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The last real job Sirius has ever had was when he worked for the Auror department with James over ten years ago. He had been proud that he was the first Black to actually get a job, rather than mooch over whatever interests his family’s estates accrued over their respective terms. However, after his freedom and reputation had been restored squeaky clean, he found himself unable to sit still.
Not much has changed, but the isolation he had lived in for over fifteen years had taken a toll on his mental health and the anxiety that he refused to outwardly acknowledge.
But when he told Harry and Hermione one morning over breakfast about his new conjecture—the duo nearly fell off their chair in shock.
“A job?” Harry asks in shock and turns to look at his toast with wide eyes.
“Yes, pup,” Sirius replies dryly.
“Like,” Hermione scratches the back of her head in confusion, “Like a real one? With people, you have to listen to and take orders from?”
Sirius looks at her flatly and curls his fingers until his nails bite into the soft, fleshy part of his palms. He bites the inside of his cheek and allows the brief flash of pain to sharpen his rationality. He narrows his eyes and right before he can open his mouth to say something snippy—Hermione cuts him off.
“What will you be doing?” she asks without letting him process the previous questions. She twiddles with the butter knife nervously, “You’re not going back to being an Auror, are you? You need a break, Sirius! We’ve chased enough Dark Wizards for a few lifetimes—I think you of all people, deserve, a break and—”
Sirius slowly removes her death grip on the butter knife and puts the dull weapon on the table, before taking her hand in his—soothing her agitation with slow, gentle strokes. “Poppet, I’m just going to help out at Ollivanders.”
It never occurred to him that Hermione was just worried about him. It has been a long time since anyone has ever really cared about his well-being, and at times he has to remind himself that he has a family. Small and made up of different people, but it’s still his.
“Wand-making?” Harry perks up at that and eyes his godfather’s hand on his best friends with a raised brow - he does not move - and grabs the bottle of jam from the side of the table.
“Not really,” he explains, his thumb running over the line of her knuckles. “It’s more of a venture—Ollivander is expanding and well, I’ll be overseeing the finances and management while he makes wands.”
“You’ll be inside the shop?” Hermione asks after a moment and her brows smoothen out at the thought.
“Yes,” Sirius shrugs and decides to add, “At most I’ll be gone for six hours.”
“Okay,” she exhales the stress of her shoulders and glances at Harry for a moment before squeezing the scruffy animagus’s hand, “As long as you’ll be home for dinner.”
“As if I’d miss one of your dinners, poppet,” he scoffs and presses a kiss to the top of her head before finding himself upstairs.
.
Ollivanders’ shop had been quite literally squashed during the battle and even from before. Instead of a cramped little shop in the corner of Diagon Alley, Sirius had used a rather advanced form of magic - along with Hermione’s arithmancy equations - to expand the shop at least magically until it resembled the size of his Gringotts vault. Which is a fraction of the sizing of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but then again it’s one of his vaults.
By extending the back wall of the shop, the wands that Ollivander had hidden - wherever - were now put on display, that way it was easier for new Hogwarts students - which were at least sixty percent of Ollivanders’ sales - and other wizards who lost or broke their wand during the war. A lot of innovation is needed to make the shop much more functional.
Unfortunately, years of isolation gave Sirius plenty of time to be creative.
After punching in the numbers for the new shipment of vinewood and dragonstrings that Charlie was sending at a fairly discounted price, Sirius cleared out of his office and walked down Diagon Alley wanting to use the floo at The Leaky to reach Grimmauld. However, on his way down the fairly new cobblestone pathway of Apple St, Sirius had felt something odd, something strange in the atmosphere change. It’s not...an uncomfortable feeling, not akin to the ones that he would usually get when he was an Auror or fighting dark wizards.
It was the sensation, as if he’s being watched.
He makes the turn at the junction where Gemma’s Gelato and the Twin’s shop meet. That’s when he pulls out his wand and twists until he’s in a defensive position. He snarks, “Alright, who’s—”
In front of him stood a small, white dog. He barely reaches the height of his ankles and he wags his tail happily as he stares at the animagus with wide-innocent eyes.
Sirius stares at the dog and opens his mouth, “How long have you been following me?”
The dog barks and trots over to the Black heir. He nuzzles his ankles and purrs when he puts his hand on the back of the shiny, white coat. Sirius melts a little when the dog licks his wrist and picks him up until his head rests against his sternum. The animagus responds in turn, growling in the middle of his chest, and the little pup wiggles against him in response.
“Look at those curls,” he coos and rubs his behind his ears. The mess of curls all over the pup reminded him of Hermione, wild and untamable, but so soft to the touch. The pup whines and then looks at him with those wide, dark eyes and he curses softly.
.
“How do you feel about spontaneous adoption?” Sirius blurts out after Hermione settles into the kitchen with a cup of tea.
Hermione quirks a brow at the question, Harry would be home late now that he and Ginny were officially dating, and says, “Well, it depends—who did you adopt?”
He pulls out a small dog from behind his back and she immediately jumps to her feet.
“Sirius, he’s precious,” Hermione coos, one finger scratching the back of his ear and the tiny dog rubs his cheek against hers, “Where’d you find him?”
“He found me,” he admits and chuckles when the dog licks her nose, “He had no name or collar on him, and I couldn’t leave him there, poppet—there were way too many people.”
“Well, he’s a her,” Hermione corrects and presses a kiss to her muzzle, “A familiar, then? Did you always want to be a white dog, Snuffles?”
Sirius shoots her a dry look and the dog barks awaiting an answer, “She has curls like yours, what do you want to name her?”
She blinks at the unexpected comment and looks up at him with those wide, whiskey-colored eyes of his and he smiles at her knowingly. She says, “But she’s your familiar.”
“Mummy doesn’t want to name you,” Sirius soothes the dog as she whines pitifully, “It’s okay little one.”
Hermione bristles, cheeks flushed from embarrassment or anger—he can’t really tell, and then suddenly, she smiles sweetly. Her lips, dripping with sugar and Sirius has enough sense to be wary of that smile.
.
“Don’t look at your daddy, Siria, he’s just grumpy when he doesn’t get his spot of tea,” Hermione cuddles the puppy close and ignores Sirius’s playful glare.
“Siria,” Sirius says the name with ire, even though the pup looks over at him innocently, “Really?”
“I thought it was pretty,” Hermione replies defensively.
“Well, of course, she’s named after me.”
“So, then what’s the problem?”
Sirius opens his mouth and then shuts it when he realizes that he walked directly into a trap. The amusement lighting through firewhiskey eyes is enough for him to know that she knows that he did it too. Siria whines when the room goes quiet and demands more head-scratches from Hermione, before trotting over to lay at Sirius’s feet.
“She’s a daddy’s girl,” Hermione scowls and crawls over until the pup puts her head in her lap, sprawling over Sirius’s feet.
Crookshanks meows in distaste from the corner.
“I think Crooks is jealous,” Sirius teases and runs his fingers through her hair.
“Crooks is going to have to share his mum,” she sniffs and rests her cheek against his knee.
Just then, the floo activates.
“Crooks, come to daddy,” Sirius pats his thigh, and Crookshanks leaps onto his lap neatly—ignoring the dog deliberately and the curly-haired witch furrows her brows at the sudden title.
Well, if they were going to adopt familiars together…
“It’s okay Siria, mummy has you,” Hermione pats Siria when she whines at her lack of father’s attention, “Your father is very distracted right now.”
“You’ll pay for that latter, poppet.”
“If you would like.”
“I was only gone for five hours!” Harry announces exasperatedly from the corner—now, there are two beasts that could eat his slippers.