Current mood:

devious

204. Sirius Black (HP)/ George W. Bush
Title: Of Dog and Chimp
Word Count: 5374
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Harry Potter, American politics and government
Characters: Sirius Black/ George W. Bush (with a side order of Harry/Draco, implied)
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from the HP universe. I also don’t own George W. Bush, Karl Rove, or Condaleeza Rice. No disrespect intended to JK Rowling or any of her creations. Much irreverence intended towards the current administration, the GOP, and right wingers everywhere.
Genre: Humor, Satire
Warnings: HBP Spoilers!
Summary: What is on ‘the other side of the veil’? Maybe it’s something far more sinister than death. Maybe it’s the Bush White House!
Notes: Opening lines of this fic inspired by a joke made by Bill Maher in a recent interview on National Public Radio. Plot bunny inspired by Barney the White House Dog and his homepage. For the current round of the ithurtsmybrain pairing list that ate fandom. This is # 204. Crossposted to my livejournal.




“Hey Karl, do you think you could get the folks at Fox to start calling me ‘My Liege’?”

There was a soft sigh, one of forced patience. “George, do you remember when we talked last week about subtlety?”

Sirius Black tilted his head. There was a stiff feeling in his neck and he seemed to be lying at an odd angle, splayed out strangely on his belly with his legs splayed and his chin on the floor. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just strange. There were voices in the room, and they seemed to have been there a long time before the sounds congealed into words and the words into meaning.

With an effort, Sirius opened his eyes and looked around. It was like coming awake after a long long sleep, or like surfacing from diving in a lake.

He was lying on a plush blue carpet in a room with rounded walls, and there was a yellow leather couch on either side of him, each occupied by a man in a neat Muggle business suit. The voices he’d awoken to belonged to these two men, neither of whom, Sirius realized at once, was British.

“All right, all right,” said the first, the one whose feet Sirius was lying closer to. “I just thought it might be a nice touch.”

“Well they’d do it, you can be sure. But I think we’d better spend our time debunking the theory of evolution. I like the way ‘intelligent design’ has been spinning in the press lately, don’t you?”

Sirius lifted his head. What? The man who was talking had a pudgy square-jowled face, thin gray hair, and a well receded hairline. He wore rectangular glasses that managed to do little for his narrow beady eyes.

“I also think,” he was saying, “that we should start considering the best PR events for the upcoming anniversary of September 11th. I’ve drawn up a list of potential venues for you to look at.”

“Oh Karl, you know I don’t like to bother with this sort of thing. You always choose the best venues anyway. You pick.

“Now we have something really big we have to tackle here, and I think you know what I mean. The safety of the nation is at stake, Karl!” The man named George had a face reminiscent of a chimpanzee, and his ears stuck out on the sides, making them look strangely disproportionate to his head. He spoke with a drawl that Sirius quickly placed as Texan, and his tone was impassioned and intense, “ What are we going to do about... boys kissing?”

“George,” the man named Karl seemed to be paying only the barest attention. He was looking a little curiously at Sirius, who had lifted his head to watch them. “Have you noticed anything... uh... different about Barney lately?”

***

Barney, Sirius realized quickly, was supposed to be him. Or rather he was supposed to be Barney. And in fact, he almost was. Which is to say that he was a dog. A black dog. And notably not quite the same black dog he customarily became when the urge to run on all fours took him. He was smaller and more neatly groomed and his body didn’t feel as strong. He’d discerned the differences in his appearance when he’d found a huge full length mirror in someone’s walk-in closet off a bedroom some ways down the hall.

He’d nudged the door closed behind him with his nose, stared at himself in the mirror, and tried to transform. Then he tried again. And again. Finally, in frustration, he gave up, only to discover that he’d latched the door behind him and couldn’t get it open. He had to scratch at it until someone came to let him out. It was utterly humiliating.

But this was only the start of his troubles. The last thing Sirius remembered was a battle in the Department of Mysteries. He remembered fighting Belatrix and being hit by a curse and falling. And now this. He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten here, and he was sick with worry about what had happened to Harry and the others. Yet from where he was now, he could do nothing at all to help them. He couldn’t even help himself. He couldn’t even transform back into a man!

Furious and frustrated, he took his temper out on the first available object, which happened to be a pair of men’s cowboy boots. They at least made for good chewing.

***

“Barney!”

Sirius looked up in surprise at the angry voice-- a woman’s voice-- apparently directed at him. A woman with hair that didn’t move and features that appeared like sculpted, painted plastic was leaning down over him, glaring disapprovingly. She snatched the chewy from between his front paws and Sirius whined in disappointment. He liked the chewy! It was pliable, and earthy, and just resilient enough to make his jaws work at tearing it to shreds. He’d almost managed to forget his troubles while he chewed!

“Barney, look what you’ve done to George’s boot!”

Oh. Uh... right, well there was that. Sirius had the good sense to look abashed, and he supposed that he did feel sort of bad about what he’d done, or maybe he was just feeling bad about the loud unpleasant noise of being scolded. But as soon as he stopped chewing the flood of troubles filled his mind again and he felt well within his rights for chewing that boot. Besides, he’d met George that afternoon. George was a git. Piss on his boot!

But the plastic-looking woman was still scolding him, and Sirius, not keen on listening, did the best thing he could manage-- keeping himself very low to the ground, he crawled under the bed and hid.

***

There were some advantages to being the Presidential dog. Sirius learned this quickly, on the second day of his awakening when he lay once more on the plush blue rug of the oval-shaped office, his chin resting on his paws. In the span of an hour he’d learned enough national security secrets to put Snape’s spying skills to shame. He’d also had some shocks.

George, he learned, was not only a git but also President of the United States, a place that Sirius had hitherto given little consideration. He’d certainly never meant to go there. He’d also never imagined that any people who had the choice of freely electing a leader would voluntarily select such a complete and utter moron, but then, these were Americans, after all. One could never predict when it came to them.

More shocking than this, however, was the revelation that it was the year 2005, which meant that Sirius’s last recollection from the Department of Mysteries had been from nearly a decade prior! Where had he been for nine years?! And why was he here? And why did everyone keep asking if Barney had put on some weight these past few days?

Add to this the fact that Sirius was a wizard, trapped in a dog’s body, stranded alone in the Muggle world, and it was no surprise that by the end of the day he was depressed enough to gnaw the sole right off of George’s other boot and hardly even care when the plastic-looking woman came to scold him.


***

On the fifth day, Sirius had the misfortune of walking through the presidential bedroom while plastic-looking woman (whose name, he had learned, was Laura) was putting on her panties. He fled into the walk-in closet in horror and began gnawing on one of her shoes. Before she chased him out a minute later, though, he managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was unmistakably larger and shaggier than he’d been five days before.

***

Sirius watched himself closely after that, peeking in the mirror whenever he got a chance. He was definitely becoming more and more like the Padfoot of his former self, but so far he still hadn’t managed to transform.

He supposed that he was lucky that Muggles were so.... well, Muggle, though. Because none of them seemed comfortable drawing too much attention to the growth of a dog they’d all assumed to be fully grown. Sirius looked in the mirror more and more proudly each day--Scottish Terrier my arse! And if anyone (most often Karl) tried to point out how different Barney was looking, Sirius just rested his chin serenely on his paws and waited for George to defend his pet (which he never failed to do). Sure, George was a git, but he was Barney’s --Sirius’s-- git.

After three weeks, Sirius closed himself in the walk-in closet, looked in the mirror, concentrated for a moment, and then stared back into his own human eyes. He was a man again. He could have wept with relief.

***

“You know, Barney, this whole mess with Karl and Valerie Plame sure is... messy. Oh I know I don’t need to worry about Karl. He’s got people doing the facts for the investigating and they’ll sort it all out for him. But Karl’s a good guy, and I don’t like to see him have trouble. Karl is good people, good down home people.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. He and George were alone in the Oval Office and it was nearly lunch time. George didn’t have anything scheduled for another half hour and Sirius was about out of patience with his situation as it stood. Not that he minded being George’s dog; he just had another life to get back to and he was getting bored. He got up from the place he was sprawled on the plush blue carpet, his feet stretched out across the presidential seal, and jumped up onto the couch beside the President.

George scratched him behind his ears, which was nice. Sirius transformed. George fell off the couch.

“What the...! Who the....?! How did...? Where did Barney go?!”

Sirius watched and waited for him to stop sputtering. “I am Barney, you dolt. Now get up off the floor, you’ll wrinkle your suit.”

“Barney?” George muttered dimly, “You don’t sound very Scottish.”

“How did you ever become President?” Sirius muttered back, shaking his head and not actually expecting an answer.

“Karl.”

“Come again?”

“Karl fixed it. Did something in Florida. He’s real clever, Karl. I never could understand how he did it. Him and Dick, they know their stuff.”

Sirius gaped at him, then finally regained his senses and proceeded as planned. “Look, George, I’ve been a good dog for you, haven’t I?”

“Well sure, Barney. Except for eating my favorite pair of boots and peeing in Laura’s shoes last week....”

“Yeah, well sorry about that,” Sirius said, though he wasn’t in the least. “Perhaps you could get me some raw hides. I like to chew. Anyway, I need you to do something for me, George.”

George was seated on the couch again, and he’d cocked his head as though listening or thinking very hard.

“I need you to find an boy for me, an English boy named Harry Potter. I want you to have him brought here so that I can see him.”

George considered this. He looked at Sirius very hard, and Sirius wondered if his tactic would work. In the past few weeks, he’d learned that George like things that were simple and straight forward. He wasn’t interested in explanations except insofar as they made him feel justified and right, and he liked his reasons for doing things to be plain and uncomplicated, no matter how complex Karl might make them seem later. Karl liked acrobatics. George liked the straight and narrow. If they weren’t both such complete homophobes, Sirius could have almost seen them as lovers-- opposites attract and all.

“What do you need a boy for, Barney?” George protested after a minute, “you’re my dog.”

“George, perhaps you noticed that I’m less... fur covered than I was a few minutes ago.”

“Well sure I noticed, Barney. It’s a neat trick. Where’d you learn... Hey, how long have you known how to talk?”

“I’m a wizard, George. My name is Sirius Black. I’m not really a dog at all. I just know how to change myself into one.”

“A wizard? Honest injun, Barney? Show me a trick!”

Sirius stared at him. It was staggering how anyone could be so thick. He drew his wand and with a flick transfigured George’s tie into a tea cozy. It was pink and hung around his neck by a piece of yarn. The two men stared at each other, and then George said, “Pink is for girls.”

“Are you going to get me Harry Potter or not?” Sirius asked, his patience growing thin.

“No!” George sounded like a petulant child. “Why should I? You’re my dog!”

Sirius stood up, his eyes stormy and warning, as he pointed his wand threateningly at George. “Because I am a wizard and a convicted murderer, and because I’d like to hear you explain to your staff that the reason you have boils all over your backside is that Barney turned into a man and hexed you.”

George was on his feet as well, apparently unintimidated by the threat, shaking his finger at Sirius. “You’re a bad dog, Barney! A very bad dog!”

At which moment, Sirius heard the click of a door handle, and he was indeed a dog once more. George’s finger hung still in the air and he was staring at Sirius in stunned silence.

“Is everything all right, George?” said a voice at the door.

“Condie.” George wiped his palms down the sides of his trousers, gave Sirius a stern look, and pulled himself together. Sirius could practically see the wheels turning in his brain-- they had to overcome a lot of rust to manage it. “Oh yeah, Condie, everything’s fine. You hungry? Lets grab a bite of lunch while we talk.” He smiled and maneuvered them both out the door. Sirius’s keen hearing could hear George’s words as they departed. “I’ve got something I’d like you to have your people look into. I want you to get me a list of English men named Harry Potter.... Just a hunch for now; don’t get anyone alarmed. Oh and see if you can find anything on a Sirius Black, would you....”

“Uh, George,” Sirius could imagine the look on Condaleeza Rice’s face. “what’s that tea cozy doing around your neck?”

Yawning, Padfoot sprawled contentedly across the presidential seal and waited.

***

“George, I’ve got that information you wanted.” It was three days later and Condaleeza Rice was sitting on one of the Oval Office’s two yellow sofas. Sirius lay quietly by the fireplace at the end of the room, but he was listening keenly. George was trying-- unsuccessfully Sirius thought-- to appear nonchalant.

“Oh? Well lay it on me, girl!”

Rice looked sour, and Sirius could imagine that she must hate being called ‘girl,’ but let it continue nonetheless. “Sirius Black is a British national, but there seems to be little evidence regarding his early life. No childhood address, no school records. There’s not even a birth certificate. What we do know is that in 1981 he was sentenced to a life term in a prison called Azkaban for the murder of twelve people on November first of that year. There’s no record of a trial, and no apparent mention of the prison anywhere else in the public record.

“The circumstances surrounding the deaths are suspicious and reports suggest use of a possible bomb, though there’s no conclusive evidence. No trace of explosives or detonator was ever found, but there was a massive crater in the street. No connections between Black and any radical terrorist organizations were ever proposed or explored.

“Black apparently isn’t heard from again until 1993, when the papers are full of reports on his escape. For nearly eight months the British government conducts a massive search, but they turn up nothing, and the search seems to have been localized on shore. They must not have suspected Black leaving the country. The search tapers off in late summer, with Black still unaccounted for.

“The only mention of him thereafter is in a memo sent in 1996. It says simply, ‘MoM confirms death of Sirius Black.’ We have no intelligence indicating who or what the MoM is.”

By the hearth, Sirius had sat straight up. Confirms death?!? He was supposed to be dead?!? He, of course, had no trouble deciphering the initials MoM, and suddenly the puzzle pieces fell into place. Whatever had happened that night at the Department of Mysteries had caused everyone to think he had died. Of course the Ministry would have found out about it, and Sirius was sure they would have been pleased-- one less public embarrassment with him out of their hair.

But Sirius had not died at all! He couldn’t have died because he was here and he was very much alive! Though notably, he observed for the first time, he didn’t feel nine years older. There were still some mysteries to be sure, but Sirius was quite pleased to have this new information. So pleased, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed himself crossing the room, his tail wagging, to stand beside George. He didn’t notice it, in fact, until he was pushing his nose into George’s palm, asking to be pet.

George stroked him absently, as though not quite connecting the mass murderer in the dossier with the dog whose chin was resting on his knee.

“Do you suspect Black of some terrorist organizing, sir?” Rice was asking, apparently eager to investigate further.

“Well, I suppose it’s worth looking into,” George said absently. “I’d like to know what that MoM is. And it doesn’t seem like our boys in the field are doing a very good job if they’ve overlooked an entire prison complex.

Rice smiled, knowing she had just been given carte blanche for a full investigation. She loved covert-ops and all that 007 stuff.

“What about the other?” George asked as he rubbed Sirius’s ears.

“Well, Harry Potter isn’t exactly an unusual name, Sir. I’ve compiled the the list though, complete with birth date, birth place, occupation, place of residence, religious affiliation, recent monetary donations, and membership in subversive groups.” She pulled out a sheaf of papers several hundred pages long. George and Sirius both stared at it. “I’ve marked suspicious individuals in red ink, and there are a few who seem noteworthy.”

Listening to Rice’s slightly nasal voice describe Potter after Potter, Sirius felt his eyes grow heavy, and he was certain that George was faring little better. The hand which had been stoking his ears has stopped moving, and was now resting, not unpleasantly, on the top of Sirius’s head.

“And finally, here’s one with an interesting connection,” Rice said twenty some-odd minutes later. “Harry James Potter, born July 31, 1980 to James and Lily Potter.” Sirius sat bolt upright, his eyes on her keenly. She didn’t bother to look at him. “Childhood records indicated his was orphaned in 1981 when his parents were killed in a car crash; he was then raised by an aunt and uncle. They record him being a student at Saint Brutus’s Academy for Criminally Incurable Boys, but we can find no evidence of his actual attendance at said school. Current occupation unknown. Current residence unknown. There’s virtually no information, no records at all, but there is one note we found on him from 1999. It says MoM: Potter claims defeat of You-Know-Who.”

“Um, no, I don’t know. Who?” George asked dimly. But Sirius was wagging his tail vigorously now, and he gave a happy bark before he could stop himself. Harry had won! He’d done it! “Would you calm down, Barney! I can’t hear Condie.”

“Sir, that’s what the file says. It doesn’t give a name.”

George looked at Sirius whose whole body was wagging in barely suppressed excitement. “Condie, I’d like you to find this boy. I’d like you to have him brought here.”

“Here?” Rice blinked. “Here as in the White House? George, do you think that’s a good idea? What do you suspect he’s involved in?”

“We won’t know till you find him, Condie,” said George cryptically, and Sirius could tell how much he enjoyed sounding so knowledgeable and commanding. “See what you can do.”

***

Tracking down a wizard who probably lived in an unplottable house and seldom ventured into the world of Muggles proved to be no small challenge, it would seem. For weeks Sirius heard nothing and he began to despair. Maybe he should ask George to find Lupin for him as a back up plan, or Dumbledore. Someone else from their world who could take him to Harry.

He had transformed in front of George only once more and had confirmed that he was indeed the same man in Rice’s dossier.

“What’d you kill all those people for, Barney?” asked George, trying to look grave and displeased but only managing to look constipated.

“I didn’t,” said Sirius dryly. “I was framed. I did try to kill someone that day. Someone who had caused the deaths of my best friend and his wife, and nearly their infant son as well. He was the one who framed me. Blew himself up along with all those Mug-- people. At least everyone thought he was blown up. Really he escaped and went into hiding, and I took the blame.”

George looked skeptical. Sirius shrugged, not caring whether the man believed him. He lay on the couch with his legs dangling over the arm and his head on the center cushion. George sat on the other end. He was stroking Sirius’s ears absently. “So who is Harry Potter?” he asked.

Sirius gave a short mirthless laugh, “The Boy Who Lived.”

“Huh?”

“He’s my godson. The boy whose parents were killed that day, whose parents everyone believed I had betrayed.”

“I thought his parents died in a car crash.”

Sirius snorted, “Lilly and James? Not bloody likely.” He tilted his head slightly to improve the angle of George’s rubbing. “Could you stroke just a bit higher, mate? It’s nice.”

George jerked his hand away as though scalded and a few minutes later Sirius glimpsed him in the loo, soaping his arms up to his elbows and scrubbing vigorously as he grumbled.

***

The day that Harry Potter came to Washington, the air was crisp and cool. Sirius had just come in from playing a great game of fetch with George on the White House lawn and was feeling pleasant and content as he trotted through the corridors towards the Oval Office. It was Saturday morning, which meant there were fewer meetings scheduled and the day’s events would be lighter than usual. Sirius had to admit that on mornings like this, he quite liked spending the day with George-- if all that was required of George’s life was to throw a frisbee about each day, Sirius was convinced that he would have been a swell guy. As President, of course, he was a farce, but this, to Sirius, was old news.

Outside the office door, the secretary informed them that Dr. Rice was waiting inside, which George noted was not on his schedule. “She said she didn’t think you’d mind, Sir,” said the secretary looking a little abashed, and George shrugged. He liked ‘Condie’ enough that he never really minded her dropping in.

But it wasn’t Rice alone who was waiting in the Oval Office for them. Two young men sat on the couch across from her, their backs to the door. One’s hair was dark and messy, the other’s was blond and very neat. Sirius barked in greeting as their heads turned to look.

Harry had changed since Sirius had seen him last, which was not surprising. Nearly ten years had passed and Harry had grown into a man. He was taller and broader, and his expression was far older than his years, but he was still undeniably Harry-- still the same glasses, the unruly hair, the bright green eyes so like his mother’s. When he saw Sirius his jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Siri-- Snuffl-- ...Padfoot!” Harry more jumped over the couch than stepped around it, and while he threw his arms around Sirius’s neck, Sirius licked his face all over, knocking his glasses askew.

“Really Barney,” George remonstrated, “That’s no way to greet guests! Condie, who are these people?”

Rice, looking both shocked and scandalized-- this was, after all, no way for a young man to greet the President of the United States!-- moved her jaw silently for a moment before managing to point at Harry and force out, “That’s Harry Potter, Sir.”

Harry, who sensed that all eyes were on him, disentangled himself from Sirius’s shaggy neck and stood up. The grin he wore spread ear to ear; the blond haired man was gaping alternately at him and then at Sirius.

“I-- I know that dog! That’s... that’s... Sirius Black!”

Rice made a sort of derisive snorting sound to show her displeasure with the ridiculousness of the proceedings, but the snort turned at once to a sort of strangled cry. Sirius stood before them as a man once more. Condaleeza Rice took one look at him and promptly fainted. The four men turned and stared at her.

“Think she’s all right?” said Sirius.

“Well, she did fall onto the couch,” offered Harry.

“They’re good couches,” said George, “Very plush.” And as though this settled the matter, they turned their backs on her again and got down to business.

“Why didn’t they tell me you were here?” Harry asked Sirius, staring at him as though afraid he would disappear. “I would have come much more willingly if they’d only said. There are a few CIA men who’ll have to have their memories modified, I can tell you.”

The blond haired man was nodding, “Harry threw a bunch of nasty jinxes at them! Not that they didn’t have it coming. They burst in on us in the middle of the night without so much as a good evening!”

“Don’t I know you?” Sirius asked, staring at the blond, his eyes narrowed. “Aren’t... aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” the man answered with a defiant jerk of his chin.

“Sirius, you remember Draco Malfoy, don’t you? He and I were in school together.”

“’Course I remember!” said Sirius, still looking suspiciously at Draco. “Weren’t too fond of each other, were you? What’s he doing here?”

“Ah... he’s my partner, Sirius,” said Harry, as though trying to break news to him gently.

“He’s your what?”

“His lover,” said Draco still defiant and apparently less interested in subtlety.

George looked at them both and said, “Ew.”

Sirius, Harry, and Draco turned and stared at him.

“Look, Harry,” Sirius said trying to sound reasonable despite being completely flummoxed, “I understand that a lot must have happened while I’ve been gone, and it’s not that I disapprove! It’s just that... well... you two used to hate each other!”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look, and both of them appeared to be trying not to smile, “Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t really so much that we hated each other,” Harry said. “Anyway, things were different after I brought Draco back from the Death Eaters. After... after Dumbledore died.”

Sirius gaped at him. “After Dumbledore WHAT?! Dumbledore’s dead? How?!”

“I was supposed to kill him,” said Draco, refusing to meet Sirius’s eyes as he spoke, “I was following Voldemort’s orders. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it, really. And then when the time came.... I couldn’t... and Snape did it for me.”

“SNAPE?!!” Sirius thundered. “That slimy self-serving little worm! I always knew we couldn’t trust--”

“That’s what I’d thought too,” said Harry, cutting in. “I thought he’d betrayed us all. But he’d made an unbreakable vow to Draco’s mother. He was saving his own skin and Draco’s, but I came to understand later that he saved my life again that night. I didn’t know it until too late though,” Harry said sadly, “until after I’d killed him.”

Sirius gaped at him. George was looking back and forth between them, blinking dumbly. Draco moved closer to Harry and rubbed his hand comfortingly up and down his back.

“I guess people aren’t always what they seem, even people who you think you’ve known for years,” said Harry softly.

Sirius didn’t know what to say. A million questions spun in his head and he grabbed the first he could hold onto. “What about Lupin? Is he...?”

“He’s fine. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure,” Harry was smiling now, and Draco looked positively mischievous.

“Talks about you all the time. Drives us bloody mental.”

“You see him often, then?”

“Sure,” said Harry, “He lives with us.”

“Who’s Lupin?” George butted in, not wanting to be completely excluded from the proceedings.

Draco smirked, “He’s Black’s werewolf.”

George looked flummoxed, “You have a pet werewolf?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening. He was watching Harry and he looked grave. “Harry,” he said, “I’m sorry. I haven’t been there for you at the times you needed me most. I guess I haven’t been a very good godfather.”

“’Course you have,” said Harry, earning a snort from Draco. “I’m just glad to have you back.”

“Speaking of which,” said Draco, pragmatically. “How’d you come to be here, anyway?”

“Don’t know!” answered Sirius honestly. “Woke up a couple months ago lying on the floor. I was George’s dog. I didn’t much look like myself at first and I couldn’t transform, but then gradually, I sort of changed. But George has had Barney for a long time. I can’t think how I wound up in his body.”

They all looked at George who was looking very sad. At least Sirius recognized it as his sad face, really he just looked particularly dim. “I guess you’ll be leaving now, won’t you Barney,” he said.

“Yes George, I will,” Sirius answered a little apologetically.

“Well, you be a good dog now. I... I sure will miss you.”

“Sirius?” asked Harry cautiously, “Do you think we ought to modify his memory?”

“Naw,” said Sirius. “His brains are already addled enough. I’ll just say goodbye.” And for a moment he and George stood staring at each other, neither seeming certain how to proceed. Finally, Sirius extended his hand. George stared at it for a moment, then reached up and scratched Sirius behind one ear and patted him on his head.

Draco sniggered. Sirius shot him a dangerous look. But George apparently had something more to say. He looked from Draco to Harry and then told them, very much in earnest, “You boys want to think about the sinful way you’re living your life. You could each-- you could find a girl. Two girls. I’m sure you would like some girls. Boys should like girls, you know.”

Harry was nonplussed by this impromptu speech, but Draco didn’t miss a beat. “Naw,” he said, looking George straight in the face, “Girls are ok, but Harry’s got a great dick.”

George looked scandalized; Sirius rolled his eyes. “Goodbye George,” he said. “Have fun running the country.” And then on impulse, and because it seemed a primo joke, Sirius grabbed George W. Bush and kissed him full on the mouth. Draco whistled. Harry gaped. George grabbed the back of the couch for support.

“All right boys,” said Sirius, wiping his mouth, “Where are we Apparating to?”

“Twelve Grimmauld Place, of course,” said Draco. Harry was still gaping.

***

Condaleeza Rice awoke, sprawled on the couch, to the sound of three loud, distinct pops and the sight of George running from the room. She found him five minutes later in his bathroom, trying to squeeze a whole tube of toothpaste into his mouth at once. He seemed more interested in scouring his teeth than answering questions.

Later that day, George put in an order for a large shaggy black dog. When it arrived, he named it Sirius Black and he scratched it often behind its ears.

~fin~