a great help that Dumbledore saved Sirius to begin with, by pulling him back out of the veil that seriously fucked up his nether regions. So really, it was Remus who gave the final 'okay' for a mural across the front room.

Then the moment of girly feelings was over and Harry cracked open the book he'd barrowed. It was some modern mystery Remus purchased at hospital in Salem, out of sheer desperation and despite his dislike for cheap paperbacks.

Harry had asked and received a sketchbook, and that was where they'd bought that American slang manual that Sirius had been trying out (damn him). He kept insisting that it was stuff they'd need to know and Harry kept drowning him out to doodle or sleep.

That was a while ago, and it had past, Harry reminded himself. They'd moved on to Lima, Ohio -the furthest they could get from magical anything in the entire United States. Which was stupid really, because their presence altered that balance and noticeable was what they were trying not to be.

Sirius had picked the location while he as held up in the hospital, getting his legs reattached and the life put back in him. Remus and Harry were only a couple of days behind him, packing up their meager belongings and devising false trails for the Minister to follow. Sirius had thrown a dart at a map and that was that. He purchased a big, rundown house in a questionable district, because 'Eureka' was an amusing name for a street, before Remus could stop him, but they were going to make the best of things.

"We should get a telly," Sirius said out of the blue.

Harry looked up from his book, shooting Sirius a look which read 'how do you know about those?' Remus fell back against the floor and kicked off his shoes. It had been along day, and he said reasonably "As we discovered after Hogwarts, and you were living on your own in London, they don't last long in any spell casting areas."

"Oh yeah," Sirius said. He'd forgotten of course, which meant it must have been one of his fond memories. Being exposed to dementors buried his happy moments, and it took a little prompting to get the hamsters running again. "It started giving birth to little humanoid shaped bits, and they thought James was their mum."

Harry actually hadn't known electronics could do that, but it didn't really make a difference. H'd never been allowed to watch it at his aunts house, and obviously there wasn't any television at Hogwarts. Every once in a while students would get letters from home, updating them on their favorite program. Harry's favorite was Doctor Who, which Hermione's parents narrated for her weekly. Ron was rather fond of Dean Thomas' car programs, after he figured out the lingo and studied up a bit. They all crowded around the fire for Being Human when a third year named Emily got her post, because her mum was a very good writer. Yeah, they were only a little nerdy.

Primarily, it was the shipments of fiction that kept the students entertained. Hermione had a copy of Wicked that passed through every house and Susan Bones copy of Night (by Elie Wiesel) went missing for three months when the Slytherins got a hold of it (apparently Theodore Nott had threatened them all into reading it out of Jewish pride).

Between the three of them their house was going to fill with books in no time. "when we get everything done," Harry said, also falling back and curling into his adoptive fathers side with his nose still in the book, "can we get some good literature?"

"Hell yes," Sirius answered instantly. They were going to have to hid that manual from him, Harry just knew it. "On me, so long as you pick up Choderlos De Laclos." He didn't say 'Dangerous Liaisons' because he didn't like to admit he read scandalous French romance, but no one called him on it.

At leas they were motivated to get things done. Between Remus' werewolf stamina, Sirius' constant movement, and Harry's obsessive ways they would get done in no time.

Except none of them knew were the hardware store was. They sniffed the library out in record time, and Remus and Sirius charmed their way through the staff while Harry wondered the aisles. Then they had nothing to haul their larger materials back to the house, so Sirius bought a used truck from a no-nonsense looking garage owner. Which meant they had to go get it registered, and that took even more time. When they finally made it back to the hardware store Harry kept wondering off and Remus and Sirius would panic ever time. First they found him in the paints, then by the light fixtures, and eventually they found him just staring at the toilet displays. It took a lot of trail and error but Sirius and Remus figured out how to divide their attention so that one of them always had an eye on their kid, and wondering was kept to a minimum. Eventually, they managed to get out of the store with what they needed for the day, and Sirius only forgot how to use is debit card but Harry saved him quickly enough.

The next few days were spent knocking out a wall, because they had no need for a formal dining room anyway. They meant to do all the work by hand, but during that project magic became necessary when they agreed on building an arch where the wall used to be but none of them knew how to manage that. Then again when they were pealing wallpaper, because that job was just flat out annoying and Sirius could only reach the bottom four feet. They managed pretty well, and then the paint went up. Harry fully expected neighbors to start popping in just to 'see how they were doing' with baked goods and fake smiles. It wasn't Privat Drive though, and people minded their own business even after noisy display with the electric saw.

"Go nuts," Sirius authorized later, when they found their way to the craft store to buy those paints Harry would need to paint Sirius' trippy, library mural. "And don't come find us until your basket is full." Remus nudged him forward after a moment when all Harry did was look confused, and they didn't see him again for an hour.

When Harry tracked his father's down they were in the small section dedicated to faux-antique (posturing bullshit) and were ridiculing the selection of key themed wall hooks. Sirius took one took at him and smiled. "Good," he said, "now go put the cheap shit back and get that high quality stuff you were probably staring at for twenty minutes." Harry instantly blushed.

That only took him five minutes, and he was going to have to learn how to drive quickly because they were certain there were going to be a few more trips before their house was finished. At least they finally knew what to get him for this birthday, though.

So systematically they would remove ugly wallpaper and Harry would be just a room behind them. First he worked on the mural that Sirius was so excited about. Rembrandt hues and careful strokes left behind a fatally attractive woman that Harry called 'Mnemosyne' after a Greek Titan, a dinosaur, Hyperion, and Cronus all cohabitating with a flock of hippogriffs. The rest of the library was done in deep reds and dark stained woods. With his smallest brush, Harry added little golden details. A lion, barely half an inch tall, along a shelf, a snake along some molding, a bow truckle in the corner, until little gold figures were hidden throughout the entire room. Then in the kitchen, when the grout had dried, he invaded with a pallet of muted oranges, greens, and yellows to bring some color against the brown brick and stucco. When he finished that project, after only a few days, he was released on his own room.

While he locked himself away with his paints and brushes Remus and Sirius argued their way to decisions about other things. In the end Sirius' got most of his way, because Remus wanted boring muted colors. So the foyer was painted a plumb that segued into the hall and stairway along with vertical stripes of lilac. Remus got his wish of brown in his own bedroom and Sirius stuck with grey and silver. The guest room was painted the most obnoxious shades of red and gold they could find, because whatever company they did have probably wasn't welcome anyway. The final room in their old house was converted into an chocolate shaded office, for whenever Remus and Sirius found jobs and Harry had school work. Harry wondered how a computer would function in their house, but it wasn't likely they'd get one. Perhaps a typewriter.

Harry spent a lot of time thinking of what he wanted for a room that was entirely his own. He could change it however he wanted, decorate it however he saw fit, pick out his own furniture. Best of all, there were no locks and a distinct absence of a food-flap. So he imagined the most peaceful place he could think of and surrounded himself with it.

Finally, finally they could fill the house. Remus and Harry hadn't thought to shrink any furniture while they were packing their lives into small suitcases. They wouldn't want anything from the old Black house regardless, Sirius had pointed out, which was true. Harry couldn't imagine what their new house would be like if they'd brought Sirius' flesh eating love seat or finger biting china cabinet. However, that meant yard sales, thrift stores, and auctions because Sirius hated the modern, factory made, revivalist bullshit. That's exactly what he told a borderline sociopath, assistant manager at Sheets N' Things when she asked if there was anything she could do to get them out of her store. Which was fine, because they all wanted books instead.

So at the end of the first day of shopping, a week after they moved in, they a mix of new books, rare finds from the antique shops, and what might have amounted to a quarter of half-price books. Also, a dinning room table, four mattresses, and all of the things required to make coffee.

Their place was steadily becoming a chaotic and colorful mix of the old grandeur they knew from the Wizarding world and a cave of literature nerds. Satisfied with a job well done, they lit the fire (in their remodeled, four by five fireplace) and lounged around the hearth with books and coffee.

Harry fell asleep with is nose between the Man in the Iron mask, dreaming of sword fights that weren't just memories and distant tragedies.

He was engaged in a heated fencing match when banging startled him out of his sleep. Awake, he realized that Remus must have carried him to bed, and the book he was reading rested on the floor beside his lonely mattress. It was a heavy handed racket, he thought, someone was taking great pains to keep the noise as minimal as possible.

He rolled off of the mattress and lay flat against the floor. Instincts were fueling his swift and graceful movements to the window that faced the street. The porch's roof was right beneath the frame, and it rattled against the dry wall as someone hammered against it.

Carefully, Harry peered over the frame and observed. Someone was on the porch's room, almost directly in front of him. The street lights illuminated a fit bloke in a muscle shirt and sweat pants hunched bellow a patio chair Sirius won at an auction. After shuffling to the side he noticed the table was already up there and he was uncomfortable with the knowledge he'd slept tough part of the vandalism.

Still silently, Harry stuck close to the floor and left his bedroom for Remus'. He didn't even bother turning any of the lights on, and was careful when opening and closing the doors.

Sirius had already levitated himself up the stairs and he and Remus were carefully peering around the frame of his window, that also overlooked the porch. Harry said nothing as he made his way over to them and draped himself over Sirius' lap to watch with them. The second and third chairs were already arranged carefully and presumably nailed down.

After a moment Remus tapped them both for their attention. He used a mix of simple gestures and Marauder signs to communicate three things. First, that he and Sirius were going down stairs, then he was going to sneak out and wait at the bottom of the escape route. In two minutes Harry was to stick his head out of the window and that would probably trigger a flight response, but Remus would be waiting.

As far as plans went it was simple and reliable. So they dispersed and Harry snuck back into his own room, which was closest to their vandal. He gave his fathers time to get downstairs. Remus would probably take the side door and stick close to the house until he reached a ladder. When he reached the bottom of his count he easily slid the window open. He'd taken the time to make sure all of the parts were well greased and noiseless in case he wanted to sneak out, of course.

Predictably, the bloke was supposed to grab his tools and immediately take off, but maybe he was a little slow. Instead, the mohawk'd juvenile turned and blinked, as if what he was doing wasn't a crime.

"Hullo," Harry offered. He wasn't' sure if he was supposed to threaten him until he got with the program and tried to flee or what.

"What up, dude?" the vandal replied, he smiled in a charming way and didn't turn away.

"I'm not sure what that means," Harry replied honestly. Perhaps Sirius would have an idea.

"Are you going to tell your parents about this?" He asked without any signs of nervousness, but it was as if he were waiting for some explosion of anger.

"No," and that was the truth, because his parents had already figured it out for themselves. "Should I?" he asked, because he as genuinely interested in what the vandal would say. So far he hadn't followed the pattern.

The vandal thought about it for a moment, glancing between Harry and the window to Remus' room. "Give me a second to finish up before you start hollering. Okay?" Harry just nodded and rested against the window frame to watch. "Awesome," he cheered and went back to carefully hammering the patio furniture to the roof, using a pillow the muffle the sound.

It took only a minute, and he was done. He collected his things and gave a quick 'thanks' before he made his way to the ladder. Harry watched until the mohawk sank bellow the roofline before he stood and made his way to the kitchen without bothering to mask the sound of his footsteps or staying close to the shadows. When he reached the bottom and turned directly into the kitchen Sirius had already put the coffee on and pulled out the required amount of cups. They didn't have to wait long until Remus burst through the front of the door with the vandal by the back of his shirt.

He gave Harry a betrayed look when he caught sight of the smaller boy just standing there. Clearly he thought Harry had told on him, which wasn't the case at all. Harry simply looked away and collected his cup, adding a massive amount of sugar before holding it out for Sirius to fill. He moved out of the kitchen without looking at anyone and into the library, to rekindle the fire. From the kitchen he heard Sirius ask, like a proper host "how do you take your coffee?"

"Uh, two sugars and some cream," the vandal replied, the sound of a new voice reverberated though Harry's skull until it was committed to memory. Nothing else was said while Sirius fixed Remus a mug and they all settled down in the library. Remus had to nudge the vandal behind the knees for him to understand that he was to sit on the floor with them, Sirius was obviously the exception until his nether regions healed up.

Remus took a drink of his coffee and got comfortable before he began. "Your lookout, that large boy, took off as soon as he caught sight of me coming around the corner," he confessed.

"Fucking Shane," the vandal cursed, looking deeply into his coffee mug. He didn't even try to deny that anyone else was involved, Harry noticed, so he and that Shane fellow probably weren't close.

"Yes, well. Pick a better lookout next time, preferably someone you have closer tries with and would actually care if something happened to you," Sirius advised, "someone who can think ahead, and have some lies prepared. If they're new and still have some sort of moral compass teach them a code with lights or inconspicuous sounds."

"Lights are easier," Harry butted in. He had some experience with pranks, he was a Marauders child. "You have to be conditioned to notice the sounds and that takes time, and light can travel a further distance. I would have placed one person at the end of the street with a pair of binoculars and had someone watching the side door from the roof next door."

Harry watched as the vandal looked up and at him in confusion, wondering why Harry was offering advice after he'd already been caught. Harry couldn't help but think the confusion was adorable, how he founded with his entire face but his brown eyes betrayed his lack of understanding. It was a solid caveman expression.

"There's also the issue of only having one escape route," Remus continued down his list of all things wrong with that prank. "You had a single ladder. In this situation there wasn't a lot of room for a secondary, but Harry probably would have let you through his room and right out the front door if you asked." He didn't mention that Harry also would have followed him home, at a covert distance, for retribution at a later date. Harry didn't articulate that and just nodded. "Take advantage of unexpected allies."

"You seemed to know what you were doing, too. Repeat pranks are always harder to get away with," Sirius lectured, "if you get caught once, any follow-ups can be traced back to you. Catching shit for things you haven't even done is worse than getting caught for a proper prank you actually did."

The vandal was still unsure, but he was lapping up all of the information Sirius and Remus were giving him. He looked to them like they were the guest lecturers he'd been waiting for his entire student career, like he was seeing the light. "So," he began unsure, and Harry watched as he glanced around and spoke before he was entirely positive he wanted to ask. "I'm not in trouble?"

"Of course you are," Remus replied, "a botched prank is very offensive." To a Marauder it probably was, considering they spent their entire childhood perfecting the art, and even utilized their methods during the first rising of Voldemort.

"I mean, are you going to call the cops?" the vandal clarified, as if anything else was no big deal. If he inquired about the authorities, Harry brainstormed, it could mean he already had a record and further damaging it was truly hazardous. Remus and Sirius frowned in similar thoughts.

"No," Remus answered honestly, "but you are going to have to make up for it."

"You want me to take it down?" the vandal continued to inquire. He was confused by their threat for a punishment, but all of the regular avenues were being extinguished.

Sirius and Remus had been trading Marauder signs the entire time, Harry realized as Sirius tapped his ring finger against his thumb in morse code. They hadn't taught that to Harry, probably holding out as the last line they had to communicate privately. "What you're going to do to make it up to us," Sirius said solemnly, "is take Harry shopping for school clothes and furniture."

"You serious?" the young man asked, looking between Remus and Sirius like they had to be joking. Unfortunately, Harry thought, that vandal didn't know his dads.

"No, I'm Sirius," Harry's dad said, holding out his hand, "Sirius Black." The vandal stretched out a hand to shake Sirius' while he worked out the difference between Sirius and Serious.

"Remus Lupin," the only reasonable adult claimed, nodding to the young man before taking another deep drink of his coffee. "If your parents say it's alright, you can stay in our guest room and start first thing."

"Call me Puck and I don't got a dad," the kid confessed, "and ma's got an eighteen-hour shift at the clinic tonight, so it's just me and my sis is at summer camp." Remus and Sirius just looked like that was the saddest news they'd received all day.

"Right then, to bed with you then," Remus said, and the kid looked like he would do just that. Then Sirius let out a frustrated huff, like he was a toddler and he just wasn't tired. He set his mug on the floor and bit out a playfully resentful 'fine' and rolled himself to his room. Remus just shook his head and picked up his friends mug, setting them both in the kitchen sink before making his way to upstairs.

Harry stuck around a little longer, finishing off his own mug while staring the Puck character down. There was something a little bitter about the boy, something he could identify with. He knew first hand that the absence of parental figures was hard. Not while it was all going on, but once Molly Weasley settled into being his mother he realized how hard it was to do everything solo. He was sure that Puck hadn't realized how hard life was, yet. There, he'd gone and ruined a perfectly prank-ful night with sad thoughts.

"I'm Harry," he said carefully. Too nice and the vandal would think of it as sympathy, too mean and he'd assume Harry was pissed off. "Let me show you to your room," the nearly disgustingly Gryffindor room, he thought as he stood up and politely offered a hand.

"Sure," Puck said, and took his outstretched hand.


To Those Who Just Read:

Just little things to know, in case you were curious. I'm sure I'll get around to writing it all out eventually, but…the car the Black-Lupin's drive is a 1961 DKW Junior. According to google it's an Audi, and I almost called out of the country just to figure out how much it costs. I think the person who pays my phone bill wouldn't like that very much though. I'm also not sure whether or not using a pillow would muffle a hammering sound, but feel free to test that and get back to me. Legally. Test it…legally.

I think I spent half the time it took to write this chapter just staring down at my own boobs.

The end might be a little rushed. Hmmm…maybe, but it'll have to wait until later for me to reexamine.

If you're going to review, please do so in complete sentences.

I sure hope this story works out well.

The Black-Lupin's arrived in front of the big house at 1427 West Eureka Street late, on a stormy day. Children peeked out of the windows to watch as they unpacked their old Audi. Mothers, those who weren't working, rushed their kids away because they weren't going to be that nosey neighbor. It was a curious sight though, and some folks couldn't help but pause and observe.

It was a man that slowly unfolded himself from the behind the drivers seat and stared up at the old American foursquare house. He was tall, with broad shoulders to cling to and narrow hips to…no, those were bad thoughts. He had sandy brown hair and a thin line of mustache, viewable from a distance, that could make things interesting. His casual clothes were wrinkled slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up. There was none of that sagging jeans or greasy shirt business. There may have also been something unusual about his face, but it was too dank and dark to see just what it was.

A small boy had squirreled out of the car quickly afterwards, and bounced in place excitedly. He was thin, and any curves or sharp angles that existed were hidden underneath the normal teenage garb. Dark pants that clung a little too tightly and threatened to expose his ankles, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. His black hair hung limp in stubborn curls and neighbors watched (while pretending not to) as he waited by the car and the man with the lighter hair quickly made his way to the house first.

That was good thinking, because their neighborhood wasn't the safest. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't the best either and it had it's reputation. It also meant the brown-haired man had a protective instinct, and onlookers realized why, when he returned to unload and unfold a wheelchair from the cars small trunk. Some residents recognize it as a hospital issue wheelchair. It was very minimal, with a leathery plastic seat and back, and a frame of stainless steel. So either they didn't need it for long or they didn't feel they needed better. Some of the nosier neighbors watched as the boy held the back of the chair and the man with the brown hair transferred his friend (lover, husband, brother?)

The man in the wheelchair was likely the boys father. They had the same pale skin and inky hair. He appeared to be clean shaven, his wild mane of hair trailed over his shoulders and quickly feel limp and plastered to his scalp in the drizzle. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing lines of blank in in foreign patterns. So maybe they would fit right in.

Just as soon as the man was released he was in motion, pushing his chair to the mailbox, to the curb, up and down the sidewalk, observing everything as the boy and the brown-haired man maneuvered three boxy suitcases from where they'd been shoved. He was like a toddler, just running around. The boy was also just as mobile, but the other man directed him to help with their scant belongings. Perhaps the moving truck would arrive later, because that couldn't be everything they owned.

Eventually the newcomers made it into the house with their outdated luggage and their childish invalid. There was no yelling, no fussing, but a lot of energy and a careless disregard for the climate. Mothers went back to their own business, sometimes dragging their children, and everything went back to the way it was only ten minutes prior. The only difference was there was a new family at old 1427.