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Chapter Text

Hermione had a problem. It hadn’t originally been her problem. But when she had questioned and researched and poked and prodded and wouldn’t leave well enough alone she had found an answer. And now she had a problem. A big problem.

It had started with the horrible event of Harry winning the Triwizard Tournament by appearing bloody and hysterical, clutching Cedric’s body, and refusing to let go.

Voldemort. Voldemort was back.

Hermione was acutely aware of what this meant. Nowhere was safe. She had read about the last war. Read about attendance levels during the first war in Hogwarts, A History. Heard the slurs thrown at her in the hallways. Not just from spiteful Slytherins. She heard the mumbled ones from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and even her own house. Not often. Not many. Usually thrown about when Hermione asked about homework when the professor forgot or couldn’t stop asking why or reminded people of the rules that they were blatantly ignoring. But they were said and that was enough.

If he was back - if he could kidnap Harry from Hogwarts under the watch of Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody, and Professor McGonagall, not to mention all of the ministry wizards in attendance - then nowhere was safe.

She wasn’t safe.

Harry. Harry wasn’t safe.

Harry needed to be somewhere safe this summer. He had watched Cedric die. Watched Voldemort return. Been tortured. Seen his dead parent return while he dueled the man who murdered his parents. All during a tournament he was forced into and consequently vilified for by his peers and Britain’s wizarding world.

Harry needed to be somewhere where he could be sad and angry and scared and not alone and safe.

Where was safer than Hogwarts?

Certainly not the Dursleys. Putting aside the fact that there was an evil magical genius running around whose dearest wish seemed to be to kill Harry in a very public fashion, the Dursleys were more likely to starve Harry than take care of his emotional needs this summer. That wouldn’t do. It hadn’t for the last three summers. But this. This was the line. She was not letting Harry go back there.

So where? Where was safer than the Dursleys?

It needed to be somewhere with wizards or witches. Someone who was brilliant with magic. Who could ward and curse and charm a home safer than Hogwarts could ever be. This requirement alone removed a lot of options.

The wizard or witch needed to be loyal to Harry. Not against Voldemort, not in awe of Harry Potter, not willing to do the right thing. They needed to be willing to step in front of Harry Potter if Voldemort showed up and be ready to die if necessary. Lily Potter did not sacrifice herself just so Harry could die later.

The problem, Hermione thought, sitting back and looking at her list, was that there wasn’t a single adult who would do that for Harry. Sure, the Weasleys loved Harry but if Molly was faced with saving her child’s life or Harry’s life, she was going to pick her child. The Weasleys had a lot of children to go through before they would pick Harry. There weren’t any adults at the castle who protested Harry joining the Triwizard Tournament. Not properly. Not like a parent would. If Hermione had been entered against her will, muggle or not, her parents would have been here with a lawyer faster than a portkey.

Something, Hermione had noticed, that Dumbledore hadn’t done. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Dumbledore didn’t want to protect Harry, he had brought Professor Moody here specifically to help with that, or at least tried to. It was the fact that it hadn’t worked. Dumbledore was doing things that Harry was saying he didn’t like. And then he was doing them anyway.

Dumbledore, reasoned Hermione, was a headmaster, not a parent. He isn’t going to react like a parent and why should he? That’s not his job.

Next best option then. What was the next best option than what amounted to being a stand-in parent?

A godfather, a traitorous part of her mind whispered. Lily and James Potter wanted Harry to go to Sirius.

Sirius was… mad. For lack of a better word. It wasn’t his fault! Or rather, not all of it. Hermione suspected she still wouldn’t feel confident in Sirius’s parenting skills even if he wasn’t half mad from Dementor-induced brain damage. But the point was that he was. Mad, that is.

He loves Harry. Loves him enough to risk coming to Hogwarts when he was wanted nationally. Loves him recklessly. Recklessly enough to step in front of a madman with a wand and not stand aside.

Fine. Let’s say Sirius was the adult. Where would they live?

Sirius Black, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, her mind helpfully supplied. Sirius’s name had been plastered everywhere in her third year and always followed by a different title. Murder. Escapee. Prisoner. Heir.

The phrase “Nobel and Most Ancient House” had made her curious. Wizarding Government wasn’t a subject that was taught at Hogwarts. The things she had known about the Wizengamont were what she picked up while reading about other topics. Then Mr. Malfoy tried to kill Buckbeak and then she got really curious. Wizarding politics, for lack of a better description, was backstabbing chaos. There didn’t seem to be a governing body. Or nobles, despite what the black family title seemed to suggest. Or a history of a governing body. Except for the Statute of Secrecy. That was a very clear thread running through every account. Everything else just talked about the people. There seemed to be two distinct needs that kept the Ministry alive. The need to enforce the Statute of Secrecy and the need to do something with people who broke the law.

The evolution of the different ministry departments could be followed by tracing the different names associated with each department to notable figures in history. You had to know someone or be someone or both to create a department, the only departments that seemed need-based were the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Mysteries, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. All of the other departments either didn’t need to be their own department or, frankly, needed to be heavily overhauled.

The current attitude of the minister reflected this. The wizarding world was not prepared for war. Its government was not prepared for war. Its head was the result of centuries of popularity contests. Dumbledore, genius and powerful as he was, was supposed to be the head of a school. And he was the most prepared person in this scenario.

To no one’s surprise, the wizarding world was very clear on its laws about money. The Black family, with its claim to nobility - which, for the life of her, she couldn’t find any actual connection to any type of government or monarchy - has lots of money. Money that, if Sirius was exonerated, could be used to protect Harry.

So all she had to do was prove Sirius’s innocence.

Something that not even Dumbledore could do.

Right?

This is where Hermione found the problem. It started when she researched truth charms and truth jinxes. Because if you can hex people to speak backward or create anti-cheating quills then there should be a truth charm right?

And then she found Veritaserum. And unbreakable vows. And wizarding oaths, a near cousin to vows. And legal contracts signed in blood quills.

Maybe, she could overlook his initial incarceration. Everyone else had. But now, when Harry needs power and money and someone to care about him? Now that Dumbledore knew that Sirius was innocent? And that he was Harry’s godfather? Why not prove publicly that Sirius Black was innocent? Why hide him?

Then Hermione remembered Dumbledore's position in the Wizengamont. Even if he could add dockets or recall a court - something that Hermione was frustratingly not sure about - he knew who the lawyers were. Knew the family friends. Knew who to talk to, to cause outrage.

And he didn’t. God knows Sirius wasn’t in a position to do so.

She sat back with a huff. Dumbledore wasn’t keeping Sirius hidden to stop Harry from leaving the Dursleys. Right?

Granted, he could be concerned about Sirius’s health and his parenting abilities. But that wasn’t a reason to continue to allow a miscarriage of Justice.

Of course, she could be missing something. Something that you had to be there to know. Hermione considered this option. The opposite could be true as well. Harry could have underplayed how bad it was at the Dursleys. He always said he was fine when he wasn’t. That had to be it. Dumbledore didn’t know how bad it was.

She just needed to tell him.

—

Dumbledore, Hermione thought, as she stood blinking bewilderedly, is very good at saying a lot without saying anything at all.

He knew. Apparently. Or thought he knew and wouldn’t listen.

A curl of something cold and slimy and heavy wrapped through her stomach to her throat. A voice in the back of her head whispered he knows. He knows. He knows.

Hermione took a breath. A list. She needed to make a list.

1. Dumbledore is aware of how bad it is.
2. Dumbledore said it’s not as bad as I thought it was.
3. Dumbledore insists that Harry needs to stay there this summer.
4. Dumbledore said we need to work together to keep Harry safe.
5. Dumbledore asked me not to write to Harry to keep him safe.

The list was not making Hermione feel better. Numbers one and two were contradictions that Dumbledore said in the same breath. Of course, he knew what it was like at Harry's house and Hermione was wrong about it.

How could Hermione be wrong? She saw how skinny Harry was. Knew about the nightmares and the scars that Ron would worriedly report to her. Knew that Harry’s home was not safe in a way that she couldn’t verbalize.

Hermione felt the full weight of being 14 years old and a muggle-born witch. What could she do? Who could she go to? What adult did she know that wouldn’t go to Dumbledore and trust his judgment on the matter while also not hating her for her blood? While also not being a possible enemy to Harry?

Not any of the professors. Not the Weasleys. Maybe the Weasleys? Hermione remembered the way that Mrs. Weasley had gotten Harry’s school supplies. Remembered the way that she had confidently used Harry’s key. Where had she gotten it from? Harry certainly didn’t give it to her. If he had unlimited access to his vault then he would have multiple broomsticks.

What about professor lupin? Harry didn’t know him but he did know Sirius. He was friends with his parents. On the other hand, he had worked for Dumbledore. And never checked on Harry.

Hermione looked up to find herself at the library. She was surprised she had moved from the bottom of the headmaster's tower.

She.

She just.

Adults were supposed to be helpful. Or at least want to help. Sometimes they weren’t good at it. But they tried. Dumbledore's the headmaster of a school for children. He is supposed to know how to help.

How could he not help?

—

If asked, how exactly, she ended up asking Dobby, of all sentient beings, for help, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to explain.

She hadn’t slept in about two days. Hadn’t been sleeping well before this. Had lists she didn’t remember making with the same information in different orders.

It worked though. When she’d called out, through her tears, behind her silenced bed curtains for Dobby, he appeared quickly and with a loud enough pop to send her flinching back.

“Harry Potter’s Granger is crying!” He cried out, upset. “Why is Harry Potter’s Granger crying? Dobby can help!”

Hermione sent a silent thanks to the universe for silencing charms and then glanced down at the parchment she was holding.

24. The floating cake.
25. The barrier.
26. The bludger.

“Dobby,” Hermione said in a fit of tears and exhaustion and desperation, “can you help me?”

“Yes, miss!” Dobby said, his ears flapping as he nodded. “Do you wants tea?”

“Dobby,” Hermione said. “If Professor Dumbledore and Harry asked you to do something at the same time, who would you listen to?”

Dobby stopped nodding. He studied her more seriously than she thought he could be. “Dobby is a free elf. Dobby would help his friend, Harry Potter.”

“Even if it meant disobeying what Dumbledore asked you to do?”

Dobby stood his ground and lifted his chin. “Dobby is a free elf. Dobby doesn’t have to listen. Dobby would help his friend, Harry Potter.”

Hope bloomed in Hermione’s chest. It was a painful, raw thing. “Dobby. Harry is in danger. Professor Dumbledore isn’t listening. He wants to send him back to the Dursleys. I need to talk to Sirius but I can’t travel on my own yet. Not from Hogwarts.”

“Dobby can do it!” Dobby said. “Dobby can talk to Sirius Black!”

“No one else can be there, Dobby. Dumbledore can’t know.”

“Dobby will go right now! Dobby will wait until he is alone.”

Hermione rushed to grab clean parchment. Hesitated for a moment before she began to write. Dobby took the envelope like it was something precious.

“Dobby,” Hermione hesitated but he looked at her expectantly. “Can you wait for a reply? And wait until I’m alone to give it to me?”

“Yes, Miss,” and with that, Dobby popped away.

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn’t sleeping. Her parents knew a student had died during a tournament that Harry had played in. She hadn’t told them the rest. Didn’t know if she should. Dobby hadn’t come back yet.

Harry was at the Dursleys. Alone. Without anyone to write to him. She had considered ignoring the headmaster's request but he had come to see her again before they’d left. Her and Ron. He had asked them (her, again) to not write to Harry this summer. Ron had agreed while looking concerned. He didn’t hesitate. The way Professor Dumbledore had looked at her had chilled her bones. This wasn’t the headmaster asking. This was Albus Dumbledore from the first war. The leader. The general. The one who looked out grimly from all the newspapers Hermione had been feverishly reading.

Hermione still felt cold when she remembered that gaze. She didn’t want to find out what would happen if she disobeyed.

“Hermione!”

“Yes, mum?”

“I’m heading out to the shops! Do you need anything?”

Hermione poked her head out of her door, “No thanks, mum!”

Hermione stayed half in her room and half in the hallway long enough for the sounds of her mother leaving to quiet and the house settled into silence. She watched dust dance through a sunbeam in the hallway. Was this what the house was like when she was gone? When everyone was gone? Or was it only like this when she was watching?

Hermione screamed as Dobby popped into existence behind her.

“He will be meeting you miss!” Dobby said. “Can he meet you here?”

“I -“ Hermione was struck with the knowledge that she didn’t actually know what to do next. “Yes, as Padfoot. We can take a walk.”

Surely muggle suburbs of London would be safe.

———

Sirius stood with an unreadable expression on his face. They’d walked through her neighborhood until they’d reached the edge of a woods. There were many paths that cut through the trees but Hermione followed Padfoot instead. Once they were deep into dead leaves and sheltered from any of the main paths, Sirius shifted back to his human form.

“Convince me,” he said.

So Hermione had tried her best to explain, even as she took in his new appearance. He was still too thin. Too gaunt. His hair looked like it wasn’t used to being tamed. But the clothes were well made, if a little big. Jewelry caught the light that managed to break through the canopy.

He’d looked the part of a pureblooded wizard who knew how to get away dressing in a way that passed for muggle and Hermione tried to ignore the twinge of unease it caused. She’d never seen it done before. Or at least done well. His long open robe could be mistaken for a long coat. The pants and loose but well-tailored shirt would be considered gothic choices in the muggle world while being tame in the wizarding. The dark blues and blacks he chose made the details of the cuffs and the lack of zippers harder to notice. He looked like he knew what he was doing.

The only time Sirius had reacted at all during Hermione’s speech was when she explained her knowledge and suspicions about the Dursleys. He gave a full body twitch, like an aborted attempt to disapperate.

He asked one question. “Are you sure?”

She’d nodded.

And now they stood in silence.

“I -“ he broke off and cleared his throat. “There’s so much that I don’t have up here” - he tapped his head - “from the dementors. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. But I remember every moment of that night. I abandoned Harry. I trusted other people to make the right choices for him. I can’t let that happen again. Any more than I’ve let it happen.”

Hermione could tell she had a very small amount of time left before Sirius was going to do something stupid. There was an angry spark in his eyes that she didn’t trust.

“We need somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere with food and bedrooms and wards. Somewhere that we only know about.”

For a minute she thought Sirius was going to argue or say that he could take care of it. That the adults were the ones to worry about it. Instead, he took a breath.

“We can’t trust anyone who trusts Dumbledore, can we? Not the Weasleys, not Moody, not McGonagall. The Longbottoms are insane. Moony -“ Sirius choked. “Moony, he never checked on me. And I don’t care, I could look past it I think. I need to. But he never went to check on Harry. Not once. That’s James’s kid. Lily's kid. They died and he never checked?”

Hermione wasn’t exactly following his train of thought but she didn’t disagree with anything that he was saying. “If we go and get Harry we can get him to Gringotts. He has money. We could rent or buy a place and put up wards. Make it safe-“

Sirius was already shaking his head. “Nowhere will be as safe as blood wards. And Harry’s not paying for any of this. It’s my job to keep him safe.”

“Who’s going to pay for it then?” Hermione had no idea how blood wards worked so she focused on the second part of his statement.

“I am,” Sirius said grimly. “But I’m going to need some help.”

---

Hermione watched in amazement as Sirius Black charmed her parents. He was sharp angles and boyish charm, her parent's eyes landing on the long hair, the black, and the easy confidence in his posture but were quickly won over by the upper-class accent, the well-fitting clothes, and his incessant ability to talk about Harry.

She hadn’t been on board with Sirius’s insistence that they tell her parents something, but had conceded that they didn’t need to tell them everything when Hermione blurted out “It’s safer if they don’t know! They can’t. They can’t protect themselves.”

Sirius had skillfully made it seem all about Hermione. Hermione’s banking experience was limited to what her parents had helped her with but Sirius’s family had been banking with Gringotts since Gringotts had a building. Maybe even before then, Hermione needed to look up the blood wars. Sirius explained that he had been recently exonerated - an optimistic lie but still a lie - and was going in to go over his accounts. Hermione had heard this through Harry and wanted to know more about Wizarding banking.

“In the non-magical world,” her dad thought ‘muggle’ sounded silly, “finances are usually private.”

“They are as well in the Wizarding world,” Sirius said. “However, we also discriminate heavily against muggle-borns, whether we intend to or not. Hermione is brilliant, one of the brightest witches of her age, and if anyone could do great things by watching me navigate the banking system, it would be her.”

Her parents considered this, and with a short side conversation about what age is appropriate for a debit card, cautiously agreed about the banking.

“It will just be you two?” Hermione’s mom asked, casually. Hermione winced but Sirius took the question in stride.

“And my bank manager.” Sirius considered Hermione’s parents. “I could take a wizard's oath that I would treat Hermione the same as I would my own daughter if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

That did. The tone of the room shifted as the conversation went from Sirius’s reliability to the nature of wizards’ oaths. Within thirty minutes, two well-timed glances to the clock, and Hermione leaving to get her coat, Sirius was at her front door, oath sworn, and frowning at Hermione’s coat.

“Do you have non-school robes or a cloak?” Sirius asked carefully.

“No,” Hermione said, looking down at her coat. “Why?”

“I’ll explain more fully on the way,” Sirius said cheerfully. “It’s non-essential for teenagers but if you were ever going to a business meeting on your own then I would recommend wizarding business attire.”

Hermione pondered that as she said goodbye to her parents.

“Ever side-along before?” Sirius asked. “No? Ok, take a deep breath in and be prepared to be nauseous.”

He looked up at her parents with an apologetic smile, “There’s going to be a pop. That’s completely normal.”

Sirius offered Hermione his arm. “Hold on tight, we don’t want to be separated. Kind of like a portkey.”

In the second it took Hermione to get a good grip on Sirius’s offered arm, he was already spinning on the spot.

A hook yanked into her navel, there were tight bands squeezing around her, the world spun in impossible ways, and she suddenly understood where the nausea came in.

Sirius spun back into existence and she stumbled into the brick wall that was now behind her.

Sirius grabbed the elbow of the arm that she wasn’t using to grip his elbow and helped steady her. “I used to carry a potion for this,” he said apologetically. “I’d forgotten that until now.”

Hermione breathed through her nose until her stomach stopped spinning. “Where are we?”

“Muggle alley,” he said, looking around them. “Just off of the end of Diagon Alley.”

Hermione straightened and nodded. “I’m ready.”

Sirius’s wand appeared in his hand and he twirled it through his fingers absent-mindedly. “Do you mind if I transfigure your coat into a robe?”

At her curious look, he added “Hermione Granger, best friend to Harry Potter, star-crossed lover with two tri-wizard champions, and Muggle-Born would wear muggle clothes inside Gringotts. A random-teenage witch from a random wizarding family would wear casual robes while on an errand. If we want to attract less attention than we are going get, we should try to blend in.”

Hermione nodded her consent. She wouldn’t have even thought about her clothes.

“Do you mind putting your hair up?” Sirius asked. “It’s starting to fall out of fashion, hasn’t been observed at Hogwarts since before I went to Hogwarts really, but usually a witch would have their hair covered if they had it down. If you were going as you I would say do as you want, you are young enough to determine fashion trends and I don’t think someone would ever consider saying something but your hair is distinctive. If it’s up, properly - as my mother would say - people might not realize it’s you.”

“Does it need to be fancy?” Hermione asked, her hands going to her hair. She didn’t know any spells for that.

“No,” Sirius said. “Your robes will be casual and you are a teenager. It could be messy. The important part is it is up.”

She finished the bun on her head and realized she didn’t have a hair tie.

“Here,” Sirius waved his wand.

“Is that a modified sticking charm?” Hermione asked.

Sirius spun his wand again as he answered. “Yeah, developed specifically for hair. Andy taught me.”

Hermione’s coat rippled under her hands, elongating into floor-length robes that clasped in the front with the original buttons. The simple deep green color made her feel a lot more glamorous when it was brushing the top of her shoes.

Sirius nodded once, satisfied. “Will you put this on me? I would put it on now but it won’t show up.”

He swung a dog collar at her and she caught it, fumbling with it for a moment before she had it securely in her hands. The collar was embroidered with a snitch that whizzed about, hiding under Hermione’s fingers.

Padfoot sat still as Hermione carefully put the collar on him. As soon as it was buckled, he took off down the alley.

Hermione skipped a step as she rushed to keep up. Padfoot stopped here and there to sniff and investigate the ground so Hermione kept walking down the alley.

“I don’t see where I should stop,” she murmured, knowing that Padfoot could hear her.

She felt her robes rustle as Padfoot raced ahead of her and then stopped.

“Same as the Leaky?” Hermione guessed as she tapped her wand against the bricks gently.

The bricks folded back to reveal old stone stairs, leading up into what should have been a building. Instead, Hermione emerged onto the street level, right near Gringotts.

“Well, that’s handy.”

She looked down at Sirius. The effortless arrogance was back. He heeled calmly next to her, the dark blue of his collar made the gold of the snitch shine. His black fur was now shining and smooth, as though it mirrored the care his real hair received.

“Onward then.”

She wasn’t expecting it but she couldn’t hide the grin that snuck over her face as she strolled down the street. A girl and her dog blended right into the crowds of people clothed in a rainbow sea of robes. Owls and kneazles and cats and snakes and spell light and flying whizzing things and colored bubbles and baby cries and the gentle murmur of bargaining clashed together. For once Hermione wasn’t with her parents or getting looks about her muggle jeans. She was just a witch. Who could do magic. Going shopping for magic things. Giddiness bubbled up in her. She could belong here. She did belong here.

Quickly, Gringotts loomed overhead as she climbed the steps, Padfoot beside her as casually as he pleased.

Goblins, he had explained, would know what he was as soon as he entered. Provided he followed the rules and regulations like anyone else they probably wouldn’t question it.

The day didn’t start to sink in until she was standing in line.

At Gringotts.

The most heavily warded building besides the ministry.

With a felon sitting next to her in an illegal animagus form.

Who, if caught, would die.

And Dumbledore would know what she had done.

Harry would be devastated. Hermione would be expelled.

Her parents…

Oh god, she’d lied to her parents. Without hesitating. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh

Padfoot bumped up against her gently. She sucked in a breath. The line moved forward. None of the goblins said anything. No one yelled. No one even looked at her.

What if they recognized her? Her face had been plastered across the nation alongside Harry’s. Everyone knew what she looked like. If she was seen here, someone might tell the Daily Prophet. Dumbledore would know what she’d done. Sirius … would Dumbledore turn in Sirius if he broke rank?

Could he track them?! Hermione would track Sirius if she was in charge of keeping them hidden. Of keeping him in line. Dumbledore needed Sirius to stay in line if he wanted Harry to cooperate. Or maybe it was the other way around. What did he need Sirius for? Maybe it was about Harry. Maybe she was missing something. Something important. Something.

Padfoot bumped against her gently. She let out her breath. The line moved forward. They were next. The goblin waved them forward. What would she say? What if they didn’t know? Should she use his name? Ask for … ask for who?

What if they wouldn’t see them? What if they called the Aurors?! The dementors! Dementors!

“Right this way, Mr. Black.” The goblin gestured down the counter of polished wood and stone.

Padfoot took off at what was slightly too slow to be a trot. Hermione followed numbly behind him. They passed through a doorway and Hermione felt the cool immersion of wards slide over her. It felt like what she imagined walking through a mirror would feel like. As soon as she was done shivering, Sirius shifted back into his human form.

“Burnuk will be meeting with you today, Mr. Black,” the goblin said blandly.

“Excellent,” Sirius said cheerfully.

They were led through stone hallways, and it wasn’t until the third turn that Hermione was calm enough to look around her.

Where does the light come from? She thought. An omnipresent light lit the tunnel until there was the same amount of light as a cloudy evening. Enough to see, enough to read if she had to, not enough to be considered bright.

There were no torches, no floating candles, no balls of light, no fairies.

A door was neatly cut into the stone wall with an ornate metal gate blocking the way. Their goblin escort touched one finger to the metal and it whirled to life, slinking back seamlessly into the stone.

“Mr. Black,” said Burnuk. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said.

They sat in the carved, heavy wooden chairs.

Hermione wondered if this is what it was like, to sit down before an executioner.

“I would like to have an overview of my vaults, Burnuk,” Sirius didn’t elaborate on why he would need to have an overview of his vaults.

Oh gods they know, they know, they know, they know, they -

“As the last of the Black House, Mr. Black, you will need to do an inheritance test.”

Sirius snorted but reached out before the knife appeared on the desk. He neatly sliced into the tip of his left ring finger and let three drops fall on the endless parchment that now covered the desk. The blood splattered into the center of three concentric rings inked in a dark, true black. Rings of Arithmancy and runes wound out tightly before spreading out like errant spider silk.

Sirius’s blood sunk into the paper and vanished without a stain. The concentric circles began to move. Hermione watched, captivated. The paper suddenly folded up and then unscrolled into a list full of tight, tiny writing in a language Hermione could only assume was Gobblydegook.

“Mr. Black, Gringotts recognizes you as head of the house of Black. There will be a period of 6 lunar cycles where any member of the family, recognized or not, can bring evidence against you as head of house in regards to line left, embezzlement, or breach of treaty with the Goblin Nation. If evidence is brought against you within that time period, the Treaty of 1865 allows Gringotts to annul the recognition of their position as the head of house, judge the violation of terms of service in Goblin court, and inform the Ministry of Magic, Britain of the judgment. Once that period of time has passed, if presented with evidence, Gringotts will turn evidence over to the Ministry of Magic, Britain. Your position of head of house will not be annulled.”

“If the ministry attempts to out me as head of house?” Sirius asked. Hermione stopped breathing.

“The ministry can bring evidence against heads of house during the six lunar cycles. If there is a conviction of line theft, embezzlement, breach of treaty against the goblin nation, or unusually cruel crimes of a grand scale.”

“How are unusually cruel crimes of a grand scale defined?” Sirius asked.

“They are not defined in the Treaty of 1865.” Burnuk’s tone did not change. Hermione could not tell if he didn’t care about the question, did not find it odd that Sirius was asking, or was anticipating Sirius asking.

“What would the ministry need to do in order to bring evidence against me?” Sirius leaned forward.

“They would need to file a record of the conviction of a crime that meets the outlined crime in the Treaty of 1865.”

Air rushed into Hermione’s lungs. The ministry couldn’t file a record of a conviction because there hadn’t been a trial.

A slow, wide grin spread across Sirius’s face. “That’s excellent news, Burnuk.”

“Now, Mr. Black, the Black accounts have been long neglected, if I could direct your attention to the portfolio in front of you,” Burnuk waved his hand and a thick stack of parchment appeared in front of Sirius.

The following conversation was very dry, very informative, and completely disrupted by Sirius cutting off Burnuk in the middle of a sentence by saying “Where?!”

“15% of generated interest is going toward -”

“Owned by the Malfoys?”

“Yes, Mr. Black.”

“Burnuk,” Sirius said, “you worked with my father, correct?”

“Yes, Mr. Black.”

“My father said he could name any business connected with his money and you would be able to tell him everything about that business.”

“That is correct, Mr. Black.”

“Frankly, Burnuk, you are going to know more about my portfolio than I can hope to. I’m sure you have valuable opinions about it. If I give you a few requirements, can you make some recommendations for the future finances of House Black?”

Burnuk sat back in his chair, the tips of his fingers steepling together in front of him. “I can do so, Mr. Black.”

“I don’t want to support any rumored Death Eaters.”

“You were a rumored Death Eater, Mr. Black.”

Sirius barked a laugh out, his posture slumping. “Excellent point, Burnuk. How about this, anyone rumored to be a prominent member of Voldemort’s circle, had a trial, was convicted or was let off with the defense of the imperius curse without a measure in place to guarantee their truthfulness.”

The parchment stack separated into three piles.

“I want to support muggle-born and half-blood businesses that have high-quality products or services.”

The parchment stacks stayed the same.

“I want to maintain our allies internationally.”

The stacks shuffled themselves.

“I wanted to increase business with the Houses of Longbottom, Lovegood, Bones, Abbott, Brown, MacMillian -” Hermione thought she’d suppressed her wince but Sirius turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “Hermione?” He asked.

“Like Ernie?” Hermione asked. “He’s in Hufflepuff.”

“I would assume so,” Sirius said, looking to Burnuk who inclined their head. “What is he like?”

“I could have guessed he was a pure-blood,” Hermione said, carefully choosing her words.

“Slurs?” Sirius asked.

“Not often,” Hermione said.

“Put their information aside,” Sirius said. The parchments rearranged again. “Moody, Ollivander, Potter, Prince, Prewett, Shaklebolt, Urquart, and Kama.”

The parchments quieted.

“Any business or family that supports Dolores Umbridge’s bills publicly, or privately if you can know such things, should be cut off immediately.”

The parchments flew around again.

“I would like to support werewolf rights, muggle-born equality, prison reform, and something innocuous.”

“Cauldron thickness?” Hermione suggested.

“Cauldron thicknesses,” Sirius said, nodding authoritatively. “Maybe magic carpets?”

“Magic carpets are surprisingly divisive.”

“Not magic carpets then.”

“There is a small but passionate debate happening about the terms used to describe the quality of armadillo bile,” Burnuk suggested. “As well as rumblings about new regulations for the melting point of imported ritual candles.”

Sirius snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. Cauldron thickness and candle melting points. They’re both safety-related as well, that’s excellent.”

At Hermione’s confused look, Sirius explained “This gives neutral political parties a way to have a conversation with us without looking suspicious. Also, I think it will confuse the hell out of everyone.”

Hermione blinked at him.

“Is that all, Mr. Black?”

“What do we have left from the originals?”

Most of the parchments vanished from the desk. All that was left was a comparatively small stack. Sirius thumbed through them quickly.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Burnuk,” Sirius said without looking up.

“The house of Black needs to diversify, Mr. Black. Money has been sitting in your vaults, gathering dust.”

“What do you recommend?”

Hermione did her best to listen but the conversation passed in a blur. Bone-deep weariness had sunk in and the week of no sleep was catching up with her. At the end of the discussion, Sirius stood and shook hands with Burnuk. “I look forward to doing business with you Burnuk.”

“And you, Mr. Black. This way, please,” Burnuk led them to the ornate gate and it opened at his touch.

Hermione silently followed Sirius as the goblin led them down the hallway, a different way from the way they came in. Soon Hermione saw the carts and torches Harry had described to her, the ones that would lead to the vaults.

Sirius clambered in first and then offered a hand to help her in. “Have you been in one of these before?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Hold on tight,” Sirius said grinning. That should have been a clue.

Hermione did not like the carts.

She actually needed Sirius’s hand to help her stand and stay standing once the carts ground to a halt. He ended up offering his arm and Hermione clung to him as Burnuk strolled to the massive, intricate door. He turned to Sirius, “If the ministry fails to respond to our demand for the Vault keys back, Mr. Black, you will have a new one within three business days.” He turned back around and stroked a finger down the vault door.

Silently the door opened and Burnuk bowed before walking back to the cart.

The black vault was huge. It was easily bigger than Hermione’s house. Big enough she couldn’t tell how far it went back nor how high the ceilings went. Most of it was full of gold. Heaping piles of galleons filled the back of the cavern and Hermione had the sudden urge to go swimming in it.

Sirius wasn’t phased, instead, he looked around with a critical eye. He helped her through the door and then he strode through the slim paths between shelves of jewelry and books - books! - to a simple wood desk that was fitted in amongst the shelves. Sirius pulled out a penknife and murmured something under his breath as he cut his thumb. Blood welled up and he pressed the pad of his thumb into the top of the desk.

There was no stain when he pulled his thumb away.

“What is that?” Hermione asked as Sirius pulled a gigantic, ancient book out of the desk.

“Before the Wizengamont,” Sirius said, staring down at the book, he took a deep breath before trying again, “before the Wizengamont, families like mine held a lot of power. We had land. Money to have lots of children who lived. Access to tutors. Access to wands. Time in the day to practice magic, and understand the theory behind it. Enough money to make money. Money that all the children that the parents could afford to have would then inherit when they came of age.”

He opened the front cover and traced a finger down the page.

“We needed protection. From other families, from other powers, from ourselves. Purebloods aren’t any better than muggle-borns Hermione. They are the same inside and out. The only difference between a pureblood and a muggle-born is family magic.”

Hermione hadn’t heard that term before and said so.

“Have you heard of covens? Order of merlin? The Black eyes? The Potter hair?” Sirius fluttered his eyelashes over at her, showing off his grey eyes.

“I thought covens were a muggle thing?” Hermione asked.

“Covens aren’t a muggle thing,” Sirius said with a distant voice, slowly turning pages, “muggles remember the covens. Remember what they could do.”

Abruptly, the pages flipped through toward the back of the book with a startling but pleasing thrrrrrrp sound. Sirius looked down at the page and sucked in a breath, close to tears.

“Sirius?” Hermione asked, tentatively.

“My mother disowned me when I was 16. My father, my brother, my grandfather, no one reached out. The Potters took me in as a son.” He stared down at the book. “Why wouldn’t he disown me?”

Hermione carefully stepped closer until she could see the book. Sirius’s name sparkled on the page, shimmering under the ever-present light in the vault. The ink was the same color as the rest of the book, jet black, but there was something about it that made Hermione want to use the word alive.

Magic.

The word thrummed through her.

This was magic. Old and powerful, the enchantments forgotten or closely guarded. This was the magic that powered fairytales. The old ones that were full of darkness and blood and light and surviving against all odds.

“I am my grandfather’s heir,” Sirius whispered. “What the hell was he thinking?”

He turned toward her suddenly and then turned back toward the desk before he made it. He fumbled for the drawer which opened smoothly despite his clawing at it. He pulled out an ink well and a quill.

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, craning her neck at the book again.

“I control the family magic,” Sirius’s voice didn’t match the shaking of his hands.

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked. The name Regulus Arcturus Black was dull on the page, branching off in a way that suggested he was Sirius’s brother. The ink was lifeless, matching the names of Sirius’s parents.

“Family magic,” Sirius whirled back toward her, his voice loud. “Families need protection. The old families. Before there was a government, before there was a stable wizard council. They needed a way to keep their children safe. Needed a way to make the weak links strong. So they would sacrifice part of their magic to the whole. Sacrifice time. Observe the old holidays. The old rituals. Generate magic and instead of keeping it for themselves, they would give it to the family line.”

“How -?”

“Tie it to the blood. Pass it down from parent to child. A ritual at birth. A ritual for blood adoptions. A ritual for death.”

“Why would -”

“Power, Hermione,” Sirius said tonelessly. “It always comes down to power.”

Sirius took a deep breath and the pages flew again, flipping violently to the next page.

“Bellatrix has betrayed the family. Our motto, Hermione, is always pure. Did you know that Remus looked it up for me? After I was disowned? Our family history, our motto, our power, revolves around family magic. The Blacks are a powerful family that made themselves through sacrifice. Through ambition. Through being more clever than the family sitting next to us and a willingness to stab someone else in the back to save ourselves. We do not bow to others. We do not give our magic to others.”

Objectively, Hermione knew she was safe with Sirius. Even when he was his most mad, driven nearly insane from proximity to dementors and the need for revenge, he only ever hurt a portrait intentionally. However, he wasn’t exactly stable. He broke Ron’s leg by accident. Lived in a cave even if strategically it made no sense. And right now, he sounded and was acting manic. Hermione took a step back.

“Family magic,” Sirius said, with the air of someone who had heard this very often, very young, “is a privilege and a gift. We will not comport ourselves in a way that dishonors this family or its magic.”

Hermione took another step back and glanced toward the vault door. It wasn’t there.

Sirius opened a desk drawer and pulled out a parchment. Already Hermione could see black ink looping across it, word-forming even as Sirius was unrolling it. It was paragraphs of small print followed by a list of names.

Sirius Black.
Regulus Black.
Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
Bellatrix Lestrange.

Sirius struck through Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Regulus Black with a steady hand. The black slashes were harsh against the neat handwriting. Next to Regulus Black Sirius hesitated and then scribbled something Hermione determined illegible. Underneath the now crossed-out Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius added three names.

Andromeda Tonks.
Nymphadora Tonks.
Harry Potter.

He shot a considering look at Hermione but didn’t say anything as he closed the inkwell.

“I’ll need to come back at some point,” he said as he strolled toward the piles of galleons. “But let’s top up now.”

Hermione watched as Sirius directed a stream of galleons, knuts, and sickles into a coin purse that must have an undetectable extension charm. Once he was satisfied, Hermione joined him at one of the long rows of shelving that housed jewelry.

At her frown, he said “Never underestimate what a good outfit does during politics, Hermione. That necklace,” he pointed to a glittering, brilliant blue gem dangling from a shining silver chain, “hasn’t been worn since my great-grandmother went out on the town with my great-grandfather.” He pointed to a gold ring with a craggy green gem breaking through the gold. “My father wore that to every Wizengamont meeting. Only the head of the family can authorize family heirlooms to leave the vault. If there were an indictment on file, Gringotts would be required to prevent me from leaving the vault with anything. Since there isn’t one, just a sentencing notice, there isn’t anything stopping me from entering the vault. As the eldest male, I become the head of the family. I show up to my cousin’s house wearing something like that and Andy won’t have an excuse to try and kill me.”

“Would she?” Hermione asked.

“Andy?” Sirius said with a grin, “Andy’s a vicious little thing. She and Bellatrix. It’s just that Bellatrix has all the crazy. If she thought she could get away with it, if she needed to, I’d be dead with half a thought”

Chapter Text

Andromeda Tonk’s house was a pleasing blend of muggle and magic. The house was modern, using muggle building materials, but Hermione could feel the pleasing buzz of magic radiating from the property.

Distantly, as Mrs. Tonks whipped open the door and pressed her wand into Sirius’s neck in a way that would leave a welt and Sirius grinned with a smile as sharp as knives and Mrs. Tonks’ eye caught on the gold and red earring in Sirius’s ear and his father’s gold ring on his raised hands and then slid to where she was standing behind him on the front step, it occurred to Hermione she should probably be scared.

Instead, she waited politely as Mrs. Tonks took a jagged breath that was quiet enough to be a sigh. She waited as Mrs. Tonks slipped into the role of courteous hostess, welcoming them both inside. She waited as the kettle billowed steam without prompting or a stove. She waited as Sirius introduced her to Mrs. Tonks and said ‘It’s nice to meet you’ when it was time. She waited through the silence that filled the room.

“Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks said, “I understand that there is more going on here than meets the eye but surely involving Ms. Granger is not -”

Hermione, who had just spent a year begging any and every adult for help to keep her best friend alive and then realizing they weren’t going to do anything, found that she didn’t have any patience left. “It was my idea.”

Silence.

The kettle sang out a cheery tune. Mrs. Tonks brushed her fingers over her wand handle where it was hidden in her sleeve and the tea service floated gracefully through the air to the coffee table they were seated around.

Color flooded back into the world as Hermione sipped her tea. She realized her ears had been ringing since yesterday. She was exhausted.

The silence settled into her, resting heavy in her bones.

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Tonks said, “you should start at the beginning.”

As it turns out, it was a lot harder to start this story with a stranger. There wasn’t a clear beginning. Especially not when Sirius was involved.

“I -” Hermione took a deep breath and set her shoulders back, holding her tea cup and saucer primly. “Voldemort is back and trying to kill Harry. Harry needs to be safe. The Dursely's house, where he’s staying now, is not safe. It’s never been safe.”

Mrs. Tonks sipped her tea.

“Dumbledore knows how bad it is there. He won’t help. Won’t tell us anything.”

Mrs. Tonks set her teacup down without even a clink.

“Something is wrong.” This was true. Beyond every wrong thing that had happened this last year, there was something else that was wrong. Hermione didn’t know what it was, couldn’t explain what was causing the feeling, but she knew that she felt it. “No one is willing to help.”

“So you went to Sirius?” Mrs. Tonks gazed over at Sirius who was continuing the rich boy facade. He was carefully sprawled out in his chair, taking up too much space. At the same time, he never clinked his teacup and took careful sips despite holding the cup carelessly.

“He offered Harry a home last year,” Hermione said. “He thanked me after we helped him escape. He wrote letters during the whole Triwizard tournament. He helped.”

Mrs. Tonks considered this. “Who was it, Sirius?”

“Peter.”

The room got several degrees cooler.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Mrs. Tonks said in a drawl that could rival Sirius’s. “Death-eater. Well, I suppose it has happened to better people.”

Sirius snorted but maintained the rigid carelessness.

“Who set up the Fidelis charm?” Mrs. Tonks carefully picked up her tea cup.

“Dumbledore.” It was nearly a growl that could rival Padfoot’s.

“Hermione,” Mrs. Tonks said, “has Dumbledore done anything else that’s made you worried?”

Sirius flinched.

Hermione considered the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted slowly. “I know what would be weird at a muggle boarding school, but I don’t know if it works the same way here.”

“An example?” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“Well,” Hermione said, slowly, “when I was petrified, the school let my parents know what had happened but didn’t really follow up with anything. My parents got a letter. Only a letter. They had no way of writing back or who to contact or where to get any more information. No one went to visit them. When Harry - well, when whatever happened when Harry got the philosopher’s stone from Voldemort and Harry was in the hospital wing, no one contacted the Dursleys. I know,” she added hurriedly, “because Harry would have been worried in second-year if he knew they could write home. The Durselys hate magic. They would not be kind to Harry if they were receiving letters like the ones my parents did during the school year. Shouldn’t the school contact Harry’s guardians if he’s unconscious?”

The room’s temperature dropped again.

“I think,” Mrs. Tonks said, “you should stay for dinner.”

The Tonks' residence had a telephone. Hermione called her parents, gushing about the merging of muggle and magic with enthusiasm she didn’t even have to fake and then promised to be home for bed.

Mr. Tonks, or Ted as he insisted, came home around the time Hermione was explaining her time turner. He didn’t seem phased to find Sirius Black or Hermione Granger in his living room, nor at his wife’s insistence that they were staying for dinner.

“You,” Mrs. Tonks said as the dinner dishes floated over to the sink, “Are going to need a house with old wards.”

Sirius relaxed, his forced casualness melting into a careless sort of grace.

“A healer,” she continued, “a lawyer, house elves, and tutors. In that order.”

“Not a lawyer and then a healer?” Sirius asked.

“You are Harry’s godfather. You were named in the will. Provided you can prove that, you are well within your legal right to take Harry and live with him where you see fit.”

Sirius seemed to consider this and slouched back in his chair. Softly, he said, “I am head of house.”

“Have you considered Bowtruckle Run?”

Hermione evaluated the idea that she might be in a state of shock. Certainly, that might be why she didn’t react even as Sirius turned a sickly shade of white, gripping the table. It could explain why she continued to sit peacefully as Mrs. Tonks rounded the dinner table quickly, wand out, and ordered Sirius to breathe. It could explain the fact that when Mr. Tonks began murmuring spells under his breath that let off a warm, welcoming glow Hermione turned toward them like a sunflower.

“Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks ordered, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Bastards,” came the response. “What else did those bastards steal from me?”

The crockery in the sink exploded. Hermione watched with mild interest as the shards scattered along the patterned, tiled floor.

“Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks said calmly.

“They took James - I can’t - I - James! They took Bowtruckle Run! They took Lily’s coffee order! They took my 7th year! They took sneaking in to see you! They took my charms! My transfiguration spells!” Sirius exploded, shoving back from the table and standing. Mrs. Tonks didn’t flinch. Mr. Tonks sent warm globes of light pulsing into the air. Hermione watched her breath dance in the cold air. “I can’t remember. And then someone says something and it's too cold or it's too much and I don’t even know what I’m missing!”

“You,” Mrs. Tonks said, as forceful as a queen, “are Sirius Black, Gryffindor. You are the heir to the house of Black. Godfather to Harry. Cousin to Nymphadora.”

“It’s not enough!” Sirius grabbed his hair. “It wasn’t enough then, how can it be enough now? I can’t -”

“You are a Potter. You ran away from everything you knew at 16. You found your own family. You charmed your motorbike to fly. You can sniff out firewhisky like no one else. You once charmed my chess pieces to float away anytime I tried to move them.”

Hermione watched as the fight seemed to drop out of Sirius, sending him to the floor with a thud. Ted’s murmuring increased and Hermione recognized every third spell as ones Madam Pomfrey used on Harry after the second task.

“You are the head of the House of Black,” Hermione’s hair on the back of her neck rose. Mrs. Tonks was kneeling on the floor next to Sirius now, but it was like she was speaking into her ear. “You will not bow.”

“Darling,” Ted said conversationally into the silence that was stretching out again, “Perhaps he should see a healer.”

“They’ll tell,” Hermione was standing now, didn’t even realize that she was until she swayed, “They’ll tell and Harry won’t be safe. They sent dementors after us last time, what will they do now? Dumbledore didn’t stop them. He warned me - what - he - what will- he’ll try and stop us now!”

Ted was now murmuring spells at Hermione. Warmth hit her like a train. She was so tired. The tears running down her cheeks were cold compared to the warmth.

“We’ve almost died every year,” Hermione told the ceiling. “That’s with Dumbledore’s protection. What happens if he takes it away? It’s already not enough.”

She hated how small her voice sounded. She was the first witch in her family. Top of her class. She could and had handled any situation that the wizarding world had thrown at her. Blood supremacy? Handled and disproven. Culture shock? She knows every and any cultural phenomenon that has been written down or is observable. Death-defying trials first year? Beat on the fly. Real-life monster performing hate crimes on behalf of a terrorist? Solved while petrified. Given a time-turner to go to all the classes she needed to take to prove that she was just as good as anyone else? Told to use it to rescue a not-mass-murder but traumatized-and-maybe-crazy stranger? Done. Kept Harry alive during a year-long assassination attempt via a crazy death tournament? Achieved despite said terrorist’s best efforts. Asking for help should not be what breaks her.

She took Ted’s arm when he offered it to her, escorting her into the living room like she’d seen pureblood boys do for pureblood girls. She murmured a thank you when they got to the couch and he threw a cozy, heavy, knit blanket over her. Ted calmly snapped a wand at the fireplace and the flames snapped back higher. Sirius was escorting Mrs. Tonks in, in the same manner as Ted and Hermione, but it looked like Mrs. Tonks was the one holding up Sirius instead.

“The way I see it,” Ted began calmly, “is we need to move fast.”

Soon a parchment with a neat checklist was floating next to Ted’s head as he stood by the fireplace. It was much more cohesive than Hermione’s had been a week ago.

Harry - as quickly as possible.
Secure housing with blood wards - as quickly as possible - Bowtruckle run?
Secure a copy of the Potter’s will
Lawer
Healer
Tutor
Dumbledore

“Dumbledore?” Sirius asked hoarsely, “What are you going to do to him, Andy?”

“I may not be a Black anymore but I am still Cygnus and Druella Black’s daughter,” she said, eyes unforgiving, “No one messes with our family.”

“You are a Black, actually,” Sirius said. “I changed that.”

“You what?” this was the first time Hermione had seen Mrs. Tonks visibly surprised.

“Gringotts recognizes Andromeda Tonks nee Black as a daughter of the house of Black. You have access to your old vault, which reflects what was in it when it was taken plus your dowry.”

Mrs. Tonks blinked at him.

“Gringotts also recognizes Nymphadora Tonks as a daughter of House Black. She has a vault set up with the base maintenance allowance. This will be terminated upon marriage unless the happy couple chooses to swear to House Black.”

Mrs. Tonks continued to stare.

“I was also hoping,” Sirius said, obviously enjoying her surprise. “That you and your daughter would do the renewal rights at -” he glanced at the list. “Bowtruckle Run, to start.”

“We’re free tomorrow,” Ted said cheerfully.

Mrs. Tonks turned to him, amazed. “I suppose we are, aren’t we?”

—

Hermione slept 16 hours and woke up to the sound of her parents and a house guest. It was a soothing mixture of laughter and the deeper tones that adults hit in conversation. She stretched, feeling the softness of her bedding slide over the warmth of her skin. She felt well-rested for the first time in a long time.

Hermione emerged with big frizzy hair and fuzzy socks. Sirius, who looked amused at her bedhead, politely greeted her from her living room couch. Hermione managed a polite nod back and then shuffled off to find tea.

“Mr. Black,” her mother said, ignoring Sirius’s interjection of “Sirius, please!”, “has invited us to the renewal rituals at his family’s property. We will be going this evening, at dusk.”

Hermione blinked and looked at Sirius over the rim of her teacup.

“Andy and I have spent a lot of time making sure it’s safe,” Sirius said. “I want this house to be somewhere Lily could have brought her family and having someone important to Harry - important to me - there who is muggle born or muggle will help set the intention of the ritual.”

“If you think it’s a good idea,” Hermione said cautiously, ignoring the burning desire to research renewal rights that ignited in her chest. It was like a physical pull she could feel all the way down to her fingertips. “Do we need to do anything to prepare?”

“If you don’t mind wearing the robes I will provide and participating to the best of your abilities, there shouldn’t be an issue. Hermione, you might feel the -” He hesitated. “Backlash? Impact? Aura? Of the wards strengthening. It might be overwhelming in a good way. Provided we do this right. Which we will.”

“It’s not dangerous?” Hermione asked, a bit nervous.

“Not as long as you are formal guests of the head of the house,” Sirius said, gesturing to himself with a lazy hand.”

“When do we get started?”

“Dusk,” Sirius said. “Though, if you wanted to be traditional, you could fast for the rest of today. I can’t prove that does anything though, I’m fairly certain it’s codswallop.”

Just in case, Hermione didn’t eat anything for the rest of the day. Sirius told her that once the wards were reset and the house was secure, she could have access to any book she wanted in the library so long as it was safe. She had a running list in her mind of everything she wanted to look up.

Bowtruckle Run, apparently, was under a fideleus charm of a sort. Or it was under both a fideleus charm and something else. Either way, Sirius had to tell them the address, in a formal stilted way and then physically bring them to the property.

It was massive. And run down.

“We had a lot of house elves,” Mrs. Tonks said casually as they walked down the overgrown lawns toward the house, “but the ones who would have kept up this house would have gone to Sirius’s mother. She had a fondness for cutting off their heads.”

Hermione’s parents took this comment in silently and wide-eyed.

“It’s very french,” Hermione’s mother offered. She looked around the sprawling lawns again.

“Our family has strong ties to the french,” Mrs. Tonks replied. “We were once very proud of it.”

—

Hermione didn’t have the vocabulary to describe the renewal rights. As a witness, she stood outside the circle with her parents, responding when prompted. Ted stood across the circle from them, not inside it but visible in a way that Hermione instinctively could tell that her parents were not.

Sirius, Mrs. Tonks, and Nymphadora Tonks - just Tonks, please! - stood along the inside of the circle at the points of the circle.

There were words, in French, but Mrs. Tonks said it would be different for every family. Theirs was in French because of their ancestors. Some families did Latin. Others did old English. Ted chimed in that they could be in modern English so long as the intentions are correct.

Intention, Hermione learned, was the defining part. The words were just a guide.

The three adults in the circle had their wands but they weren’t out. Instead, they each held a knife that gleamed despite the low light.

Blood, Sirius explained, was a sacrifice willingly given. The family magic had been neglected for a very long time. You had to pay into it to get anything back.

“Like benefits,” Hermione’s mom had said.

“Exactly,” Ted said nodding.

This didn’t feel like something as mundane as benefits. Hermione could feel magic bubbling up underneath her bare feet, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Like water rumbling to a boil.

As Sirius, Mrs. Tonks, and Tonks cut open their hands and their blood hit the ground, the lines on the ground lighting up with pale silver fire.

The Black eyes, Hermione thought. Then she stopped thinking altogether as the magic hit.

Magic was primal. It was a wild, graceful, majestic, terrifying thing. Family magic was distilled. Magic honed into human will and then unleashed again. It didn’t occur on its own. Sirius, Mrs. Tonks, and Tonks fought to force magic into shape. Hermione could feel it. Feel the rage and madness, feel the hope and smugness, feel the exhilaration. Most of all, she could feel the love. Deep, steady, unyielding, vicious, love.

As soon as it started it was over.

“Hermione!” Her parents' hands were keeping her upright.

Sirius was flat on his back, giggling along with Tonks.

Mrs. Tonks was gracefully seated on the ground taking measured breaths.

Hermione took a breath and looked up at her parents. “I’m ok.”

“You look ok now,” her father said absently, examining her pupils. “Your hair was sparking.”

The moon was over the treetops. “How long?”

“Just about an hour sweetheart,” her mother sounded worried. “Why don’t you sit down.”

Hermione didn’t like it when her mother was worried. “That felt like what flying should have felt like.”

“You don’t like flying?” Tonks’s voice sounded outraged.

“The brooms don’t like me!”

Tonks’s laughter was contagious and soon Hermione was giggling too.

Chapter Text

Hermione knew when Tonks was feeling less giddy because the wild, jet-black curls that reminded her of Andromada’s hair abruptly turned bubble gum pink. The curls and length remained, much to the indifference of Tonks.

“Did you learn to do that?” asked Jean.

“Nah, I was born with it,” Tonks said proudly. “First metamorphmagus in the Black family in years. My hair started changing almost as soon as I was born.”

“Is it just your hair?” Jean ran her hand down Hermione’s hair, smoothing the frizzy curls.

“If you give me a minute,” Tonks stretched luxuriously on the couch. “I can show you. It’s dead useful for work.”

“What do you do?” Hermione's father asked. He’d been in an animated discussion with Ted about ritual magic for the last hour and had a looked that Hermione recognized from her own face when she first saw Hogwarts's library.

“I’m an Auror - wizarding police.”

“The Aurors are ok with this kind of magic?” Hermione’s father asked, looking back at Ted for confirmation.

“Ritual magic used to be a daily part of life,” Tonks said. “Today it has a bad association with the dark arts but that’s mainly because traditional families who used ritual magic also were tossers who joined up with dark lords. It’s not encouraged but it’s not explicitly banned. I don’t advertise it and no one asks me.”

‘If they were to find out?”

Tonks scrunched her nose and it shortened and then lengthened again. “Well, Moody wouldn’t blink but Dawlish might think something of it. Which is ridiculous, just because the rest of my family are nutters doesn’t mean I’m dark.”

“Here, here,” Sirius said. Like Tonks, he was sprawled out over a couch, one foot touching the floor and one hand tucked behind his head.

“It’s a double standard,” Tonks complained. “One second I’m the example of the wizarding future - being a half-blood and all - then the next I could be the newest Black to succumb to madness. If I get the suspicion then at least I should get paid for it.”

“Well, now you are,” Sirius said. “Have you been to the bank yet?”

“Not yet,” Tonk said. “I’ll swing by when I usually do. No need to be suspicious about it.”

“Mad-eye's rubbing off on you,” Sirius said with a laugh.

“If we assume Dumbledore is as great as everyone thinks he is, he has eyes everywhere,” Tonks said darkly. “No need to tip him off that something is wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Jean asked.

Tonks glanced over at Sirius before her hair abruptly was bob length. “Dumbledore isn’t the biggest fan of ritual magic. If I’ve come into a lot of money it’s because Sirius now has control of the family. It’s a very easy jump to renewal rights. Not that I would allow him to shame me, mind you, I’m a Black first, before everything else. Family is everything to us. However, he’s facing a lot of bad press at this moment in time. My family could be a powerful political ally. He’d want us to be the picture-perfect, muggle-friendly, blood-traitor family.”

“Which, you wouldn’t be if you did renewal rights,” Hermione’s father said hesitantly.

“Exactly,” Tonks said.

“We’ll just have to try harder,” Sirius said, with a sudden burst of energy. “The financial quarter is ending soon, isn’t it?”

Tonks looked at him blankly. Sirius made a noise and waved her hand at him. “It doesn’t matter. Or maybe we could go to a Weird Sisters concert. That could work.”

“Scandal reaches the House of Black,” Mrs. Tonks said dryly as she entered the room.

“A scandal!” Sirius said. “That’s exactly what we need.”

“How would you do that?” Jean asked, with a laugh.

“Photos, something terrible,” Sirius said with a grin. “A date in the muggle world. I could buy a car!”

“Where would you drive it?” Hermione asked. “The road up to Hogwarts?”

“No!” Mrs. Tonks said sternly. “You are not going to do that.”

“Spoilsport,” Sirius grumbled, but he was smiling.

Hermione basked in the warmth of her parents, the smoothness of the leather couch, and the buzz of magic that still rumbled under her skin. She’ll enjoy this until she couldn’t. Then she’d get to work.

---

The next few days passed in a blur. The list was a mantra that Hermione would hear with every beat of her heart. When she closed her eyes, the words appeared in the inky darkness. When she breathed she counted the items she had left.

Harry - as quickly as possible.
Secure housing with blood wards - as quickly as possible - Bowtruckle Run?
Secure a copy of the Potter’s will.
Lawyer
Healer
Tutor
Dumbledore

Having multiple people working on one list made it difficult for Hermione to represent the progress the group made. By the end of the week, she couldn’t cross any singular item off but there was significant progress made toward each of them. This way didn’t help her obsessive counting but did help her feel better.

Sirius was locating the Potter’s will. This was much easier to do when he could access Gringotts and hire a legal representative through one of his accounts. It segued nicely into step 4 once Ted pointed out the Black estate could hire a lawyer to free its heir and give the lawyer plausible deniability as to who actually hired them. The lawyer could also start researching healers, mostly for Sirius but Harry was going to have an appointment too.

As a named beneficiary in the Potter’s will, Sirius was legally entitled to a copy. That took approximately two hours. The next two days were spent trying to figure out who Harry’s legal guardians were. In the muggle world, it was the Dursleys.

“Harry is a wizard, born to magical parents, to a magical House,” Mrs. Tonks said. “Our laws take precedent.”

“Magical house?”

“The House of Potter. Not as old as the House of Black, but still a good, old House.”

“Harry is the heir?”

Mrs. Tonks gave Hermione an odd look but nodded.

“No one’s told Harry this,” Hermione was absolutely sure he would have mentioned that.

“Gringotts,” Mrs. Tonks started and then stopped. Another strange look flashed across her face. “Who took Harry to Gringotts the first time?”

“Hagrid.”

For the second time, Hermione saw Mrs. Tonks visibly taken aback. “Hagrid.”

“Yes.”

“Who came to Harry’s house, to give him his letters?”

“No one at first,” Hermione said. “They sent so many owls. Then Hagrid tracked them down and took Harry.”

“Took Harry?” Mrs. Tonks sounded alarmed.

“Harry wanted to go,” Hermione said. “The Dursleys didn’t stop them.”

“Who handles Harry’s fanmail?”

“We did.”

“Before Hogwarts started.”

“Harry didn’t have any fanmail before the Triwizard tournament,” Hermione recognized the unlikeliness of that statement as soon as she said it. “Can you block mail?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Tonks said. Despite her tone, she still looked serene. “This would suggest someone is acting as his magical guardian. You have to get a permit to redirect mail.”

“Was James head of House?” Hermione asked after a minute. The rest of the information felt like she was chewing around a mouthful of dry biscuit, she chose to ignore it for the time being.

“He was,” Mrs. Tonks said. “A very young head of House.”

“Harry would have been raised as the heir to the House of Potter,” Hermione said, trying the words out for size. “He would have known his family.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Tonks said solemnly. “All of this leads me to believe that there needs to be some magical guardian on file. Someone like Harry should not have been able to fall through the cracks.”

“So we keep looking,” Hermione determined.

“We keep looking.”

By the end of day two, even Ted admitted defeat. “There’s nothing there but dust. The ministry of magic doesn’t have a guardian on file.”

“That’s just public information?” Hermione asked, horrified.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Tonks said. “Regardless, nothing is there. Lily and James Potter are listed as parents and then nothing.”

“So we can take him?” Hermione asked.

“They’ll fight,” Mrs. Tonks said grimly, “but Sirius is Godfather. The magic should hold. On top of that, their will names Sirius as their preferred guardian should they die.”

“That means something more here? Godfather?” Hermione said more than asked. “There’s a ritual?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Tonks looked out the window. “Sirius has a claim and a responsibility. He is to protect Harry. Guide him, nurture him, and be more than anyone else except for Lily and James. It’s old magic. It’s fallen out of favor somewhat in recent years but was very common during the war.”

The blood wards were next. It was a long process. One Hermione wasn’t allowed to witness fully. It involved the same ritual robes as the renewal rites, the same knives, and Tonks tripping over at least four rugs. The Blacks walked the perimeter of the house, the grounds, and any bodies of water on the property.

This left the tutor and Dumbledore the only items on the list that weren’t publicly discussed. Hermione was pretty sure Mrs. Tonks was working on the strategy for Headmaster Dumbledore but she was working on it alone. Anytime Mrs. Tonks was sitting down she was reading a newspaper from a pile of them she had in a basket or writing in neat, tiny, cursive in a leatherbound notebook. Hermione couldn’t begin to guess what she was looking for. The notebook sat neatly on the side table, looking completely mundane while Mrs. Tonks tromped around outside.

Ted watched interestedly from the window. “We could probably match their routes to the property records. Each odd boundary is where they expanded.”

Hermione traced the paths they took. That made much more sense than what she had been guessing previously. “How long have they owned this property?”

“Almost as long as they’ve been in Britain. It was a gift of land from an allied family. There are wand trees all over the property, bowtruckles love it.”

“Do they do anything with the land?”

“Historically the House of Ollivander with come and harvest wand wood as a part of the alliance between our houses. It’s fallen to the side in recent years.”

“Are there a lot of alliances?”

“Many,” Ted said. “Any notable family in the Wizengamont will have some, even historically neutral families will build alliances over safety issues.”

“How long do alliances last?”

“As long as they need to,” Ted said. “Some last generations, others last the time it takes to pass legislation.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione watched Tonks misstep and then recover with high knees. Sirius laughed even as his mouth continued to move, wand raised and glowing. “That sounds like the families would be close.”

“Very,” Ted agreed. “There’s often marriages between families, shared grandchildren, godparents. It used to be a safeguard against violence and betrayal, now it's less of a formal arrangement and more of a … expectation?”

“Unspoken way to make your families happy.”

Ted slowly said, “There aren’t arranged marriages. No contracts. Nothing so formal. Parents aren’t picking their children's spouses. But there is an etiquette, that the wealthy pureblood families observe. Language, steps for where to go on dates, how and when to meet the parents. A suitor that does these things is more likely to win over the family.”

“They don’t teach us these things,” Hermione said, before blushing. It’s not like she needed this information or was planning on using it. There wasn’t any pureblood boy who had caught her eye enough for her to even begin to think about learning pureblood courting etiquette.

“They don’t” Ted agreed. “This and a million other things.”

Alliances lasting generations. The words bounced around in her head. Something about that should mean something to her. Ted seemed content to let her ponder those words in silence.

Irritably, Hermione leaned her head against the window before sliding down to sit on the thick window sill. Alliances lasting generations. What was bothering her? It certainly wasn’t about her, she didn’t have a family that would have alliances. Was it about Sirius? His friends should have figured it out. Professor Lupin should have figured it out. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair. If they were all as good as friends as it was whispered about, a betrayal from one of them would be as heartbreaking and unexpected as another one. There was no way for Lily and James to die without a betrayal, maybe Professor Lupin never looked further than that.
It’s not what Hermione would do, the need to understand burning beneath her breast bone, gripping her throat, tingling at her fingertips. But, maybe, just maybe, it’s what other people would do.

Surely Sirius had other friends, right? The House of Black had allies? They would have questioned it. Paid close enough attention to realize that Sirius hadn’t had a trial. Someone should have at least noticed, in all the books and articles written about the boy-who-lived.

Alliances lasting generations.

The boy-who-lived. Harry.

That’s what was bothering her.

Harry James Potter, heir to the House of Potter.

Where were his allies? Where were the family friends who were close enough to care about his well-being? How did the last heir of an old house disappear from society without anyone looking into where he went? How did the boy-who-live disappear?

The question settled into her, resting behind her ribs. She could feel it every time she breathed. The parade of Black family members disappeared into the woods.

Hermione awoke to Tonks and Sirius’s laughter. Now that she was awake, she could feel the buzz of magic coming off of all of them. The house felt different as well. She wouldn’t have noticed if the family hadn’t been in the room with her but she could feel the difference. There wasn’t a word for it, it was like the house had woken up, just a little bit. The air felt more like Hogwarts than her parents' house. Felt more like the Burrow.

“Once Harry comes here, we will need the Grangers to stay here. It would be prudent for them to know the full circumstances before they arrive,” Mrs. Tonks was saying.

“No,” Hermione said.

The adults turned to face her.

“Hermione,” Sirius tried.

“No,” Hermione said, again. Her parents would never trust her again.

“We need to tell them, Hermione,” Mrs.Tonks wasn’t budging.

“Why?” Hermione asked, feeling panic bubble up around her.

“When we take Harry everyone is going to know. Dumbledore is going to know. He’s going to come looking.” Mrs. Tonks turned to face Hermione fully. “You’re his best friend. He’s going to come and ask you where Harry is. He’s going to ask your parents where Harry is.”

“They don’t know,” Hermione argued.

“Dumbledore will look,” Mrs. Tonks seemed perfectly relaxed.

“Look?”

“Legilimency, the art of searching and reading another’s mind. Your parents are muggles, Hermione. They aren’t safe.”

Wasn’t that fantastic? The panic was replaced by burning ice. “Does everyone know that?”

“It used to be taught,” Mrs. Tonks said with a sigh. “The current school board tends to swing toward racism or progressivism. Neither side wanted to keep the classes on culture. This is reflected in history during the last several wars. A war begins its fight before anyone dies. During that period of time, the dominant feeling is that muggle-borns are unworthy and need to work to fit in. Why make it easy for them? Once the war is over, traditionalism is viewed as evil. Classes that present it neutrally or positively are banned and muggle studies are touted.”

“Resulting in Muggle Studies being a joke and muggle-borns not having the information that they need.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Tonks said. “Hopefully, this is something we can change.”

“We?” Hermione asked.

“If we, the House of Black, take Dumbledore out of the political landscape,” Mrs. Tonks said in a way that implied that it wasn’t a question of if, “there will be a power vacuum left behind. We will fill it.”

“This is a coup,” Hermione said, startled.

“It shouldn’t be,” Sirius said slyly. “No one person should have that power. We couldn’t possibly think that filling one person's shoes would give us that much power.”

Mrs. Tonk’s grin was sharp. “Especially if you ask Dumbledore, he doesn’t have that amount of power anyway.”

“He’d really go after my parents?”

“They wouldn’t be harmed,” Ted assured her, his tone serious. “He would read their minds with or without their consent. He would absolutely use that knowledge against you. Play you against your parents. Imply something bad could happen and it would be your fault.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” Hermione said. “That sounds illegal.”

“Oh massively,” Ted said, agreeing with her.

“Your parents wouldn’t notice, and if they did, they wouldn’t remember it after,” Mrs. Tonks said. “They wouldn’t know to complain.”

Horror bubbled in Hermione’s stomach, “They’ll stay here then.”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Tonks agreed, “we’ll prepare a suite. Perhaps the one overlooking the lawn?”

Chapter Text

Bowtruckle Run was massive. A quintessential victorian great house, irrelevantly called the country house by Mrs. Tonks and Sirius, the manor had more rooms than Hermione could count given that she hadn’t seen most of it yet. Mrs. Tonks and Sirius met her and Ted at the edge of the property and walked through the overgrown lawns.

“We’re going to need a herbologist,” Mrs. Tonks said with a sigh as they passed hopelessly overgrown hedges.

“We could tear it all out,” Sirius said, with a glance around. “Start from scratch.”

Hermione could hear Neville’s stammering protest at the idea. Despite the familiar layout of a French garden, Hermione could only identify some of the plants. Even then, the ones she could identify weren’t muggle.

They split up in the foyer. Sirius took off toward the office on the first floor with barely a wave over his shoulder. Ted went in the opposite direction, toward the conservatory.

“Be careful,” Mrs. Tonks commanded. “Goodness knows if there’s been a relative interested in Devil’s Snare.”

Hermione shuddered and rubbed her fingers over her wand.

Ted gave a cheerful affirmative and whistled as he disappeared through the parlour.

“That’ll leave us the bedrooms,” Mrs. Tonks said. “This way.”

They went around and around the elegant spiral staircase that rose from the middle of the room until it reached the ceiling far above them.

“I’ve never seen a staircase like this before,” Hermione said, feeling the polished wood handrail glide under her hand.

“Most would choose a staircase location that required fewer stairs for their guests. There’s no denying the drama of it, however.”

“Runs in the family then,” Hermione said, thinking back to a terrifying night in third year.

Mrs. Tonks grinned but changed the subject. “We’ll have to get the floos cleaned out.”

Hermione carefully leaned so she could see over to the massive fireplace opposite the door. The sheer size - “Can multiple people floo into the same fireplace?”

“Not generally,” Mrs. Tonks said in a tone that could only be described as smug, “however, Bowtruckle Run boasts numerous features that can only be found here.”

Hermione looked over the staircase again.
“Now,” Mrs. Tonks said, slightly out of breath, “we should be on the third floor. This floor has rooms for distinguished guests that aren’t close to the family. I would prefer to host your family on the second floor.”

“Do you only have a staircase to the third floor?” Given Hogwarts’s stairs, Hermione wasn’t willing to assume otherwise.

“There are more private staircases at the ends of each floor but those tend to be heavily warded. Until we can confirm, something Sirius is working on, I don’t want to risk it.”

Hermione followed Mrs. Tonks down the plush, rich carpets that lined the wood floors. They perfectly matched the wood paneling and botanical wallpaper. The flowers on the wall seemed to sway and the vines followed Hermione whenever she took her eyes off them.

This was such a fancy house. A very old, fancy house. One that was cloaked in dust and silence that Mrs. Tonks was determined to conquer. Every few feet she stopped to show Hermione a different cleaning charm, banishing dust, brightening upholstery, and polishing wood with easy, elegant strokes of her wand.

There were multiple suites overlooking the lawn, but the one Mrs. Tonks had in mind was the Blue Suite, which true to its name was full of shades of blue. There were accents of gold and touches of light, natural wood carved into elegant shapes. Hermione sneezed as the dust wafted through the air.

“We’ll have to find a couple of house elves,” Mrs. Tonks said, frowning. “The amount of dust is simply unacceptable.”

“House elves,” Hermione repeated.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Tonks said, swishing her wand. Every piece of loose fabric in the room - the curtains, the drapes, the bedspread, the towels Hmerione could see through the open bathroom door - gave themselves a shake. With another jab of her wand vanished the dust that rose into the air. “We can certainly get a few bedrooms into shape but Merlin knows how we’d manage the ballroom.”

“House elf labour is slave labour,” Hermione said firmly.

“House elves need a bond with a wizarding family to survive,” Mrs. Tonks countered.

“House elves are treated inhumanely.”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Tonks agreed. “However, I am not planning on abusing any house elves. I’m sure the rest of the house can agree to not do so as well.”

Hermione frowned even as she studied the charm that easily opened all the windows to let some air in.

“You’re sure that I won’t get into trouble?” Getting kicked out of Hogwarts and then arrested for performing underage magic at the home of an escaped felon wasn’t on Hermione’s ten-year plan.

“Absolutely, so long as the blood wards are up.”

Hermione flicked her wand and dusk spilled out of the dresser. “House-elves are forced to punish themselves for a simple mistake. If you give an order and they make a mistake and have to hurt themselves, that’s abuse.”

Mrs. Tonks pursed her lips but didn’t say anything, vanishing the new dust.

“If you want my help,” Hermione said, “and you’ll need it for Harry and Headmaster Dumbledore, then you will find a way to do without house elf labour or find a way that house elves will not be hurt. That they’ll be paid. Just like any of us.”

This wasn’t the position she would have taken at the beginning of the year. She had firmly believed a proper education on the reality that house elves faced every day would allow wizards to come to realise how horrific their own actions were. She had believed that so fervently it was startling to realise that any passion she’d had for the topic of education was stone cold, lying hard in the pit of her stomach.

Grimly, Hermione attacked the dust in the bathroom. It was much larger than the dimensions would suggest it would be. A large tub had been sunk into the floor, large enough that Hermione could stretch out on her back if she chose and float.

It’s not that she didn’t still feel unbearable sadness about house elves, more like she realized her approach hadn’t worked. Mrs. Tonks and Sirius could choose to use house elves no matter what she felt. She could threaten not to help but she knew that as soon as Harry was here she’d do anything she could. Did they know that?

For once Hermione’s cool, calm intellect was shoved aside. In its place was a calm certainty. She would not let them hurt house elves. Not in a house that was supposed to be safe. How she didn’t know. But she knew it wasn’t going to be an option.

Sirius didn’t see it this way.

“We need house elves, Hermione,” Sirius said. “I agree we shouldn’t hurt them but they need to be bonded to the family. They can’t be forced to give up family secrets if they are bonded.”

“It’s inhumane,” Hermione argued. “We shouldn’t -”

“This is war,” Sirius cut her off.

Hermione jerked her head over to look at Sirius. The hair on the back of her neck rose and she reached for her wand before she could stop herself. Sirius either didn’t notice, something Hermione couldn’t believe, or chose not to react.

“Harry comes first. I won’t apologise for that. To keep this place habitable, to keep Harry happy, we need house elves that are loyal and protected for that loyalty. That means a bond, Hermione.”

Sirius’s posture was studiously relaxed, his tone firm and cold but not overly harsh. Hermione didn’t trust it. Something was telling her to look. Watch. Be ready. Her magic gathered in her, without her asking. Ready. Waiting.

“Then we don’t use house elves,” she didn’t like the edge to Sirius’s gaze.

“What do you think is going to happen when Dumbledore realises that you’ve betrayed him?”

“He’s my headmaster,” Hermione said, unsure of where this was going but not liking it anyway. “I can’t betray him unless I betray the school.”

“He’s going to stop treating you like a student and start treating you like a player. A chess piece if you’re lucky. Just look at how he treats Draco Malfoy.”

“He doesn’t like Malfoy.”

“But does he stop him? Do any of the teachers?”

Hermione stayed silent, mind racing.

“Did Dumbledore stop Snape? Or Nott? Malfoy senior? Did he send them to detention, reach out to their parents, or expel them? Hell, did he do anything when I almost killed Snivillus?”

Hermione stopped herself from taking a step back. Refused to lower her gaze. Kept her hand on her wand. Mrs. Tonks and Ted were a room or two away. Sirius has sworn an oath to treat her like he would his own daughter. Quite suddenly, Hermione was away of the loophole in that oath.

“He treated us as players in the game. If we were students, he would have expelled all of them before I almost killed Snape. If I had been just a student, I would have been expelled. Instead, we had more value than that. He wanted us there, no matter what Hermione, to gather information and influence the future.”

“So he won’t expel me?” That didn’t seem so bad.

“You’re getting in between the boy-who-lived, a powerful figurehead who he’s going great lengths to control, and himself. He’ll want to get rid of you Hermione.”

“What?” Hermione said, stomach dropping.

“How many rules have you broken? How many secrets does he know?”

“All of my secrets make him look bad too,” Hermione said with bravado that she didn’t feel.

“What do you think will happen when Harry stands up for you?” Sirius looked supremely unimpressed with her answers.

He would, wouldn’t he? If Headmaster Dumbledore moved to expel Hermione Harry would have a fit. Would Harry be safe?

Sirius took her silence as the answer it was. “We need to be ready for a war on two fronts—one against Voldemort and one against Dumbledore. Our goal, my goal is to keep Harry safe, at any cost. That includes house elves, Hermione.”

“You don’t think it’s just going to be Harry living here,” Hermione said, reviewing how many bedrooms Mrs. Tonks had whirled through this morning.

“The Blacks treat their allies well,” Sirius’s tone grim. “Harry deserves to be safe. To have his family safe. If Hogwarts isn’t safe, then where is? There’s a political struggle happening now but we need to be prepared for physical attacks. Most homes only have basic wards, ones to prevent fires, stop break-ins, that sort of thing. They aren’t war wards.”

“The Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Better wards than basic but look like child’s work compared to these ones.” He gestured to the walls around them.

“We will have house elves,” Sirius said. “Hell, we have one already. If you can find a way to make it more ethical, I will do it. Until then, we will work with what we have.”

“Speaking of Kreacher,” Mrs. Tonks said from her, making her jump, “we should probably call him.”

“If he’s even still alive,” Sirius muttered, suddenly looking much more like a petulant schoolboy.

“Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks said, banishing even more dust before taking a seat on one of the chairs.

“Kreacher!” Sirius ordered.

A snap, and then an old house elf appeared before Sirius wearing a dirty tea towel.

“Master Sirius has shamed his house so!” He spat, “Stealing the House, bringing Mudbloods into the most noble home, breaking my mistress's heart.”

The temperature in the room dropped greatly and Mrs. Tonks was on her feet, hand on Sirius’s arm. Sirius visibly took a deep breath before gritting out, “You will not use that word, Kreacher.”

“Which word, Master Black?” Kreacher asked, with a half bow. “He doesn’t speak clearly, he doesn’t.”

“You will not use the slur mudblood,” he said, grimacing. Mrs. Tonk’s grip tightened on his arm.

“Oh poor Kreacher,” Kreacher said to the floor, wringing his hands, “what would Mistress say, Kreacher listening to Master Sirius?”

“She would say that you serve the House of Black,” Sirius just sounded tired. “As head of the House of Black, you will obey.”

Kreacher continued mumbling like Sirius hadn’t spoken.

“He doesn’t want to listen,” Hermione said mulishly. “Will you make him?”

Kreacher’s mumbling got louder, “She speaks to Kreacher, the dirty girl, her hair is down, she speaks to Master Black.”

Everyone ignored him.

Mrs. Tonks looked at Sirius. He seemed to come to a decision.

“Kreacher,” He said firmly. “Andromeda Tonks is a daughter of the House of Black. She is the mistress of this house. You will listen and obey her in all things.”

“The nasty blood traitor wants to tell Kreacher what to do. Yes, she does. Kreacher will not listen.”

“Kreacher,” Mrs. Tonks said coldly. “You will not insult me, a member of the Black family, or any of our guests.”

Kreacher stopped talking.

“You will not harm me, a member of the Black family, or any of our guests.”

Kreacher did not make eye contact.

“You are the last of the Black elves. You have served this family long and well. I will give you a choice. Serve us or stand aside.”

Kreacher looked up at that, angrily.

“If you serve us, you will be held to the standards of the Black house elves. You will make this family proud.”

Kreacher drew himself up to his full height.

“If you refuse to serve I will bind you to the house. You will not be allowed to serve. You will be free to do as you wish.”

“Kreacher will serve.”

Hermione flinched at his tone. Sirius watched her impassively. He doesn’t care about me, Hermione realized with a chill. I could die where I’m standing and it wouldn’t bother him. He’s helping me for Harry.

“You will inventory Bowtruckle Run. Make a list of things to be done to get the house clean and presentable. We will find more elves to work under you. Tell us if you have any recommendations.”

Sirius tilted his head a degree. “You will not punish yourself when you make a mistake, Kreacher. Instead, you will take a break from your work.”

Privately, Hermione thought that was worse. Relaxation should not be connected to punishment. Publicly, she continued to meet Sirius’s cold stare.

Kreacher remained silent.

“Begin,” Mrs. Tonks said dismissively. “Let me know when you’ve completed your tasks.”

Sirius said to give him a better option. Hermione was going to find one.

—

It was dark. Hermione’s parents were thrilled that she was having such a good time and agreed that she could stay late to explore the Black family library, so long as it was safe. It wasn’t. Strictly speaking. It will be fine, Hermione thought to herself. I just need to stick to the first floor. Don’t touch anything that glows. Don’t open a book that I can’t identify. Don’t open a book that can’t be summoned.

Mrs. Tonks and Ted were at home. Sirius was in the room he’d chosen for himself. He’d take her home by 9.

The library was eerily quiet. Hogwart’s library was always full of life, books floating back to their shelves, the scratching of quills against parchment, the distant hum of magic. This library was dark. Still. In complete disarray.

“Who organised this place?” Hermione asked with a huff. She looked toward the small ball of blue flames that flickered on the shelves as though it might provide some answers. “Why is a bestiary among herbology books? Why are the herbology books in the biographies?”

“The dirty witch makes herself at home.”

Hermione shrieked before she could figure out where Kreacher was standing in the shadows.

“Hello, Kreacher,” she said with a deep breath and a smile.

“She smiles at Kreacher, the dirty witch smiles. What else will she steal? Kreacher will see,” Kreacher did not acknowledge her, just kept mumbling to himself, his eyes reflecting the flames.

“I’m looking for books on house elves,” Hermione explained. “I want them to be able to choose where they work.”

This, of course, wasn’t strictly true but Hermione didn’t care at this point. No one wanted to listen to the truth. Maybe they’d listen to something easier to hear.

“She wants to free Kreacher,” Kreacher said in disgust. “She wants to shame the Black family.”

“Surely there are other Blacks that you want to work for,” Hermione said crossly. “Or a better, pureblood family that doesn’t invite mudbloods into their libraries.”

Kreacher remained silent. Watching her suspiciously. She turned back to her shelves.

“Everything tells me what house elves are,” Hermione grumbled. “Not what they were. Everything I’ve ever read hasn’t even mentioned where they came from. Just that they were. Which is ridiculous.”

“The dirty witch doesn’t know that house elves live to serve,” Kreacher scoffed, shuffling closer. “She doesn’t know what house elves are. My poor mistress, what would she say? A dirty witch in her library?”

“House elves are mentioned dating all the way to Merlin,” Hermione told the shelves. “But there are several key differences. In Merlin’s time, House Elves didn’t obey. They were valued and feared. They were given offerings.”

Kreacher snorted.

“Then, by the 16th century, they are like you are now,” Hermione said turning to Keretcher. “Forced to obey. Force to punish yourself. No offerings. No rights.”

Kreacher stayed silent, his eyes unblinking.

“Old bestiaries maybe? Court cases?” Hermione scooped up her flame and moved down a shelf. “This would be so much easier if this was as organised as Hogwart’s library.”

“She insults the library?” Kreacher sounded upset. “Unorganized, she calls it.”

“It’s not your fault Kreacher,” Hermione said quickly. “I know the library was locked away. Besides, Mrs. Tonks said there are usually multiple house elves at this property. I’m sure once there’s a staff and you have the time it will be wonderful.”

“Like the Hogwarts library,” Kreacher seethed. He didn’t appear to hear anything Hermione had said. He snapped his fingers and lights flickered into existence. Hermione’s breath caught. There were so many shelves. So, so, so many shelves. Stretching up and up and up. Impossibly far, considering the fact that the third floor was above them. “With initials carved into dirty tables, no first editions, the Hogwarts library she says. Kreacher will show the dirty witch. Kreacher will show her.”

Chandeliers lit and starlight poured in through windows throughout the room.

“Impossible,” Hermione breathed, trying to orient herself.

Kreacher snapped his fingers again and the hum Hermione had missed from her school library buzzed into life. Kreacher moved to the shelf nearest him, running a bent finger over the wood. He moved past it without a glance, dragging a finger over every shelf he passed.

“Dirty muggle girl doesn’t know how to use the library,” Kreacher ranted. “Doesn’t know about the Black Family library.”

Hermione followed Kreacher, further and further into the library. Despite Kreacher’s bent, shuffling form he moved quickly through the aisle.

She burst out in the center of the room and stopped short. Stained glass left coloured shadows on the floor. Shelves stretched out all around her. The domed ceiling rose at least three stories above her. Balconies of books were all around. Here and there elegant wood desks and plush armchairs were tucked into place.

“Parchment,” Hermione murmured, “I need to make a list.” A girl could get lost in a library like this.

She looked around, to find the door, but saw a nearby table. A stack of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill were neatly stacked on it.

She’d taken two steps toward it before she heard Sirius calling her.

“Hermione?” he stepped into view, barely looking around him. “It’s nearly 9.”

With a longing look back at the shelves, Hermione followed Sirius out of the library, down one of the smaller staircases that had been deemed safe, and out into the night air.

“Do you know where house elves come from?” Hermione asked once the silence became unbearable.

“Other house elves?” Sirius asked.

“But where did they come from?”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Sirius said in a tone that Hermione recognized. It was the same tone professors used when she turned in an essay that was too long. It was the same tone that her classmates used when she asked a question that ended up in more homework. It was the tone that Ron used when she reminded him to study. It bit deep and Hermione had to blink against the stinging in her eyes.

They walked silently to the edge of the wards.

A quick squeeze through space and time and then Sirius was escorting her up to her door.

“Good night, Hermione,” Siris said, softer than before. A peace offering maybe?

“Good night, Sirius,” Hermione swung the door open without looking back.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke up with significantly more emotional coping skills than when she’d gone to bed. Of course, Sirius was here for Harry. Of course, he was prioritising Harry. That’s why she’d picked him, after all.

Presumably, Sirius and Mrs. Tonks were also here for Hermione so long as it benefitted Harry as well. What had Sirius said earlier? The Black family treats their allies well. She could be an ally. She just needed to figure out how.

After a cup of Breakfast tea, a waffle courtesy of her dad before he ran out the door to work, and another cup of tea - Earl Grey this time - she had two lists.
Secure Harry.
Ask Harry his opinions on everything*
Research how to form an alliance
What do I need out of an alliance?
Alliance with the House of Potter
Alliance with the House of Black
*Not everything, just the relevant bits.

What were other names for house elves?
What’s the earliest known record of a subservient (enslaved) house elf?
Is there a Magizoologist who studied house elves?
Is there research into house elves
Speak to Dobby
How are house elves bound to a house?

The lists made her feel a bit better but there wasn’t anything she could do to address any of the items. None of the books she currently had covered anything she needed to know. She wasn’t able to get back to the Black family library until later today.

Oh god.

Her parents were coming to dinner tonight. They were telling them after dinner. All of it. They were going to be furious.

Much like her lists, there was nothing she could do about it now. She’d just have to wait.

—

“He’s an escaped convicted felon?” Hermione’s father asked flatly. Hermione winced but otherwise kept her eyes on Mrs. Tonks. There was a lot he could have chosen to be mad about but it was probably a good sign that he was sticking to the things relevant to the moment.

“He’s an escaped prisoner,” she corrected. “He’s not convicted, nor a felon.”

“That does sound like a human rights violation,” Hermione’s mother said absently, “they do have those dementors there, correct?”

“Yes, they do.” Just like the first dinner they’d had together, Mrs. Tonks was as serene and forceful as a queen. Hermione, however, was acutely aware of her panic this time.

“He’s going to kidnap a child,” Hermione’s father continued, “A famous child that everyone is going to be looking for.”

“He’s not safe, dad,” Hermione said. “He needs to be safe.”

Hermione’s father swung toward her. She looked at him. “That’s not your job, Hermione.”

“No one else was doing it!”

“We are complicit in a kidnapping! We now are all, apparently, in danger from your headmaster, your government, and your terrorist.”

Hermione heard the disappointment in her father’s voice and had to fight to breathe instead of cry.

“That’s not fair,” Hermione’s mother said softly. “This isn’t Hermione’s fault.”

“Our girl is top of her class, Jean,” Her dad sighed. “She knew what this was. Look at her.”

Hermione took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and met her parent's gaze.

“Hermione hasn’t been protected as she should have been,” Mrs. Granger continued. “We can protect her now.”

“They have magic, Jean!”

Suddenly, this conversation wasn’t a conversation with her parents. It was a conversation her parents were having about her, which made the sick feeling in her stomach only get heavier.

“We could move and enroll Hermione back into school. They won’t know where we are.”

“I’m not leaving Harry,” Hermione said. No one seemed to hear her. “Besides, I need to take my NEWTS.”

“We’ll go home,” Hermione's mother said. “It will be ok. She’s ok.”

“I’m not going without seeing Harry,” Hermione insisted.

“Hermione, darling,” her mother turned to her. “We’ll discuss this at home.”

“No,” Gods she felt like a child throwing a fit. She glanced at Mrs. Tonks who took a visible breath. Hermione copied it and tried to pretend she was as immovable as Mrs. Tonks. “I am going to stay until Harry gets here. I need to make sure he’s ok. Once I know I will go home. You can ground me if you feel I’ve earned it.”

“She could catch up,” her dad said, contemplatively. His hair was in disarray from his hands running through it. “She’s always been very bright.”

“I’m not going to muggle school,” Hermione pretended she was as calm as a still pond. No ripples, no waves. “If you feel I need to study content that I am not learning at Hogwarts, I can make it up during the summers.”

“Honey,” Hermione didn’t like her dad’s tone of voice. “We’ve tried it their way. We did the magic boarding school. We’ve lied to our family. We didn’t push when you were turned to stone by a giant snake. But this is the line. You’re coming back home now.”

Hermione’s wand was in her hand before she realised her dad had taken a step towards her. “Ascendio.”

Thank goodness that the sitting room has such high ceilings, Hermione thought distantly to herself. I would have hit my head.

Hermione’s parents stared up at her, mouths open.

They’ve never seen me use magic before, not properly.

“Hermione, come down,” Her dad’s voice was livid.

“I’m a witch, dad.” Hermione said calmly. This conversation had been a long time coming, hadn’t it? “We can’t pretend I’m not. Magic doesn’t go away.”

Bubbles poured out of Hermione’s wand, with a flick of her wrist she wished colour into existence. Periwinkles swirling like her skirts during the yule ball, orange the colour of dragon fire, the red of Victor’s cloak, the deep green of the Slytherin gems, they all danced across her vision.

“I am Hermione Granger,” she said needlessly. “I am Harry Potter’s muggle-born best friend. I’ve helped stop Voldemort twice now. My name has been in national headlines for months. He’s going to try to get to Harry. Dumbledore wants Harry at the Dursleys. He’s going to know I helped get him out.”

“This isn’t our problem,” Her dad batted bubbles out of his face. They didn’t pop.

“I am a muggle-born witch, a mudblood,” her sneer could have rivalled Malfoys. “You are muggles. This is our problem.”

“Come down, Hermione,” her dad insisted.

“You can’t change this, dad,” Hermione said again. “My magic isn’t going away. We are in danger, Sirius and Mrs. Tonks can keep us safe.”

“Hermione,” her dad said. Hermione had never disobeyed her father when he had used this tone before. She didn’t come down.

“I will be staying until Harry gets here and I make sure he is ok. Once I know he is ok, I will come home, if you need to ground me I’m sure you will tell me.”

It was at this exact moment, the moment when her dad’s face turned an interesting red-purple colour - there must be a word for it - and Mrs. Tonks took a deep breath and Hermione’s mother gently touched an unpoppable scarlet coloured bubble that Harry appeared in a heap on the rug with Sirius touching down next to him with a loud crack.

“Harry,” Sirius said in a strangled sort of voice.

“I - I can’t -”

A panic attack, Hermione thought, her feet hitting the floor. Or maybe worse. She took in Harry’s too-thin frame, dark circles under his eyes, and the bruising on his arm that appeared in four dark spots.

It had only been a week.

“Hold him,” Mrs. Tonks ordered, moving forward, wand out. “Harry, this is going to feel weird but it should not hurt.

Sirius was on the floor, an arm around Harry’s back, carefully giving him multiple opportunities to escape. Harry shuddered and collapsed into Sirius, a hand crumpling Sirius collar.

“I’m ok,” Harry said with a wheeze. “I’m ok.”

“Ready Harry?” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“Yes.”

Harry didn’t sound ready. Mrs. Tonks waved her wand. A blue glow surrounded Harry and he shuddered.

“F-feels weird,” he muttered.

“A bit like smooth cold porridge,” Sirius said

Mrs. Tonks watched the blue glow turn yellow and pulse before fading away. “Well,” she said. “There’s no urgent physical concerns. We have time. Are you in pain Harry?”

Harry shrugged.

“Yes,” Hermione translated. “But not badly.”

Mrs. Tonks left the room.

Hermione knelt down next to Harry, settling into the cushy carpet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she started softly. “But we didn’t have time and I wanted it to be fast.”

“What to be fast?”

“It’s not safe,” Hermione said. “We needed to be safe.”

“Ron?”

“Is a pureblood. Whose family survived the last war. Who are close with Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?”

“He was going to leave you there, Harry. He asked me not to write. He didn’t care.”

“He didn’t know.”

“I told him, not everything,” she added as Harry jerked his head up, “but I told him what I knew and what I thought I knew and it should have been enough.”

Harry was silent at this but his head stayed up and his grip on Sirius stayed the same.

“You don’t have to go back, Harry,” Sirius said. “You never have to go back there again.”

Harry started to shake.

Mrs. Tonks came back holding a slim green potions vial. “This is a light, general pain killer Harry. If you would like it, it will make you more comfortable. Like muggle advil.”

Harry reached out, letting go of Sirius, and took the potions vial. Sirius didn’t let go of Harry.

“Where are we?”

“Bowtruckle Run,” Sirius said. “It’s one of my family’s estates.”

“Estates?”

“Apparently, I wasn’t as disowned as I thought I was, I took up the role of head of House Black. I have access to the Black bank accounts, the estates, the family magic, everything.”

“What,” Harry said blankly.

“You’re safe, Harry,” Sirius let go long enough to uncork the vial that Harry was still holding. Harry swallowed it back in one gulp. “What do you need?”

“A shower?” Harry asked. “Answers? Voldemort’s back, what are we doing about that?”

The adults looked at each other. Hermione noticed her father’s face was a more normal color.

“Shower first,” Mrs. Tonks decided. “Then food. We can discuss Voldemort over tea.”

—

Harry’s trunk, broom, and Hedwig arrived with Ted while Harry showered. The owl was promptly released from her padlocked cage and she flew out, landing on a tall bookshelf. She began to preen her feathers, ruffling them in her newly acquired space.

“What perfectly unpleasant people,” Ted said in a cheerful tone that didn’t meet his eyes. “I thought Sirius was going to hex them into oblivion for a minute. Darling?”

Mrs. Tonks raised an eyebrow.

“Do we have anything old of Tonks that would suit Harry? We will need to go shopping later, I’m not clothing him in what those people gave him.”

Mrs. Tonks stood neatly, glided from the room, then popped out of sight.

“What does he wear at school, Hermione?” Hermione’s mother’s tone of voice was carefully even. The same way she spoke when a patient hadn’t cared for their teeth in a long while and then needed help.

“The uniform. Or his Weasley sweater,” Hermione’s dad didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked tired and sad.

A pop signalled Mrs. Tonks reappearance and she summoned Harry’s trunk from the sitting room with a flick of her wand. It floated behind her as she disappeared down the hallway.
Hermione’s parents were quiet, taking in everything with watchful eyes. Hermione knew she’d swayed them over. How much she’d swayed them she didn’t know. Some of the tension melted from her shoulders but not all. She was pretty sure she was still in trouble.

Mrs. Tonks came back into the room, sans trunk. “Sirius and Harry should be down shortly.”

She sat down as a tea service appeared. Dr. and Dr. Granger flinched but sighed appreciatively as they acquired tea.

Hermione chose several finger sandwiches and biscuits to nibble on. She hadn’t been hungry recently but now that Harry was here she was starving.

Harry came in looking a lot better with Sirius close behind him. He was wearing unfamiliar pants and one of his Weasley sweaters, freshly washed. He also had thick, cosy socks on. His hair was in its familiar disarray.

Harry slumped down on the couch next to Hermione, across from her parents. Sirius tucked himself in on the end, somehow slouching and carefully not touching Harry but still offering warmth and closeness all at the same time.

“Voldemort?” Harry said shortly.

Hermione gave Harry a plate and he started filling it up with the various finger foods that hovered over the coffee table.

“He’s back obviously,” Sirius said. “However, not everyone believes this.”

“What,” Harry said flatly.

Sirius flicked his wand and a wall of newspaper clippings fluttered into existence. “It’s a disinformation campaign. Fudge doesn’t want to be known as the minister who allowed Voldemort to come back.”

“He didn’t allow Voldemort to come back,” Hermione argued.

“Why am I in the headlines? Dumbledore said it too!” Harry stood up, plate forgotten.

“He’s up there, too,” Mrs. Tonks said. “As soon as we prove guardianship we can stop your name from appearing.”

“What?” Harry asked again, a potential rant completely derailed.

“You are the heir to the House of Potter and the House of Black. Two strong, pure-blood houses. Do you think Mr. Malfoy would allow his child to be drug through the headlines like this? We will have the same power over your name that he has over Draco’s name as soon as your guardianship is figured out.”

“We basically have it now,” Ted said. “The muggles you were staying with signed over their guardianship to Sirius when I asked them to. Sirius is your godfather and named in your parents’ will. Our lawyer will file quietly tomorrow and then we can work on the Prophet.”

Harry stared silently.

“Is that ok with you, Harry?” Sirius asked, tentatively.

Harry sat back on the couch and picked his plate back up. “Yes.”

Hermione turned to face him more closely. Harry was not ok. He was not ok in the same way he wasn’t ok when his name came out of the goblet or when no one would listen about the stone or when everyone accused him of being Slytherin’s heir.

“What about Voldemort?”

“He’s been relatively quiet,” Mrs. Tonks said. “Nothing big on that front. If he has retained any sense, he will lay low for a while and see how the Ministry's politics play out. A bloodless coup is a lot less work than a war.”

“As for how we are going about protecting you,” Sirius said, slinging an arm over the back of the couch and eyeing Harry worriedly, “we have a multistep plan.”

Harry didn’t look at him and stared down at his plate. His leg was bouncing rapidly. “What is it?”

“Well,” Sirius said. “We’ve completed the first steps so far. The first was to get a safe place to live with blood wards, acquire money, and get you as quickly as possible. That took about a week. Next, we are working with a lawyer to secure your guardianship and my freedom. Your guardianship is a formality, but one we want to have in place because so many people could want to control you. My freedom is a little more complicated but necessary so you can stay with me. Our lawyer is confident that everything can be wrapped up by the end of the month if we follow the rules and approach Fudge at the right time.”

Sirius paused but Harry didn’t say anything.

“Next is healers. We originally thought it would just be for me but now I think it should be for both of us.”

Harry jerked his shoulders and stared down at his bouncing leg.

Hermione saw an easy way to stop months of Harry insisting he didn’t need to be taken care of. “It helps Sirius’s claim to guardianship if he can show he’s done guardian things while you’ve been under his care.”

“In other words,” Sirius said. “I just need to ask what would Lily do and then do that.”

Those were the magic words. Harry launched to his feet, his plate flying out of his lap and clattering on the ground.

“Harry?” Sirius said.

“Why did I have to go back to the Dursleys?” Harry asked, his voice flat even as he began to pace the floor.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius sounded anguished. “I was told you were safe. I wasn’t living here Harry, I didn’t -”

“No, I know that,” Harry waved away Sirius’s guilt. “Why did I have to go back if you could have done this, would have done this as easily as you could? Why didn’t Dumbledore put me with you? Why didn’t Dumbledore get you declared innocent before this summer? If it’s that easy?”

“Why is Dumbledore involved at all?” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“What?”

Hermione blinked at that. It was weird, wasn’t it? A headmaster so involved with a student. Placing a student into a family.

“Why does Dumbledore factor into where you’re living at all? He’s not family. He’s not a guardian. He’s not a ministry official. Why does he get a say at all?”

Harry turned to Hermione. “Why are you here?”

Hermione didn’t take it personally. “I asked Sirius to get you.”

“Why?”

“I went to the library -” Harry snorted “- and well. I found a problem.”

“A basilisk?”

“Perhaps the same size,” Hermione said, biting her lip.

“Well?” Harry crossed his arms and looked at her.

“There are two parts. Well, it started as one really. But there’s at least two now.”

“Hermione.”

“Dumbledore could have freed Sirius, chose not to, and then didn’t once he knew he was innocent. When he knew you needed to be safe.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“He asked me not to write to you, to keep you safe.” Hermione sucked in a breath. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Harry glanced at her parents and then walked out of the room.

“Take his broom,” Hermione said as Sirius went to rush after him. “He likes to go flying when he’s upset.”

Harry’s Firebolt leaped into his outstretched hand while Sirius walked out without a second glance.

“We’ll reconvene to talk strategy once Harry calms down,” Mrs. Tonks said calmly, like this was normal. “Can I answer any questions you have?”

“We can go home now, if we need to,” Hermione said hurriedly. “Harry is ok.”

Hermione’s parents looked at each other.

“Of course,” Mrs. Tonks said smoothly. “I would recommend staying here, for at least a little while. Merlin knows we have enough bedrooms for it.”

“Explain to me again why we should,” Hermione’s father said, running a hand across his face. “What are you anticipating happening?”

“Shortly, Headmaster Dumbledore is going to find out that Harry isn’t at Privet Drive. He, of course, is going to try and find Harry. In an even shorter time frame, he will figure out that Harry wasn’t kidnapped by Deatheaters or Voldemort and left the house willingly with a man matching Sirius’s description. If he stays long enough he will learn that someone matching Ted’s description also had them sign papers. Hermione recently asked Dumbledore about getting Harry away from the Dursleys and was visibly upset when doing so. Hermione is also Harry’s best friend and if you believe the headlines, his girlfriend.”

Both her parents turned to look at Hermione.

“We aren’t dating,” she mumbled.

“We will be addressing those headlines,” Mrs. Tonks said, gently. “You have done a great deal for the House of Black. We treat our friends - our family - well. You’ll have our protection, Hermione.”

Hermione didn’t want to sort through her emotions in front of an audience so she shoved them to the back of her mind and pretended she was in class.

“Dumbledore will come to your house to talk to Hermione about Harry. He will ask where Harry is. He will use magic to figure out if you are lying. If you are, which you would have to, he will use magic to find out the truth.”

“Is that legal?” Jean asked horrified.

“No,” Ted said cheerfully. “But Dumbledore is very powerful, and until recently, well respected.”

“On the other side of all of this, we have You-Know-Who or Voldemort. He kidnapped Harry recently via his followers from Hogwarts and then used his blood to remake a body for himself. He has an unusually high interest in Harry and his family and has since Harry has been a baby. There’s no reason to think that Voldemort is done targeting Harry or those close to him.”

“They reported that you were his girlfriend,” Hermione’s dad was close to tears. “He’s going to come after you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Hermione said wearily. “Dad, I’m top of my class. I’m muggle-born. I wasn’t safe anyway.”

“You would have been less visible,” her dad argued. “They wouldn’t know your name.”

“That’s not the point,” Hermione said. “They would have come anyway. They hate us, they want us dead, humiliated, aware that they are better than me in every single way.”

“They aren’t,” Jean said alarmed. “Darling they aren’t.”

“I know that,” Hermione said. “But they don’t.”

“Are you -” Jean cut off with a gasp. Hermione whipped toward the window to see Harry dive before corkscrewing back into the sky, a ways away over the lawn. “He’s going so fast.”

“I told you, he has a Firebolt. One of the fastest brooms in the world.”

“Harry’s an excellent flyer,” Mrs. Tonks said.

Sirius flew into view as well. He seemed contemplative, sitting up on the broom, feet dangling. He drifted in the direction Harry was going, keeping his face up toward the sun.

“What happens if they fall?”

“They won’t,” Mrs. Tonks said, “but Sirius will be able to slow either of their falls if needed.”

“At school,” Jean said, looking over to Hermione.

“Professor Dumbledore has caught Harry a couple of times. I’m usually worried about the bludgers.”

“Bludgers!”

Chapter Text

Harry returned calmer, wind-swept, and relaxed in a way Hermione hadn’t seen since before Halloween. Sirius seemed oddly calm as well. The sun had done him some good.

“Alright,” Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. “This is everything I know. Voldemort is back. He chose you as his greatest enemy and then used your blood to build himself a body.”

“He was a ghost?” Jean asked, sceptical.

“No,” Harry said confidently. “He was a baby. Well, sort of.”

“We don’t know what form Voldemort had,” Sirius said, looking disturbed by Harry’s description. “Nor why he chose Harry.”

“I did defeat him,” Harry said. “No one else had.”

“He started targeting your family before you’d done that though. What could a one-year-old have done to provoke him?”

Harry didn’t have a good answer to that.

“He’s obsessed with you in a way that he’s never shown before,” Mrs. Tonks said. “You’ve encountered him almost every year.”

“I don’t think he would have come, first-year,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “Except Headmaster Dumbledore brought the Philosopher’s Stone to Hogwarts to guard it and Voldemort really wanted it.”

“Where did he bring it from?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Gringotts, I was there when Hagrid got it out of the vault” Harry picked at a thread on the couch.

Based solely on facial expressions, Sirius was bewildered, Mrs. Tonks was furious, and Hermione’s parents were politely confused.

“How did he guard it?” Jean asked.

“There were different challenges,” Harry explained. “A giant chess game where you had to win to pass through. A riddle with potions to get through a wall made of flames. Flying keys. Devil’s snare. A troll. The Mirror of Erised.”

Mrs. Tonks began to scribble angrily in her notebook. Sirius now looked grimly resigned.

“Second year was Mr. Malfoy’s fault,” Hermione continued musing. “If he hadn’t given Ginny the diary she would never have been possessed.”

Mrs. Tonks's quill was now moving on her own as she fumbled for more parchment. “Who’s on the school board?”

“The diary possessed her?” Sirius asked, concerned.

“Until I stabbed it. It wanted to form back into Tom Riddle, who was really Voldemort.”

Mrs. Tonks and the quill both stopped writing and stared at Harry in disbelief.

“Come again, Harry?” Sirius was frowning now, the hair on his arms raised.

“I had to stab it with a Basilisk fang. In the Chamber of Secrets. Fawks healed me. Ginny was unconscious and Riddle was talking about how great of a wizard he was. I wasn’t healed yet and he was happy about it. I wanted to save Ginny,” Harry’s recounting of events was disjointed and almost pleading as he stared at Sirius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes. “When I stabbed it, Riddle started screaming and black ink spurted out like blood. When it was done Ginny woke and was crying. That’s when Fawks came.”

“What did Fawks heal, Harry?” Mrs. Tonks asked. “Were you hurt?”

“The basilisk’s fang went in my arm when I killed it,” Harry said. “There was poison on it.”

“Venom,” Hermione corrected, watching her breath take shape as she spoke.

She could see the steam wafting up from the teapot and shivering in the chilled air. Sirius stood, opened his mouth, and then sat down again. Harry helpfully pushed back his sleeve and showed everyone the faint ridge of a pale scar on his arm. It wasn’t noticeable unless it was pointed out. Sirius half stood and then collapsed back down again, staring vacantly.

“Sirius?” Ted asked.

Sirius didn’t respond.

“Richard, he looks like he’s in shock,” Jean said, surprised. “His pupils are dilated.”

Hermione looked and Sirius’s pupils were indeed blown wide. He was pale and shivering. Breathing fast.

Before Hermione’s father could stand up, Ted was once again murmuring the healing spells. Warmth flooded the room as Hermione’s shivers stopped. Sirius’s eyes began tracking the movement of Ted’s wand.

“Are you regulating his heart rate?” Richard asked intrigued.

“His temperature is up too,” Jean had two fingers on his pulse.

“Incredible.”

Jean sat back as Sirius shifted.

“What happened?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Left over from the dementors,” Sirius cleared his throat. “Strong emotions bring it out.”

“Almost like a trauma response,” Hermione said.

“Hmm.”

Mrs. Tonks shifted the attention away from Sirius. “Fortunately, dementors were not part of Voldemort’s strategy last time.”

“Good heavens,” Jean said grimly, returning to her seat. “What did he have?”

“Werewolves and giants,” Sirius’s voice was hollow but his eyes continued to stay on whoever was talking. “Inferi. Death Eaters.”

“The terrorists,” Jean said. “I read Hermione’s history book.”

“Correct,” Sirius said. With a little more energy he jerked his wand and once again a wall of newspaper formed. Instead of focusing on Dumbledore this time, it was full of awful headlines like Five Muggles Found Dead, Darkmark Overhead and Six Dead In Weekend Of Terror and Imperius Curse On The Rise, and, perhaps most frightening, Statue of Secrecy: Should Wizards Have To Hide?

“Voldemort didn’t start with an all-out war,” He pointed to the headline reading Statue of Secrecy: Should Wizards Have to Hide? “He started with politics. He started at Hogwarts. In the ministry. With the elite purebloods. They had their little group, meeting at different manors. Different restaurants. Different exclusive clubs. He started to influence social clubs. Legislature. At first, he didn’t have to ask. His followers would vote how they thought he’d like to get rewarded. To be favoured.”

“It’s like a club,” Hermione said, looking at the photos of different elite politicians walking out of various fancy restaurants.

“A cult,” Mrs. Tonks pursed her lips. “Led by a beautiful man with a tongue of gold.”

“He’s not so beautiful anymore,” Harry said from where he was looking up at the newspapers. “He looks like a snake now.”

“Really?” Mrs. Tonks was surprised. She glanced at Sirius. “Did something go wrong?”

“We’d need a potions master to answer that,” Sirius said.

“That’s a problem for later,” Ted said.

“Right,” Sirius waved back toward the headlines. “Once he had enough Death Eaters that’s when they started to attack. There wasn’t any pattern to when or where they would hit. At first, it was muggles and muggle-borns. Then it was half-bloods. Then it was anyone standing in his way. There didn’t seem to be any big plans for a government takeover. Just terror.”

“What was the government’s response?” Richard’s voice was the low, careful tones Hermione remembered from house parties when she was younger.

“Nothing,” Sirius said. “Most of the government was already a Death Eater, dead, bought off, or imperiused.”

“What’s different this time?”

“Not much,” Sirius said. “Except this time the ministry is breaking from Dumbledore for supporting Harry’s testimony of Voldemort’s return.”

“Why?”

“Denial,” Sirius offered. “Politics. Fudge is really bad at his job.”

“So what do we do?” Hermione could hear the exhaustion in her father’s voice.

“We have a list,” Mrs. Tonks said. “It’s worked well for us thus far. Perhaps we could add a few things.”

Their new to-do list was as follows:

1. Lawyer
2. Announce Sirius’s freedom - Grangers go back to work
3. Healer
4. Tutor
5. Wizengamot
6. Deal with the Prophet
7. Deal with Dumbledore
8. Voldemort?
9. Potion master?

“Voldemort should be higher up the list,” Harry argued.

“Why?” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“What do you mean why?” Harry shouted. “He’s back!”

“What I mean,” Mrs. Tonks said, putting down her teacup, “is do you feel that there is a personal reason Voldemort should be higher up the list or a national reason?”

“We need to stop him!”

“Stop him from doing what?”

“What he did before!” Harry gesture to Sirius’s wall of newspaper.

“How?”

“What?”

“How?”

“So we just give up?”

“The way I see it,” Mrs. Tonks said, ignoring a worried glare from Sirius, “is the House of Black and the House of Potter has a personal interest in the demise of Voldemort.”

“So he should be higher up the list!”

“Voldemort, for reasons unknown, has consistently targeted the Potter family, and now considers you his greatest enemy. This is evidenced by him kidnapping you specifically for his potion. It is likely he will continue to target you for this unknown reason and the humiliation of you escaping again. You, Harry, could be a rallying point for the entirety of magical Britain based on what this man hasn’t been able to do to you.”

Harry remained quiet.

“Based on these reasons, you will be tutored in subjects such as duelling, transfiguration, charms, potions, healing, the dark arts, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. This tutoring was your birthright, Harry, but the rate and intensity of it will be in direct response to Voldemort. However, I do not see why it is your or our responsibility to fight Voldemort. It should be our government’s job to do so.”

“They don’t believe me!”

“Which is why we will deal with the Prophet, Dumbledore, and the Wizengamont. You aren’t an army, Harry. You don’t owe anyone safety.”

Harry stared at his lap mulishly.

“If there’s something that changes,” Sirius said, “we can update the list.”

“If anything changes,” Harry insisted.

“We promise, kiddo,” Sirius said.

“Do tutors only work with wizarding children?” Jean asked.

“No,” Ted said. “But the integration of muggle-born children into wizarding society is severely lacking - an afterthought really - and parents don’t know what they are missing. Muggleborn parents are most likely to connect with non-pureblood families. If they do end up close with a pureblood family, then it is most likely a ‘blood traitor’ family or a non-British pureblood family. The traditions and expectations for wizarding children aren’t as standardised as one might expect.”

“Hermione is welcome to join Harry for tutoring this summer,” Mrs. Tonks said. “We can get your house connected to the floo network.”

“Is that possible?” Hermione asked, startled. “I thought muggles weren’t allowed.”

“There are special permits,” Mrs. Tonks explained. “There also needs to be strict warding and of course, all of this needs to be documented. The fees are outrageously expensive.”

“Now that we have resources as members of the Black family, one of our priorities is helping other muggle-borns,” Ted said. “There’s so much for the Wizarding world to offer and we want to make it possible. I was hoping to have Hermione pilot some of our initiatives.”

“Not just me?” Hermione said as politely as she could manage.

Ted immediately knew what she was talking about. “Of course not, Hermione. Everyone deserves this opportunity. However, I think you will be a great first candidate.”

She could go to Diagon on weekends! Visit Harry whenever she wanted. See her parents on Hogsmeade weekends. Her parents could independently get to the wizarding world - not that that was necessarily a good thing right now.
Even the thought of Death Eaters in Diagon Alley couldn’t dim the glowing warmth in her chest. She’d always been so disconnected from her own life. Forced to split time between two very different worlds with no bridge. Either she was in one or the other. No one ever asked what she wanted. How she wanted to split her time, where she wanted to split her time.

She’d always thought there should have been a better option, and now there was.

It wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t what she had been imagining. It didn’t matter. She could see her parents. Go to Diagon Alley. Visit Ron. Be tutored with Harry. Then go home. All in one day. Be herself all in one day.
Imagine the opportunities that would come when she wasn’t asked to cut herself in half.

---

Her parents entered the Blue Suite.

“Wow,” Jean said looking around. “This is very nice.”

“Hmm,” Richard peaked into the bathroom.

“When you are ready to go get your things, I will be downstairs,” Ted said before leaving the room.

Hermione stood quietly by the door and waited.

“Hermione,” Jean started when Hermione and Richard seemed content to leave the silence to stretch, “your father and I need to talk. Do you mind giving us a while?”

Hermione nodded and backed quietly out through the door, pausing to look back at her dad sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Her mom stood next to him with a hand running down his back soothingly.

Hermione swallowed back tears and slipped down the dark hallway. Harry. She needed to check on Harry.

Chapter Text

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked. He was lying on his bed, an elegant four-poster like the one in her room down the hall. His room was a blank canvas. Sirius had promised that both of them could decorate as they saw fit over the coming days.

“As soon as I figured out that there were magical ways to prove that Sirius was saying the truth, I went to Dumbledore. I figured the Dursleys were worse than what you said or as bad as you said. Either way, you shouldn’t have to stay there at all, much less after the whole tournament.”

Harry was listening intently, his should tense.

“I figured Dumbledore didn’t know. Otherwise, why would he send you there? I told him it was bad. That it wasn’t safe. He said a lot, but Harry, it didn’t matter. He knew it was bad. He sent you there anyway. Then asked me not to write to you. Everything I read said that isolation makes trauma worse, not better.”

“You went to the library? For me?” Harry teased.

“Harry, I lived at the library for you this year,” Hermione said seriously.

“I’m sure that was a hardship.”

“Hey,” she said, “it could have been.”

They both laughed.

“I didn’t mean to hide it from you, Harry.” Hermione turned her whole body toward him even if she couldn’t meet his eye. “By the time I realised you would be all alone, Dumbledore already knew.”

“So?” Harry asked, his voice didn’t sound mad.

“Something was wrong,” Hermione looked up at Harry and then glanced away. “He should have been able to get Sirius a trial. He didn’t. When he realised what was wrong once we caught Pettigrew he should have been able to free Sirius. He chose not to. He wasn’t asking me not to write to you, Harry. He was ordering me. It felt like something bad was going to happen if I didn’t listen.”

“Like something bad was going to happen or Dumbledore was going to do something bad?” All her worries that Harry would think she was overreacting vanished. Harry was solemn, sitting up cross-legged on his bed, watching her intently.

“Dumbledore,” Hermione whispered.

“Did you tell Sirius?” Harry shifted as though he was ready to go tell him right now.

“Yes, and Mrs. Tonks. It’s why Dumbledore is on the list.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “I wonder what she’s planning. She’s kind of scary.”

“She is, isn’t she? But kind of in a good way?” Hermione said uncertainly. “She seems so sure of herself all the time.”

“That must be nice.” Harry threw himself back on the bed again.

“Are you ok Harry?” Hermione asked even as she shook her head. “Of course, you’re not. I just - Are you - How are you?”

She’d had speeches planned for this moment. She’d been reading books on trauma, books on war, books on adolescents. She knew her facts. They all disappeared as she looked at Harry lying on his bed. He was still for once, not fidgeting. Hermione was tired from just looking at the dark circles under his eyes. Wearing clothes that fit only highlighted how much smaller he was than he should have been. What do you even say to someone who has been through something like that? What does she say to Harry?

Harry, with all the emotional vulnerability of a teenage boy, shrugged.

“Are you sleeping?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry shrugged.

“Are you -”

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice broke and he started to shake.

Hermione scrambled onto the bed and held him and he started to cry. Harry clung to her, arms wrapping around her tightly as he sobbed silently.

She didn’t know how long they huddled there, Harry had stopped crying but was still shaking, was still holding on to her tightly enough to cause bruises.

Sirius poked his head in around the time Harry had started to relax into an uneasy doze. He frowned and then flashed a thumbs-up.

Is he alright?

She shrugged, frowning. Nothing unexpected.

Sirius contemplated this for a beat and then came into the room, wand out. With a flick-swish of his wand the curtains closed themselves and the lights dimmed.

“Harry, kiddo, let’s get you to bed,” Sirius said softly.

Harry blinked himself awake and uncurled a bit.

Warn, soft-looking pyjamas flung themselves out of the closet and laid themselves out on the bed. “We’ll get you your own pyjamas, obviously, but some of Prong’s clothes ended up in my things over the years and I figured you might like having them tonight.”

Hermione looked closer at the pyjamas. There were scorch marks on the left leg cuff. Harry smiled a little and stretched out so he was mostly off of her and in reach of the pyjamas.

Sirius turned briskly and strode through a door Hermione hadn’t paid much attention to. “Bathrooms through here! I didn’t know what you wanted so everything’s pretty generic. Once you decide what you like - muggle or wizarding - or what you want to try we can go shopping.”

Harry grabbed his pyjamas and followed the sound of his godfather's echoing voice. He got to the door and hesitated. “Er - goodnight Hermione.”

“Goodnight Harry,” Hermione said, sliding as gracefully off his bed as possible.

In the hallway she slouched against the wall, a burst of air leaving her.

Harry’s safe now, she reminded herself. It’s ok - normal even - for him to be sad. For her as well. Her friend is sad and it’s ok for her to be sad about it.

Even so, Hermione tried to keep quiet as tears started to roll down her cheeks. There was something cathartic about crying in a dark hallway with a plush carpet when she knew she was safe. Like she’d carved a quiet moment in the world just for her.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up confused. He was warm. He was comfortable. It was quiet. There was sunlight on his face.

He had never slept in a place where all of these things were true.

He flailed awake, kicking heavy quilts and soft sheets to be upright, dread curling in the pit of his stomach and froze.

This was his room. Or, well, the room that he was staying in at Sirius’s. Did that make it his room? Sirius did say they were going to decorate it. It would be a place to put his things. To sleep. Like his bed in Gryffindor’s tower.

Harry sat with that thought in the sunlight. The curtains had been opened or had opened on their own. He squinted at the light and then groped for his glasses. What time was it?

The room came into focus. The sun was high in the sky already. Had he ever slept this late in the summer? He couldn’t remember a time.

He stretched, feeling luxurious. The bed was warm and soft. The flannel pyjamas were softer than he expected. His dad’s pyjamas. A grin stretched across his face. He’d never had anything of his parents before.

In his own time, Harry got up and got dressed for the day. The only clothes he had were the clothes Mrs. Tonks and Ted had given him yesterday. Mrs. Tonks used to be Ms. Black since she was Sirius’s cousin. That made Tonks, their daughter and the owner of the pants he was wearing, Sirius’s second cousin.

Harry debated putting shoes on. The house, or manor, or whatever Sirius had called it was big enough that it felt like Hogwarts. He always wore shoes at Hogwarts. Somehow putting on his muddy trainers felt wrong. Harry settled for a pair of thick socks that almost felt like wearing slippers.

He wandered down the same way Sirius had led him up to his room the night before. Luckily, by the time he’d gotten down to a room he recognized (the sitting room), he could hear the faint echoing of voices. He followed them until he found a cheerful green room with Sirius, Ted, and Mrs. Granger sitting around a table with their breakfast dishes still in front of them.

Sirius waved a hand and the chair next to him pulled itself out. Harry plopped himself down.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked in the next lull in the conversation.

“Library,” her mother said with a smile.

“Hmm,” Harry said. Of course, she was.

“Have some potatoes,” Sirius put a plate in front of Harry and nudged the dish of potatoes closer to him.

Harry scooped some potatoes onto his plate and then reached for the sausages. The adults slipped back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation.

“Harry,” Harry looked up from the Daily Prophet he’d found on the table (Dumbledore Losing His Grip?) “I’m going to go down to study. Would you like to come with?”

Harry looked around. Everyone else was gone. “Sure.”

“You’ve got your wand?”

“Yes,” Harry touched his pocket automatically.

“We need to get you a wand holder,” Sirius said, frowning. “You know how to cast the shield charm?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I learned it for the third task. Hermione can sometimes break it.”

“We shouldn’t need it,” Sirius said, “I think I cleared everything that could be dangerous or aggressive out however cast if you feel like anything's wrong. It will give me time to react.”

Harry nodded. “What would be attacking us in the study?”

“Curse items, any number of jinxes, boggart that’s been locked in a drawer,” Sirius listed them off. “Who knows what’s found it's way inside without house elves on the prowl.”

“You have a house elf?” Harry asked.

“Just the one currently.”

“Who?”

“Kreacher,” Sirius said with a grimace. “He was my mothers and now he works here.”

Harry wisely decided not to ask any more questions about Kreacher.

“He was usually in charge of the cleaning and my mother’s correspondences, but he can cook too.”

Harry continued to not ask questions about Kreacher, recognizing the tense shoulders and eye avoidance.

“He doesn’t like me,” Sirius said, unable to stop. “I don’t like him.”

“Will he be in the study?”

“I hope not,” Sirius said darkly.

“Hmm.”

“You know what will be in the study? Family wands,” Sirius seemed much more cheerful about this.

“Family wands?”

“Wands that work well with the family magic,” Sirius said.

“Family magic?”

“Oh right, I had to explain this to Hermione too,” Sirius said, with a wave of his hand. “Ok, say you have four people. And two of them are really powerful. And two of them are average. Except one really needs extra protection and
another needs an extra boost to do extraordinary magic at an extraordinarily young age. What do you do?” Sirius didn’t wait for Harry to parse through that. “You give them some of your own. Or, rather, the powerful people would give the average people some magic. Except it’s also for themselves too.”

“Wait, what?” Harry was ninety percent sure Sirius was actually talking about himself.

“It’s an investment,” Sirius said. “For everyone. You put a little bit of your magic in, over and over. Then, when you need some, when you need a boost, you can draw on it.”

“Like a battery,” Harry was starting to understand.

“Like a battery,” Sirius agreed. “But then, what if one of them had a kid? Wouldn’t you want them to be able to join?”

“Why not?” A thrill ran through Harry.

“Well, first you’d need to research family magic laws and heirship rules but then that person could decide how to tie the magic to the kid. Or to any new person really since this turns out to be more of a Circle situation rather than a family magic situation.”

“There’s a difference?” Harry stopped walking as Sirius paused before the doors to the study.

“Family magic is for life, from birth. Your parents tie it to your birth. It runs through your veins before you know who you are. Circles, or Covens if it’s all women, are different. They are a choice,” Sirius was solemn. “A choice for life. Even if life goes to shit later.”

“But it’s used for the same thing.”

“Essentially. Family magic can be shaped into whatever it needs to be. Usually, it needs to be protective.”

“If family magic is from birth, how do you join a Circle?”

Sirius rolled his shoulders back and opened the doors. Nothing happened. “Wand out, Harry.” Harry took out his wand. “It depends on the Circle. If we use our original example, then there would be a show of faith and loyalty and then pretty standard binding rituals. Nothing too fancy. But other Circles might have age limits, or specific traditions, something like that.”

“Would your ritual have an age limit?”

“Considering we were 12,” Sirius said, “no. However, wiser heads insisted on 13, if any hypothetical children wanted to join.”

Harry grinned. Sirius matched it and then turned back to the room. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Sirius strolled into the room and nothing happened. Harry joined him, eyes flickering over the shelves, desk, chairs, fireplace, and all of the books.

“This part probably isn’t the dangerous part,” Sirius said. “I have control of the wards, you’re a half-blood, a guest, and my heir. I don’t think anything should trigger. It’s finding and picking up the family wands that might be dangerous.”

“Family wands?” Harry asked again.

“Right. So wands choose the wizard,” Harry nodded. He’d heard that before. “Sometimes when wands choose a wizard, their family magic is a factor. Those wands will work well for most people who have access to the family magic. They work even better for those related by blood, though that’s a hit or miss. So maybe that’s not true. They either work really well or really poorly if you’re related by blood.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius looked around the room. “I bet the bookshelf opens. Revelio!”

Harry watched as a section of the bookshelf shimmered silver.

“Well,” Sirius said, reluctantly impressed. “That’s clever.”

“How?” All Harry could see were books.

“Wizarding space,” Sirius said. “More commonly seen in expanded rooms.”

“Like a tent that’s bigger on the inside?”

“Exactly that,” Sirius said. “Now how do we get to the wands?”

Harry peered at the books. “Are those really books?”

Sirius considered this and then grinned, “Nice one.”

Harry watched as Sirius ran his fingers over the spines of each book. He went past one with a Black spine and silver writing and then jerked back to it. “Here, do you feel it?”

Harry hesitantly ran his hands over the books too, feeling the leather covers and heavy embroidery. “This one is buzzing!” He didn’t know how else to describe it. It just felt more.

Sirius’s approving grin warmed him in a way he hadn’t been in a while. “Magic always leaves a trace. Even if it’s trying to hide. Now we just have to get it to open.”

Sirius pulled the book down from the shelf. He ran a hand over the plain black cover.

Nothing happened.

“Ready with your wand?”

Harry nodded.

Sirius opened the book.

Nothing happened.

“Huh,” Sirius said. “Someone really did mean for this to be a way to hide things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I was looking for a stash of wands and picked up a normal book that cursed me when I opened it, I might suspect that it was guarding something.”

“Unless all the books cursed people when they were open.”

“You remind me a lot of your mother sometimes,” Sirius said. “Smart and scary.”

Once again, a wave of emotion crashed down over Harry and he ducked his head. Thankfully, Sirius went back to the book and left Harry to blink tears out of his eyes privately. Everyone always told him how he looked or acted like his father. No one ever said how he was like his mum.

“Ah ha!” Triumphantly, Sirius plunged his hand into the book.

“What?”

“They must have been working with a wandmaker,” Sirius said, reluctantly impressed. “This is so proper.”

“Why?”

“So traditionally wizards wouldn’t touch each other’s wands,” Sirius waited for Harry to finish laughing and continued. “It would be considered super intimate -” A pause for more laughter. “Good to know that in some ways you’re an average 14-year-old, Harry. I was worried there for a second. A wand is an extension of our magic. Sharing that is very rare and very intimate. Wands aren’t alive, but they are magic. They don’t like touching people they don’t choose, just like wizards don’t like sharing or mingling magic with people they aren’t comfortable and close with. You let the wand come to you, or for a wand maker to hand you one.”

“Like a broom,” Harry said.

“Exactly,” Sirius nodded, still up to his elbow in the book. “Ollivander doesn’t have his shop set up for the wands to come out on their own, so he takes measurements, asks questions, does a little bit of seeing, before he brings out
some options.”

“It took forever to get my wand,” Harry complained. “I must have tried out all of them.”

“Most wizards only have one wand. This means a lot of people think that there is only one wand that will work well for a person. This isn’t true.”

“It’s not?”

“No. How would every single Hogwarts student’s wand end up at Ollivanders? It would be much more likely for them to need to go to France or Germany or Spain. Some might even need to go further than that. There are wand makers all over the world. Wizards can use lots of different wands. Some just work a lot better than others.”

“Oh.”

“If you were to go to a wand shop that isn’t Ollivanders, you might walk into a place that has wands, not in boxes, lining the walls. To find your wand you would hold out your hand and the wands or wand that fit would respond.”

“If nothing responded?”

“Best not to force it.”

“What’s this book for then?”

“Entrance to wizarding space. Just large enough, I would bet, to hold all the family wands that are stored at this location.”

“This location?”

“My family is very old, and more importantly, my family magic is even older. Every wand that likes our family magic is saved. We will test ourselves against these wands first, then go to Ollivanders before Hogwarts.”

“What happens if you have two wands?”

“It can happen,” Sirius shrugged with one shoulder. “Over time it will become clear which wand prefers you and the magic you want to do. Some wizards always keep a backup wand on them. I used to, during the war. Lily and James as well.”

“My parents had two wands?” Harry asked. He didn’t even know what their main wands looked like, much less that they had two.

“They had access to the Potter family wands,” Sirius frowned at the book, before closing his eyes. “It’s so weird not being able to see.”

Nothing exciting happened. Sirius pulled his hand out of the book now holding a wand. “Dragon heart string and Ebony. 10 ish inches?” Sirius frowned and looked down at the wand handle. “Simple.”

“The Potter Family wands?” Harry asked.

Thankfully Sirius heard the capital letters. His eyebrows rose even as his cheeks took on an angry flush. “Dumbledore didn’t tell you.”

At Harry’s blank look, Sirius amended his statement with an edge to his voice. “No one told you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Harry,” he’d never seen Sirius so serious before. “Harry James Potter. You are the last of the Potters and heir not only to the House of Potter, the family fortune, properties, and Wizengamot seat but to the Potter family magic.”

“There’s a place like this,” Harry waved his hands around at everything, “but for the Potters?”

“Yes.”

“It’s mine?” His voice was so small.

“Yes.”

“If it’s mine, can I go there?”

“Yes.”

Harry fought the tears burning in his eyes and looked away. “Did dad go there?”

“The Potter estates include not only a summer home but the childhood home of James as well as a vacation home where he took Lily.” Sirius was crying too now. “I have a bedroom at the house James grew up in. I lived there after I ran away.”

“When can we go?”

“As soon as I have guardianship,” Sirius said. “I promise. I’ll take a vow if you want. I need to go too, who knows what things I left behind in my room.”

Harry started laughing, the sobs mixing in as well, carrying on until Sirius pulled him into a one-handed hug.

“It might be worth checking if you’ve got a match in here,” Sirius said, as Harry started to calm down. “Since you are my godson and everything.”

“What does that mean?” There was so much Harry didn’t know.

“It means,” Sirius said “that you are mine to protect, to nurture, to support, to love. It means that if James can’t be here, I will be.”

“The wands like your family magic. I have Potter family magic.” A thrill ran through him just saying it.

“The House of Black and the House of Potter are old houses with old traditions. There are rituals for godparents that have fallen out of common use but that some houses continue to use, especially during the war.”

“So I have access to your family magic?”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “You’ve had it all along. It probably wasn’t very much, given how often you are in danger and how little it was maintained but it’s there. The family magic recognizes you as a part of itself.”

“Why?”

“As my godson, you are more to me than anyone else. In some families, when godparents have children their kids come first. Harry, when I took that vow, when I completed the rituals, I knew what I was getting into. I knew that you were going to be mine, just as much as James. Lily used to joke that she’d married both of us. For a while there she probably saw me just as much as she saw James. I was supposed to help raise you and I am so, so sorry that I couldn’t do that. I failed, and it won’t happen again. Not like that,” Sirius ducked his head. “I can’t promise I will be perfect. Lily was supposed to know what was going on. All I was supposed to do was keep you safe and keep James from panicking.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry rushed on before Sirius could argue, “You offered to take me when no one else did. You did it.”

Sirius nodded jerkily.

“Do I just stick my arm in?” Harry gestured to the book.

“Put your other wand away,” Sirius said. “Then just stick your arm in.”

Harry tucked his wand into his pocket and cautiously reached out to touch the pages of the book. His hand passed right through.

“This is weird.”

“It feels like it’s dark in there, doesn’t it?” said Sirius. “Now, just like you would a broom. It’s all about intent.”

Harry stuck his hand out and thought about a wand, his wand, flying into his hand.

“Ow!”

Sirius barked out a laugh before he caught Harry’s wand before it could fly into the book. “This one is a good match for you isn’t it?”

“I like it,” Harry said.

“Try again.”

Harry thought again and this time tried not to think about his wand. His wand was right there, in Sirius’s hand. He wanted a wand that would work. A wand that would work well.

“Sirius,” Harry said suddenly. “My wand right now, it won’t work against Voldemort.”

Sirius nodded. “I remember. We’ll keep looking until you find one that feels right.”

Relieved Harry went back to looking at where his forearm disappeared into the book. He needed a wand that would work against Voldemort. That he could use if he was disarmed. That would keep him safe.

A couple of wands bumped into his hand at the same. He fumbled briefly but pulled three wands out.

“Huh,” Sirius said. “That’s a wide mix.”

Harry flashed back to a dusty store with crowded shelves. “Last time I did this something blew up.”

“Not in the study, then,” Sirius took the book back. “Let’s go to the duelling room.”

“There’s a duelling room?”

“The Blacks are known most recently for being insane. Before our fall into utter disgrace, we were better known for our duelers. Any Black estate will have a duelling room.”

Much to Harry’s disappointment, the duelling room wasn’t very exciting. It was a plain, long, rectangular room with windows lining one wall. “I suppose there’s nothing to explode in here.”

Sirius nodded, “If you manage to find something to explode it should already be protected.”

The first wand Harry wanted to drop as soon as he had it in his hand. He gave it a wave anyway, morbidly curious and flinched as he felt his magic pull out of him and through the wand.

“Harry?” Sirius asked.

“Not this one,” Harry said. “I don’t like this one.”

“Walnut,” Sirius said with a glance. “Walnut can be tricky.”

Harry grabbed the next wand from Sirius. “What’s this one?”

“Poplar,” Sirius said. “Usually makes very neutral wands.”

“Neutral?” Harry asked before answering his own question. This wand … was a wand. It was steady and reliable and worked. There wasn’t the warmth or the sparks that he felt every time he’d grabbed his holly wand. “Oh.”

“This one’s blackthorn,” Sirius handed it over. “It has a reputation for being a good wand in battle.”

“For duelling,” Harry repeated and curiously held it in his hand.

“For war,” Sirius said, a bit more quietly. “Not duelling.”

Pushing aside how he felt about that, Harry felt his magic focus, building awareness, ready for him to act. He sharply swooshed the wand up, above his head and parallel to the floor.

A shimmering, shining, barrier slammed into existence.

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Can you hold it?”

“Yes,” Harry said, keeping his wand where it was. This wand felt like an extension of himself, just like his holly one.

Sirius walked to the centre of the room, across from Harry. The shimmery wall had a blue tinge to it but was remarkably transparent.

Faster than Harry was expecting a disarming spell shot toward him and bounced harmlessly off the wall, dissipating into nothing.

Sirius followed up with a tickling charm, a knee reversal hex, and then, when that didn’t work, a strong stinging hex.

“Can I try something?” Sirius was energetic, a gleam to his eye that Harry hadn’t seen before. “Are you feeling ok? This isn’t draining you?”

“I’m good,” Harry said. “I don’t feel any different.”

Sirius moved off-centre, so any spells he did cast wouldn’t hit Harry if they broke through. Then he began to cast. Curses, jinxes, and spells Harry couldn’t hope to recognize flew into his shield. He could feel it now, feel his magic
flowing through him faster and faster to keep out Sirius’s spells. It wasn’t only the amount of power, it was the way it was shaped into the shield. It wasn’t sure about becoming a shield, Harry had to focus more and more on the wall retaining its shape and stop it from collapsing in on itself.

Sirius was moving faster and faster, weaving and bobbing to dodge spells that ricocheted back at him. A fast-moving yellow jet hit the wall and Harry knew he couldn’t keep the shield up much longer.

An idea started to form. He’d never done magic like this before but since the shield was already up, all he had to do was change it a little. The next jet of dark purple sparks hit and Harry let the shield collapse around the spell, just a little bit. It was like he was holding up the bowl of a spoon. Sirius lowered his wand a fraction as the wall collapsed in size but still hit the floor as his spell rolled across the shield and came back at him. He recovered and fired another spell at the shield as he returned to his feet.

Harry was able to keep it up for another two or three hits before it started to fade in and out.

“Alright, Harry?” Sirius was panting, covered in sweat, there was a sharpness to him, an energy that Harry hadn’t seen yet.

“Yeah, I think I like this one,” Harry twitched the wand in his hand.

“I should think so,” Sirius snorted. “That was amazing, Harry, truly,” He added at Harry’s sceptical look. “Not many wizards, adult or not, would have been able to hold a shield of that size and strength for that long.”

“Should we put those ones back?” Harry asked, instead of trying to respond to the compliment.

“Sure,” Sirius accepted the change in topic and led them back out of the duelling room.

“Sirius?” Harry eventually asked.

“Yeah?” Sirius glanced back at him.

“When can we go to my dad’s house? Or, er, I mean my grandparent’s house?”

“As soon as I have guardianship, Harry. Which should happen soon, my lawyer, myself, and Andy have been working on a trial strategy.”

“How soon?”

“Within the next couple of days, they should set a trial date. I should be acquitted right away, especially since as head of House I can request the method of interrogation and I chose veritaserum as the method.”

“Isn’t that risky?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“It can be but questions need to be pre-submitted for veritaserum trials and my lawyer is doing a lot of work right now to make sure the questions they finalise are the ones we need them to ask.”

“And then you’ll be my guardian?”

“I’ll have to file paperwork as head of House Black but that should be approved almost immediately.”

“And then you’ll be my guardian?”

“And then I’ll be your guardian,” Sirius agreed.

“Then we can go?”

“As soon as you want,” Sirius held open the door to the study. “Though I would recommend picking a day where we have a full day so we have enough time. I’ll be able to get you into the Potter vaults, that will probably take a full day
as well just to get a sense of everything. The goblins will probably want to meet with us as well.”

“How soon will that be?”

“Within the month,” Sirius said, as he put the wands back. “Maybe sooner.”
---
SIRIUS BLACK CONVICTED WITHOUT A TRIAL, NEW DATE SET

Sirius Black III, heir to the most noble and ancient house of Black, convicted of the murder of twelve muggles, Peter Pettigrew Order of Merlin, and orphaning the Boy Who Lived, never received a trial. Barty Crouch Senior appears to
have sentenced Black to life in Azkaban without any consideration of the evidence available at the time.

Crouch's former office has declined to comment.

Black’s new trial is set for later this week, time and place pending.

An unnamed ministry employee said “There's been chaos around here. We are digging through records from fourteen years ago. You remember what that time was like. If he received a trial, we can’t find a record of it here.”

For more information on the Boy Who Lived, turn to page 2.

For more information on Sirius Black III, turn to page 4.

For more information on Peter Pettigrew, turn to page 7.

For a summary of the end of the last wizarding war, turn to page 9.
---
Harry,

Where are you? Are you ok? Are you with Sirius? No one can find you. Dumbledore was here and mum’s really upset. Do you need help? Fred and George and I can come and get you again. You can sleep in my room. Just tell us where you are.

Ron

Chapter Text

Sirius Black III was not afraid. The refrain echoed around his head, a thumping rhythm that took him past the crowds of people, that let him ignore the cold, biting chains at his wrists. He’d left his wand in the care of Andy, who had taken it with solemn care. The political landscape was already adjusting to the turmoil his proclaimed innocence had caused. He was in chains - a political statement - with no dementors - another political statement - in his own clothes - yet another political statement - being led to a full Wizengamont - they were all hopeless busybodies. The key was knowing who was making the statements.

The Auror in front of him slowed down before the arched tunnel that would lead onto the floor of the Wizengamont. The man was so young, Sirius thought with an ache. He wouldn’t have seen the last war.

That was probably intentional, Sirius realised grimly. How many Aurors did I fight alongside last time? How many am I friends with?

The last war had been horrible. Before Lily had been pregnant, before Voldemort had targeted Harry, James had joined him on missions. Lily had gone out too but Sirius’s clearest memories, the ones that the dementors brought forward and didn’t need to alter, were the bright, hissing lights of spells illuminating James’s grim face. James and Sirius hadn’t joined the Aurors but they had fought shoulder-to-shoulder near the end. So many Aurors had been killed, they needed any competent duelist available, regardless of if they were officially authorised to fight.

The rumble of conversation rose in volume and Sirius braced himself for the stares, it was like a fish bowl, this bloody place there was no escaping -

“Sirius, my boy,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius had grown up under the hateful eye of Walburga and Orion Black. He did not flinch. Sirius Black III was not afraid.

Dumbledore stood in the tunnel, next to the lead Auror who had the audacity to relax.

“Headmaster,” Sirius took pleasure in the fact this was the only title Dumbledore could claim.

“Do not worry,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure everything will turn out alright Sirius. I will make sure of it. I will personally be a witness for the defence.”

“Which,” a man said from the light at the end of the tunnel, “is why you’ve so helpfully responded to our request for information.”

The Black Family lawyer stepped into view. Sirius had never met the man before but, currently, he was one of his favourite people.

“Mister?” Dumbledore asked politely. Sirius wanted to punch him in the face. Desperately.

“Clopton,” Mr. Clopton said, shaking Dumbledore’s hand. “Representing the House of Black. We best find our seats, Headmaster. The trial should begin shortly.”

Dumbledore, trapped by social niceties, was led away by Mr. Clopton. There were no lawyers allowed on the floor during the trial. All Mr. Clopton could do was sit and watch. His work was done. Now it was up for Sirius to testify. The Aurors resumed rank around him. He took a deep breath and let it out.

James. Dead on the stairs.

Lily. Crumpled in a heap in front of the crib.

Harry. Sobbing with blood running down his forehead.

Peter. Laughing a deep belly laugh, eyes wide with fear.

He was going to do better this time. He had to. He wouldn’t fail Harry again.

Sirius Black III was not afraid.

---

Sirius knew he was going to get off as soon as he’d entered the fishbowl of a courtroom. The awed silence and then hushed murmurs of every head of House had told him all he needed to know.

Andy had helped pick out the jewellery he was wearing from the vaults. He’d gone to dinner parties with almost every single one of these people as a child. They knew who he had been. Thought that they knew who he was now. As a nod to the part of him that still screamed and fought against the high-necked, formal robes and the superiority oozing off of every person in the gods' damned room, his ears were once again filled with gold studs. As a nod to the formality he didn’t have any chain or bars in, just simple studs with a gem gleaming here or there. People’s eyes caught on his ears first. Combined with the formal robes in the style that the old, pureblood, English families preferred, it confirmed that this was Sirius Black.

It was the rest of the jewellery that won him his trial. His father’s gold and emerald ring shone from his right hand. The House signet ring gleamed from his left. A simple but ancient gold cuff peaked out from the sleeve of his robe. He was dressed like the head of the most noble and ancient House of Black. He knew it. They knew it. For all intents and purposes, he was innocent. Gringotts wouldn’t have let the ring out the door if he wasn’t. Even more than that, he was one of them. The best thing of all, in their eyes, was some had fucked up. Deeply. And House of Black was here for their pound of flesh. What a scandal.

Veritaserum was as unpleasant and emotionless as ever. Every answer he gave resulted in a shocked gasp from the crowd. He didn’t even need to be cautious of outing Remus when he explained his escape, though he did his best, not since Snape had ruined everything.

The benefit of Veritaserum was the emotional distance. He didn’t mind spilling everything to the hundred or so people in the courtroom. All he cared about was speaking as quickly and clearly as possible.

The last question they’d pushed for was risky. Sirius had been against it at first. It wasn’t necessary to prove his innocence. The Wizengamot hadn’t included it in any edition of the questions they wanted answers to. He had fought Andy and the lawyer every step of the way before they involved Harry and even with Harry’s permission he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Mr. Black,” the examiner said, unable to hide the excited tone of his voice. This trail had been one for the history books and he’d been right at the centre of it. “Where, to the best of your knowledge, was Peter Pettigrew’s last known location?”

“A graveyard in a town in Little Hangleton.”

“What was he doing there?” The examiner could ask reasonable follow-up questions. Like much of the terms in Wizarding legislature, reasonableness was not defined nor were examples provided. Mr. Clopton had spent a lot of time researching potential examiners.

“Resurrecting Voldemort,” Sirius said tonelessly, which grated against a couple of shrieks and outright shouting.

“Voldemort’s back?” The examiner forgot himself.

“He was never gone,” Sirius said, the Veritaserum working even for an accidental question. “Just banished to Albania. He possessed Quirrell Harry’s first year. He possessed Ginny Weasley in his second year. Peter Pettigrew escaped his third year and helped Voldemort regain a body. My godson’s fourth year he kidnapped him at the end of the Triwizard tournament and used the blood of the father, the flesh of the servant, and blood of an -”

“That’s enough,” the examiner cut him off hastily.

“Your godson?” A voice called incredulously from the back of the room.

“Harry James Potter, heir to the House of Potter,” Sirius answered.

“Enough!” The examiner rushed forward and gave Sirius the antidote.

The shame and embarrassment Sirius had been dreading for a week and a half rushed over him and instinctively he reached for his Occlumency shields. They were in tatters. When was the last time he’d worked on them? Used them? Meditated?

He breathed through his panic, a sharp inhale through his nose before holding it. Thankfully the Chief Warlock stood and the court quieted, staring at the man. For the life of him, Sirius could not remember his name.

“Sirius Black III,” he said gravely. Sirius was pretty sure that he was a more neutral part of the Wizengamot. “You have presented your evidence for your innocence. The Wizengamot will vote. All who find Sirius Black III guilty of murder, breaking the statute of secrecy, treason, use of an unforgivable,”

The list went on and on. Sirius, who had never even heard the charges against him, was surprised at how many Crouch had tacked on to him. If you’d looked through his paperwork you would have thought Sirius had been a full fledge Death Eater from the beginning. Maybe that was the point. On the bright side, it meant the full Wizengamot had to listen to every single charge and vote on all of them at once. No one here was going to convict him of “muggle baiting” for Merlin’s sake.

The room got unnaturally quiet. Sirius looked up and looked around. The Chief Warlock had finished speaking. No one was moving. No one was even breathing.

“All those who find Sirius Black III innocent of the crimes named above.”

Wand after wand went up, lighting up the courtroom. Somewhere a neutral light, others lit up in House colours. Some lit up a deep and shifting silver, the colours of the House of Black. Sirius pulled himself together long enough to note their faces. He had no hope of remembering their names in his current state.

He nodded at those silver lights, a bit more stiffly than he would normally.

The Chief Warlock was speaking again, “- do so find Sirius Black III innocent of all charges.”

The chains around Sirius melted away. He resisted the instinct to jerk to his feet and instead forced himself to slump back into his chair, calling on the careless grace he and James had practised over and over as eleven and twelve-year-olds and couldn’t pull off until they were at least nineteen.

He rested his head in the palm of the hand that had his father’s ring on it.

The court was in an uproar. Reminded him of a good prank. He tensed again, waiting for the sucking cold of a dementor. Nothing happened. A great prank, he amended slowly, relaxing again, since he was three steps ahead.

He glanced toward his lawyer who was smiling a small smile. Humble but aware of what this meant for his future career.

He looked toward his cousin. Andy stood tall and proud. Serene amongst the chaotic crowd. She was dressed nicely, a fine cloak that Sirius knew she could only recently afford around her shoulders. A plain but formal dress underneath. The picture of a refined lady who had yet to access her family fortune due to a scandalous elopement. Certainly not someone who’d been conspiring with an escaped convicted murderer. Or had been dabbling in blood wards recently.

Andy made eye contact with him. She dipped her head. Sirius rose and strode across the room. The court did not quiet but the murmurs sharpened with intent. Sirius walked to the edge of the stairs from the bench seating. Andy floated down the stairs, the etiquette lessons that had been drilled into her were readily apparent.

Mrs. Andromeda Tonks née Black was flawless as she stopped in front of him, bobbed a curtsey, and offered him his wand with a demur “Head of my House.”

The traditional response was “Daughter of the House” a call and response that could be traced back until before the House of Black had come to England.

Feeling mischievous, Sirius said instead “Darling cousin,” kissing her on each cheek.

Andy accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her across the floor. Anyone looking at her wouldn’t know that she didn’t know what was going on right now.

The oldest seats on the Wizengamot were closest to the floor but not on the floor like the press. The Black family’s seat had been empty for a long time. The older seats had two seats on either side of it, while the newer seats were bench seating and didn’t need individual seats. One side for the heir and one side for an advisor. Recent times had seen the advisor seats rarely filled.

Sirius neatly deposited Andy into the advisor seat before taking a seat in the centre seat. The press started to shout out above the roar of conversation.

Andy didn’t flinch. Instead, Sirius could feel the smugness radiating from her. As he said, Andy was vicious. As a younger daughter raised in the depressive hellscape that was the Black family, she’d been expected to be pretty and demure and clever and witty and utterly opinionless. This, in the eyes of their parents, would make her an ideal pureblood wife. Of course, like all of the Black women, she had grown into so much more.

Only Lucius Malfoy looked apprehensive about Andy sitting as the advisor of House Black. He’d married her sister and therefore had some insight. It’s ok, Sirius thought. They’d learn to know what the sharp glint and pretty smile meant. They’d learn to fear her. She just needed some time.

“Sirius,” Andy said as though she was remarking on the weather. “Should we get started?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, lazily raising his wand. He felt the family magic awaken as his wand glowed silver.

There was absolute pandemonium.

Three large bangs and a Sonorus charm later the Chief Warlock said, “The court recognizes the House of Black.”

“Thank you, Chief Warlock” Sirius said, rising to stand. “The House of Black would like to announce some changes to the family. The first is that I, Sirius Black III, have claimed my rightful place of Head of House. The second change is that from this day forward, Andromeda Tonks née Black and her daughter Nymphadora Tonks, will be considered daughters of the House of Black with all the rights and privileges associated with that position. The third change is that Bellatrix Lestrange is no longer a daughter of the House of Black.” As he said this final item, he glanced at Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy’s face was carefully blank. They both knew the significance of Narcissa not being named. Whether or not they would do anything to address it would be up to them.

“Thank you, Mr. Black,” The Chief Warlock said. Sirius was going to have to learn his name.

Sirius caught sight of his lawyer again. He was taking notes, quickly, head down. Mr. Clopton had already explained what would happen next. They would, privately, file for restitution and, if possible, criminal charges. Today was all about the show. Every single move set the stage for the House of Black’s political plans moving forward.

A second house was recognized. “The court recognizes the House of Abbott.”

“The House of Abbott would like to welcome Sirius Black and Andromeda Tonks and congratulate him on justice served.”

Many wands lit and went up, though not all of them were the same wands that glowed silver earlier.

Sirius inclined his head, exhausted.

The Chief Warlock seemed to shake himself a bit before getting on with the script. Sirius stopped bothering to listen, instead, he looked over the people around him and let his brain wander.

House of Longbottom. Where was Neville? He knew what had happened to Frank and Alice. Bella had bragged about it. Neville, however, was Harry’s godbrother. He knew Alice would have rather given up magic than have Augusta raise Neville. Frankly, Sirius agreed (ha! Still got it). He heard rumours about how they treat their children and Frank had made a comment every now and then that resonated with Sirius’s childhood much too closely for comfort. If Augusta had ended up with Neville, which was likely, he should be here as heir.

House of Bones. Amelia. Her family had been in the Order of the Phoenix. She’d gone to school with him. She looked old. Tired. She was looking at him. They stared at each other before she looked away.

The seat for the House of Prewett was empty as well as the House of Weasley. That last one was no surprise. There hadn’t been a member of the Weasley family present for a Wizengamot session in generations.

House of Malfoy. House of Crabbe. House of Goyle. House of Greengrass. House of Carrow. House of Avery. They all sat quietly. Their shouts and surprise smoothed away. They stared back before looking away. Death Eaters. All of them. They helped hurt Harry.

Andromeda shifted and Sirius unclenched his fists.

They’d also known that he was innocent. Not an accusation he could bring against them during a session but certainly something he could use privately. He’d probably be able to get their support for a prison reform. United against the dementors.

He moved on. The good thing about being notorious is that there weren’t many empty seats. If a person had a reasonable claim to the seat, it was filled. As well as the press box.

Dumbledore. His stare was unsettling but Sirius refused to look away. How much of this had Dumbledore planned? How much of it had he known? How much of it had he let slide? Who else was under his control?

The last question began to answer itself when Sirius left the offices of Wizengamot and Wizengamot Administration Services, specifically the office in charge of registering magical births, deaths, and guardianships. Mr. Clopton shook his hand, ignoring the flashes of the cameras and shouting of reporters, and then melted into the crowd. Andy put herself in between Sirius and the crowd almost casually, her back to the crowd. The display of trust in Sirius’s ability to keep her safe almost took him to his knees. There were very few people he’d trust to watch his back in the ministry.

“Are you ready to go?”

He was holding the paperwork that gave him legal custody of Harry. Prong’s son. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was too soon and thirteen years too late.

“Yes,” he said.

“Apparation or floo?” Andy asked, ignoring a reporter intent on asking her about her opinions on Sirius’s sanity.

The reporter reached to grab her and Sirius flicked his wand, a shield out before he could think about it. The force of it pushed the man back, and he stumbled.

“Apologise,” he ordered.

“My apologies, Madam,” The man stammered before he pushed his way back into the crowd.

“You’d think everyone would have learned some manners,” Sirius played up the disgust in his tone to hide the anxiety.

“You’ll need to be prepared to be disappointed,” Andy sniffed. She was loving this and that’s the only thing that made it bearable.

Sirius offered her his arm. Andy took it, all dignity and grace, and they breezed through the crowd. If only their parents could see them now.

“Sirius!” Arthur Weasley pushed his way to them, dressed in work clothes. “Sirius!”

“Mr. Weasley,” Sirius said. “Have you met my cousin, Andromeda Tonks?” Oh merlin he sounded like Regulus. How was it that he couldn’t remember half his life but the manners stayed?

“Sirius,” Arthur brushed aside the introductions. “Harry is missing.”

“Missing,” Sirius said, even as Andy cast a spell he didn’t recognize. The sound of the crowd blurred a bit.

“He’s not at his aunt and uncle’s house.”

“What did they say?”

“That you took him,” Arthur sounded like he didn’t know how he felt about this, only that it was urgent.

“So it sounds like he’s not missing then,” Sirius said and turned to continue.

“Sirius!” Harry said that the Weasleys all had a temper and implied they got it from Molly. Sirius knew better. “Harry needs to live with his aunt and his uncle.”

“You aren’t the person who gets to make that decision,” Sirius said. He turned and Andy took his arm again. Arthur kept pace beside him.

“Dumbledore says it’s best to keep Harry with his family.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t get to make this decision. I do.”

“Sirius, you just got out of Azkaban. You’re still trying to figure out which way is up and now you’re taking on the role of head of House. Surely, Harry’s aunt and uncle are the better option right now.”

Sirius didn’t know a lot about Harry’s life yet but Ron’s name had come up several times and he remembered how Ron had stood between who he believed was a terrorist mass murderer and Harry, with no expectation that he would live. For Ron, he held his temper. For Harry, he held his tongue.

“Arthur,” he said, not quite achieving a warm tone. “You and your family have done a lot for Harry. I really appreciate that. However, I need you to understand that Harry is never going back to that house.”

“Dumbledore,” Arthur started again.

“Dumbledore has no right or reason to be interfering with custody,” Andy injected cooly. “Nor do you.”

“We value your input,” Sirius said, regurgitating business language he didn’t even know he’d picked up from his father. “You and your family are really important to Harry. You’ve had a closer relationship more recently than I have. If there’s a specific concern you have?”

Arthur dug in his heels. “Harry’s safety comes first, Sirius. He is safest at his family’s house.”

Rage boiled up his spine and cooled as the audience around them fell away. Andy increased the strength of her grip on his arm. Which unfortunately was his wand arm. An intentional choice.

“He is safest with his godfather,” Andy said, digging her nails deeper into his arm. “Good day, Mr. Weasley.”

Andy manoeuvred them to the floo. She tossed in the floo powder and the flames snapped green without her having to say anything. An impressive but expected show of nonverbal magic. Sirius let himself be pulled into the flames and gave into the spinning pull of magic. It was time to go home.

Chapter Text

“I’m yours?” Harry asked, hands steady as he looked at the paperwork.

“Yes, kiddo,” Sirius said, voice choked up. “You’re mine for as long as you want to be.”

“Do I have to change my name?” Harry asked, setting the papers down and going back to his breakfast.

“Do you want to change your name?” Sirius asked, shocked. “We could make it happen if you wanted. You’ll be my heir either way.”

Harry focused on his breakfast.

“Do heirs work differently here?” Jean asked, neatly slicing a tomato in half without its guts flying all over the place. Hermione used to think that was her mother’s magic power. Even now she’s not convinced it’s not.

“It depends,” Ted said, buttering another piece of toast. “If it’s a wizarding family without family magic, it’s about what you're thinking. Wealth passes from one generation to the next, insert X amount of various laws about inheritance here, and people argue about it. The older the family, the more wealth and traditions to take into consideration. If it’s a wizarding family with family magic it’s less intuitive. You have to name your heir to the magic. They are the next guardian of the traditions, rituals, and magic that makes up the family magic.”

“What is family magic?” Hermione’s father had been irritable since they learned about Sirius’s background.

“It’s a bit like a trust fund? Or maybe a rain day fund?” Ted said amiably. “Truly powerful wizards are few and far between. Harry’s one. Hermione - it’s hard to tell with all her studying but I’d bet she can get some spells first try regardless. Bill Weasley. Fred and George Weasley. Sirius Black. Severus Snape. Lily Evens. Albus Dumbledore. Alastor Moody.”

“Most of those are purebloods,” Hermione’s dad said flatly. “Isn’t this just favouritism?”

“No,” Ted said. “It helps, no doubt. However, the wonderful thing about being naturally powerful is magic just works. First try. No studying is needed. Anyone can train to become a great wizard. I reckon I would be saying more muggle-born names if they had the same resources as wizards. But truly powerful people exist without studying. Harry, for example, can cast an Accio that went from the Triwizard tournament grounds to his dorm room. Or cast a full Patronus at the age of 13 that can protect him from a hundred dementors.”

Mrs. Tonks made a soft noise and added something to the parchment in her lap.

“Transfiguration’s like that for me,” Hermione said softly. “We aren’t doing much spell work in Ancient Runes or Arithmancy yet but I think it’s going to be the same. I can do DADA but I have to work for it. It’s not like how it is for Harry.”

“Does flying count?” Harry asked fork still in the air. “Cause that just worked for me. No one explained it to me.”

“You know,” Ted said, leaning back in his seat to give Harry a considering look. “I’m not sure. It’s certainly something. Either way, powerful people who intrinsically understand magic are rare. It doesn’t matter your blood status or your lineage, natural talent is rare. Family magic evens the odds a bit. So long as a family pays into it, sacrificing bits of magic every time they do a ritual, refreshing and revitalizing on holidays, maintaining those connections to the family magic allows the family to link into that well of magic and use it. It’s not a cure-all. Say Hermione wasn’t naturally powerful but did study like she does. Family magic would allow her to excel. Giving raw power to someone who wasn’t talented or didn’t put the work in wouldn’t make him a great wizard.”

“Historically, most of that extra power goes toward warding of some kind,” Mrs. Tonks explained. “Property wards, blood wards, family ring embedded with protection charms. It can be used to determine inheritances, family traditions, and more. Magic is a sentient being at times, especially when one family has shaped the same magic for so long. Each family’s magic takes on its own characteristics, but its purpose is generally the same. Protect the weak, keep the family safe.”

“Which is why you’ve chosen this building,” Richard nodded toward the room around them. “The old wards.”

“The old wards that we can build on,” Sirius said. Hermione privately thought that he look younger than she’d ever seen him. He didn’t look young, didn’t look his age, but he looked younger. "It's the safest we could find or build given any amount of time."

"Because they're old?"

"They're old, they are powerful, there's a lot of layers, and it's powered by family magic. And I hold the family magic."

"Which matters?"

"There's nothing more that Sirius wants than for Harry to be safe," Mrs. Tonks said with a finality that put the conversation to rest.

Hermione speared a tomato on her fork. Its guts shot out across her plate. Her mother remarked on the wood panelling. The gentle patter of conversation started up again.

--

“Harry?”

Hermione looked up with Harry from where they were sitting in the library. Harry had been aimlessly wandering around and eventually had settled on the couch with a book on Notable British Families. Hermione was researching house elves.

“Oh good,” Sirius came into view from the botany shelves, “You’re here too.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, swinging around until he was upright in his chair.

“I’m free,” Sirius said simply with a smile. “You’re officially mine. You wanna go shopping? We can get you new clothes, things for your room, go out to eat, that sort of thing. You’re more than welcome to come too, Hermione.”

She looked at Harry who was looking at Sirius. “It sounds fun.”

“What about the reporters? Dumbledore? Voldemort?”

He had been thinking about this a lot, evidently.

“If reporters get anywhere near you I’ll hex them and legally be in the right, Dumbledore couldn’t afford to do anything politically right now, and Portkeys in case of Voldemort. You’d also bring your cloak and both wands, plus Tonks would be going with us as well. It’s her day off.”

Harry hesitated.

“We can go another day, Harry,” Sirius said. “If it’s too overwhelming. Either way, I will be buying you all the necessities for life plus missed birthday gifts.”

“You already did that,” Harry argued. “You bought me a firebolt.”

“And what a purchase that was,” Sirius said, grinning as Harry pushed to his feet. Hermione marked her page and stood as well. “I might buy one for myself as well. Hermione? You want one?”

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said. “Brooms don’t like me.”

“Really?” Sirius said, cocking his head. “We’ll need to work on that. Brooms are useful in an emergency. Besides, if you can fly a hippogriff you can fly a broom.”

“Where is Buckbeak?”

“The woods, actually,” Sirius shoved his hands in his pocket. “He’s a lot happier here.”

“I need to grab a coat,” Hermione said, heading towards the stairs, “and my purse.”

“This is my treat!” Sirius called up at her. “I insist!”

“Can I wear this?” Harry asked looking down at himself and comparing Tonk’s old jeans and his Weasley sweater to Sirius’s swishing sky-blue robes and jewellery.

“Will you be warm enough?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s fine,” Sirius said, leading them into the foyer. “There will be a dress code for Wizengamot and maybe some of the parties that Andy wants to host but other than that wear what you want when you want to.”

Hermione hurried into the room at the same time Tonks came through the floo.

“I like this one,” she said. “I can’t hit my head on the mantle.”

“I went to Burgin and Burkes one time by accident,” Harry said. “It was my first time and I fell into the shop.”

Sirius laughed. “Has anyone taught how to floo properly?”

“The Weasleys?” Harry offered.

“What about how to not fall?”

Harry shook his head and Hermione said, “I haven’t been through at all actually.”

“We’ll add it to the list,” Sirius decided. “Onwards!”

Onwards entailed Harry running to his room to grab his other wand and his cloak before joining the rest of the family in the study.

“Here you are,” Sirius handed each of them a necklace. Hermione’s was a simple silver chain with a singular teardrop pearl hanging off of it. It must have been the size of her fingernail. As she looked closer she could feel the hum of magic around it. Harry got a simple gold chain with a stamped gold pendant on it. Hermione moved closer to see a stylized P. “If you need to get home quickly, for whatever reason - I don’t care what it is: terrorist attack, forced participation in necromancy rituals, bad date, someone’s making you uncomfortable, you have a bad feeling, hold the pendant in your hand and say ‘Bowtruckle Run’. It will portkey you home.”

“Do you have one?” Hermione asked.

Tonks and Sirius pulled at chains at their necks. Hers was delicate like Hermione’s with a pinprick of tiny gems dangling here and there. His was a silver stamped pendant with diamonds for stars in the shape of a constellation.

“Alright? Everyone ready?”

In short order, they were spinning through the world and popping into existence to an apparition point in Diagon. Hermione looked around curiously, she’d never been here this early in the summer. It wasn’t as busy as back-to-school shopping but there were more people than she expected. Like last time the alley was full of impossible things and a sense of rightness hit Hermione in the chest before she thought to brace for it. Harry was grinning widely next to her.

“Clothes first, I think,” Sirius said, waiting for Harry to move next to him. They took off down the street, two by two, moving lazily through the people.

Sirius didn’t seem to notice any of the stares or whispers that followed him and Harry followed his lead, asking questions and laughing at whatever Sirius was saying. Hermione did her best to keep from glaring at the people around them, focusing without seeing on Tonks’s face and the path ahead.

Sirius pulled them into a shop that Hermione had never been in. It was bright, making it feel bigger than it was.

“Mr. Black,” A man appeared, younger than Sirius but older than Tonks. He was in bright green robes that parted to reveal bright blue trousers the colour of the sky. “Auror Tonks. Mr. Potter. Ms. Granger.”

Sirius and Tonks dipped their heads while Harry and Hermione stood awkwardly.

“My name is Edward Algernon, how can I help you today?”

“We all need new wardrobes,” Sirius said. “Formal and casual. Benefitting our stations in society.”

“Are you reading from a script?” Tonks asked.

“Your mother felt strongly about this,” Sirius said in a stage whisper. “However, I would still like everyone to feel like themselves.”

“The scandal,” Tonks clutched at her chest even as a relieved look passed over her face.

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Algernon said. “Has anyone been fitted for a wardrobe before?”

Only Sirius raised his hand.

“I shall explain it as I go along then, this way please,” Mr. Algernon led them back behind a curtain with glittering embroidered vines and they entered a room that was made of mirrors. Hermione couldn’t stop the awed gasp that escaped her as she followed the mirrors up until shelves upon shelves of bolts of fabric took over, spiralling up and up and up. “Let’s start with the formal. Generally, if a person is of an old house they will want at least one or two robes in their house colours. If there is an old alliance or other ties they might have formal robes in the colours of other houses.”

“Everyone here will need robes in the colours of the House of Black,” Sirius said. “Harry and I will need robes in the colours of the House of Potter.”

Parchment and a quill flew down and started to take notes even as Mr. Algernon deftly escorted each of them to pedestals in front of the mirror, lined up like statues.

“Could Hermione wear Potter colours?” Harry asked. “Could Ron?”

“It would indicate that the House of Potter backs them in political situations,” Sirius said. “There’s a lot more that goes into it but I can’t see you not wanting to do so once I explain it. It would be appropriate at least, they’ve saved your life several times now.”

“Hermione, do you want to?” Harry asked.

Tonks was nodding from behind Harry.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said, not sure what she was agreeing to. The quill made another note.

“Most people have a few more dress robes,” Mr. Algernon continued. “Some for balls, some for rites, one for business.”

“We’ll start with that,” Sirius agreed. “I’m sure Andy will want to dress us for the next event where we’ll need something made.”

“There are a lot more styles for informal clothing,” Mr. Algernon swished his wand and sketches came down, fluttering in front of them. “Based on what I know about you, this is where I would recommend starting but I have more options if you are left wanting.”

Thankfully Hermione could see things she liked right off the bat. There were robes that reminded her of dresses, robes that cut away to show trousers that fit tight to her leg, and robes that were closer to what Ginny threw over her clothes in the summer. When she touched the sketches they neatly piled themselves in the air.

“As for clothing that are not robes,” more sketches came flying down, “we have a mix of muggle and magical fashions to pick from.”

Hermione sorted through the sketches, looking for something she liked. She already had clothes, she didn’t need a lot. A few summer dresses that were muggle but had obvious magical influences, casual clothing to wear at Hogwarts on the weekends, and a couple of pairs of trousers.

“Would you like your uniforms now as well?”

“Why don’t we wait,” Sirius said. “Harry very well might hit a growth spurt between now and then.”

The boy in question looked absurdly pleased by this.

“Will you need any work clothes, Auror Tonks?”

“One set of field robes and one set of dress robes could be nice,” Tonks admitted.

“Add it on,” Sirius said.

Harry had a larger stack by him and he hesitated, looking at the size of Hermione’s and then looking at his own.

“Do you have any shorts Harry?” she asked, casually. “My mom just took me shopping for summer, I’d outgrown all my summer things.”

“How many do I need?” Harry asked quietly, taking advantage of the fact that they were standing side by side and Mr. Algernon was speaking with Tonks.

“2 or 3 pairs of shorts. 2 or 3 pairs of trousers. One of those should be denims. If you’re going to have muggle clothes.”

“What if I want wizarding ones?”

“Honestly?” Hermoine tried to make her voice sound bossy, matter of fact. She slipped into it often enough without trying, she could use it now so Harry could feel better about buying clothes. “I would have full wardrobes in both if I were you. We may need to slip in and out of muggle places soon enough. It will be safer if we have clothes that blend in.”

This took the focus off of what Harry wanted and put it on what was practical. Harry was always better at picking things out for himself when he felt it was practical.

He nodded and went back to the sketches, looking at each of them consideringly.

“Will you need shoes?” Mr. Algernon was asking.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “For everyone. Wizarding and Muggle.”

“Glasses?” Mr. Algernon asked Harry.

“I - I don’t -” Harry stuttered, overwhelmed.

“You at least need new lenses,” Hermione took over. “If you want to keep your frames. You can always change your mind later Harry.”

He looked at her desperately.

“It is reasonable to have the correct lenses in your glasses,” Hermione said as firmly as she was able. “Besides, it’s a basic need. If anyone tries to challenge Sirius’s guardianship they won’t get very far if we can prove that not only are your basic needs met but the rest of your needs as well.”

“Just the lenses?” Harry asked instead of told Mr. Algernon.

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” he said. “I have an optician and a cobbler that I highly recommend.”

“We’ll go there next,” Sirius decided. “Then we can do lunch.”

“With your permission?” Mr. Algernon asked.

Sirius and Tonks nodded, Hermione and Harry copying them. Measuring tapes and pins and all sorts of other notions flew out of mirror which rippled before smoothing back out. A ruler nudged Hermione’s arm up and she watched in fascination as it measured her from wrist to elbow, elbow to wrist. Harry looked up uncomfortably as it measured his inseam. Sirius wasn’t phased, keeping up a chattering stream of small talk about fabric as the measuring tape wound about him.

Bolts of fabric flew down from the shelves high above them and with a swish, flick, and twirl Hermione was surrounded by colours and textures. They twirled around all of them and before she could even form an opinion they were streaming away, back to where they came from.

“Your wardrobes should be ready at the end of the day,” Mr. Algernon said. “Would you like to pick it up in person or have it delivered?”

“We’ll pick it up,” Sirius decided.

“Excellent,” Mr. Algernon said and escorted them out.

“That’s all?” Hermione asked. “How does he know what colours we like?”

“He’ll pick the colours that work best for you,” Sirius said. “If you don’t like any of it then we can have it remade.”

“The magical world’s clothing is more made to order than you’d find in the muggle,” Tonks said quietly. “At more expensive shops it’s assumed the clients trust the tailor to make the best choices.”

Hermione nodded as she took in this information.

Harry was painfully awkward about the optician so they went to the cobbler first. Much like the tailor it was over much quicker than Hermione expected. The main difference was that the cobbler called them back one at a time instead of as a group.

It’s almost like cultural whiplash she thought as she exited the shop. Or maybe proper whiplash, it might just be the turnaround speed.

Harry was back to being awkward about the idea of new glasses so Hermione gave him the choice of everyone going or just Sirius. Choice made, Hermione headed off to the bookstore with Tonks. They’d meet up with Harry and Sirius for lunch.

She’d been to this bookstore before with her parents, rushing to get school shopping done so she could spend as much time as possible looking through the books. Per usual, she wandered the aisles, trailing a finger over the spines of the books, eye flicking over each title. Tonks, amused, helped her build a tower of books by guarding a side table next to the chair she was in.

“You’re efficient at this,” Tonks said, matching her hair colour to each cover Hermione handed her. “We clear buildings like this.”

“I don’t want to miss anything,” Hermione said. “Usually I only get to come once a year.”

“You’d read this in a year?”

Hermione could, is the thing. She couldn’t imagine anything better than being able to read all of this whenever she wanted. Hogwarts's library was amazing but it was curated for their studies. Hermione wanted to know everything. “Oh no, I’ll put most of these back. My parents normally let me pick five.”

“Scouting your options,” Tonks said, nodding wisely. “Smart.”

Sometime between the herbology, biography, and wizarding history sections Sirius and Harry must have rejoined them. She came back to Tonks to drop off more books and found Harry smiling at her tower of books.

“Harry! Your glasses look nice,” Hermione said. He’d kept the same style but the metal was of much better quality with fine detailing. Not enough to notice a difference if she wasn’t looking but enough to spot now that she was.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “They said my vision had changed.”

“That’s common,” Hermione declared, especially if you haven’t had your eyes checked since you were six. “How is seeing properly?”

“Weird,” Harry decided, eyes darting from the books in front of him to the shelves far away. “Quiditch is going to be so easy this year.”

“Boys,” Hermione grumbled before moving to her tower to sort through it.

Before she could Sirius swept them all up into the air and directed them like a conductor to fly up to the counter.

“Sirius! I couldn’t possibly accept,” Hermione scolded.

“Nonsense,” He cut her off. “There’s no way anyone can tell me buying books for someone who wants to read them could be considered spoiling them.”

Sirius paid, shrunk, and then carried her books out of the shops, cheerfully ignoring her protests the whole time. “There’s a chippy up ahead or we could go to a sit-down, I don’t care which so long as I can eat.”

Harry shrugged and Hermione looked to Tonks.

“I want chips,” she declared. “I’ve’n't had good ones in a while.”

Sirius led them out of the alley, through a wall, and then to a muggle street where she could smell the fry oil and salt. At first, she’d been worried about Tonks and Sirius’s robes but they simply opened them and wore them like long coats. Tonks had muggle jeans on underneath and Sirius’s wizarding clothes once again just looked goth.

Lunch flew by with too much laughter and vinegar and salt and Hermione was back in Diagon Alley sorting through stores she’d never been in before.

Harry was taking the task of decorating his bedroom seriously and Sirius was insisting Hermione at least get a few things to keep there as well.

“At least get shampoo,” Tonks said. “It’s always nice to have shampoo you like.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Hermione said, looking at the whole wall of what could plausibly be potions.

“You’ll want something with moisture,” Tonks said, reaching out to feel the frizzy halo of Hermione’s hair. “You aren’t getting enough.”

“Really?” Hermione reached up to touch her hair. It felt healthy.

“I’ve got Mum’s and Sirius’s hair. It’s a lot of work hence why I chose this hair but I did learn a bit about how to take care of it. Yours will be wavy if you work with it.”

“Which means moisture,” Hermione frowned and looked at the bottles.

“Why don’t we ask,” Tonks said, flagging down one of the shopgirls.

Hermione left the shop privately pleased, with a bag containing shampoo, conditioner, oils, and a book of hair spells. She’d never considered going out to buy a book with beauty spells. They’d always looked so intimidating when Lavender and Parvati did them. She’d looked once in the Hogwarts library, found nothing, and put the notion aside.

Harry had smelled every item at least twice before making his purchases. He’d gotten everything someone would need, toothpaste, a toothbrush, shampoo, hair product that Sirius recommended that the Potter men apparently liked, shaving cream, a razor that had Hermione dubiously eye the few stubbly bits of hair he had, a brush that Tonks swapped out for a comb after eyeing his hair, towels, cleaner for his glasses, Hermione had wandered off to look at hair accessories at that point.

A comforter, duvet, three pillows with Tonk’s insisting on a fourth for symmetry, new curtains for Harry’s bed, two lamps that used flame, a mirror, a rug that Harry insisted he didn’t need, and a moving poster that automatically updated to show the latest quidditch league rankings later Hermione was exhausted.

“I think we could call it a day,” Sirius decided, taking in Harry’s glazed look. “We made a good start.”

“There’s more?” Harry groaned. “I have everything I need.”

“That’s the start,” Sirius agreed. “Next will be most of what you want.”

“Most?”

“If I am to be a proper guardian you need to come up with something I can say no to. Like cursed jewellery or a solid gold cauldron,” Sirius said waving at the apothecary. “It’s part of my job, except everything you’ve gotten so far is so bloody reasonable.”

Harry had a pleased grin aimed at his feet and Hermione recognized what Sirius was doing. He was good at this, good at carving out space for Harry and then encouraging him to fill it in a way that no other adult had done for him.

“You ready to go home?” Sirius asked, more quietly. “Anything else you need today?”

Harry shook his head and took Sirius’s arm when he offered it. He was quiet and still in a way that was comparable to the way he moved after Quidditch practice. Hermione could relate. All she wanted was to sit down. She tightened her grip on Tonks’s arm and together their little group disapparated out of the alley.

Chapter Text

Sirius had to admit, this wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. Andy had managed to find a healer that simultaneously was informal and relaxed yet professional and caring enough to make his shoulders come down from around his ears.

“Sirius Black III?” the healer had asked when she’d come through the floo. Harry had already gone off with a healer, looking tense and uncomfortable. It was taking everything in Sirius not to run after him. The only thing keeping him in place was Harry’s instance that he wanted privacy.

“That’s me,” Sirius said, still thinking about Harry.

“I know it is,” the healer said cheerfully, “but it’s always best practice to ask.”

Sirius took a minute to look the healer over as he led them down to the study. “What kind of healer are you?”

“It’s the tattoos,” she asked, “isn’t it? People always ask when they see the tattoos.”

To be entirely honest, the tattoos hadn’t even registered to Sirius. Now that he looked he could see what looked like the tendrils of Devil’s Snare reaching lazily above the collar of her robe.

“My name is Ronan, I am a healer and a researcher. Mrs. Tonks reached out to see if I could help with your recovery from Azkaban.”

“A researcher?” Sirius asked. He really hadn’t been listening when Andy had explained all of this, had he?

“I am a healer, I did my training just like every other healer at St. Mungo’s. I just didn’t go to work there.”

“Why not?”

“I got injured when I was exploring the muggle world,” Ronan said. “I got knocked out, taken to the hospital, and woke up with a doctor ready to show me a scan of my brain. It was scary, unusual, uncomfortable, and mind-blowing. Once I checked myself out, I went to St. Mungo’s, was healed in two minutes, and then went to a muggle library. Did you know that Muggles can treat sadness? Or nderstand how the brain communicates with a person's hands? Or know what happens when the signals in the brain go wrong?”

Sirius was beginning to suspect the reason why Andy chose this healer.

“There’s nothing like that in the Wizarding world. The only people studying the brain is the Department of Mysteries.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Sirius said.

“I agree!” Ronan, set her stuff down.

“So you are here to fix my brain,” Sirius said, not coming through the door and instead leaning against the door frame.

“Among other things,” Ronan said, looking over Sirius critically. “Azkaban is basically a hell-scape of a void of human rights so there’s got to be other things as well.”

Sirius snorted but didn’t move any closer.

“Do you know how dementors work?” Ronan plunked herself down in one of the squishy armchairs. Her feet didn’t touch the floor.

“They feed on happiness and eat souls,” Sirius said, her clinical tone combined with her swinging feet odd enough for Sirius to stay present in the room. Andy had built a roaring fire in the hearth, keeping the room warm even as the summer sun beat through the windows. Sirius’s hands were still cold.

“And what effect does that have on a person’s brain?” Ronan prompted, writing glowing letters into the air. Sirius’s first suggestion hung in the air, like there was an invisible blackboard.

“You can’t sleep,” Sirius said, coming just inside the door to lean against the wall. “You get cold.”

Ronan wrote that down and then turned back to him expectantly.

“Emotions hurt,” Sirius said.

“All of them?”

“Happy ones. Good ones.”

That went up as well. “Anything else?”

Sirius shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you’re going to tell me?”

“Lack of appetite. Depression. Lack of energy. Changed neural pathways. Lingering dark residue,” they lingered in the air, Sirius could see them on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked.

“Neural pathways?”

“The way your brain thinks. The actual shape of your brain. That’s going to be the hardest to address, that’s going to be a fight.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest I can do something about,” Ronan dug into the bag she’d brought and pulled out parchment and a quill. She raised them up and let go at shoulder height. They floated, bobbing gently up and down. She waved a hand at the list. “Where would you like to start?”

“What do you recommend?” Sirius countered.

“My favourite is purging the dark residue left behind. However, I need to make sure that you are physically fit enough to handle it.”

“Let’s start there then,” Sirius said, crossing his arms.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Ronan invited. “I’m going to start with height, weight, and muscle measurements. I’ll compare the results to the average height, weight, and muscle ratios for men your age in your societal class.”

Sirius came over to lean against the arm of the other plush armchair.

“Ready?”

Sirius nodded.

Lovely, pale blue light poured out of Ronan’s wand. It flowed around him like a river of water in slow motion. It wasn’t warm but it wasn't cold either. It was just firm, gentle pressure.

“So,” Ronan said before the light even began to fade, “hopefully this isn’t a surprise, but you are underweight for your height and age.”

“No, really?” Sirius asked, aware of the way his skin pulled over his bones as he flexed his fingers.

“Given how underweight you are,” Ronan said, “I would like to check your bone density.”

“Have at it,” Sirius said, uncrossing his arms again. He didn’t remember crossing his arms.

A pulse of orange light came at him followed by several more. It didn’t feel like anything when it hit him.

“So,” Ronan said. “Your bone density is low, probably due to malnutrition. Does that sound right?”

“Yes,” he said, doing his best not to think.

“Is there any chance it is from a lingering dark curse?”

Sirius grimaced, looking away. “I survived a war.” I survived my parents.

“Do you mind if I look for that as well?”

“Knock yourself out,” Sirius offered. He didn’t uncross his arms this time, instead focused on trying to stop scratching his arm.

If I stop scratching my arms, I’m going to cry.

That wasn't ideal so he didn’t stop and instead flattened his fingers so his nails stopped biting into his skin.

Ronan talked him through this part.

“First I’m going to look for curses,” Ronan swished her wand and a beam of light hit him. “Anything tied to you that shouldn’t be there.”

“Now I’m looking for dark residue outside of what I would expect from Dementors,” Ronan said. “Think more along the lines of being around dark magic for long periods of time, getting hit by dark hexes, curses, or any other spell that was intended to do damage right away and not linger.”

Comport yourself! His mother’s voice whipped through his head and the distinct colour of the Stinging Jinx flashed before his eyes.

You’re fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Sirius switched the arm he was scratching. I’m not going to cry.

Merlin, he thought he’d gotten through this all ready. He’d cried it out with James that night he’d landed in a heap on the rug at the Potter’s home. Cried for days, really. On and off.

James had been by his side the whole time. Not mentioning it when Sirius didn’t want to think about it. Hold him as tight as he could, arms strong around his chest to keep him from shaking apart.

You’re safe, James had told him over and over again. You never need to go back. I won’t let you go back. I’ve always wanted a brother. They can’t take you back, we won’t let them take you back.

“Sirius,” a voice said. “Can you hear me?”

Warmth was rushing over him, the air heating up. His hands were so cold.

“Sirius, if you can hear me can you look towards me?”

He turned his head toward the voice. He could feel sunlight on his face.

“Deep breaths, Sirius,” another wave of warmth hit him, this time sinking into his bones. He shivered. “You’re doing great.”

He sucked air down into his lungs. His heart was too fast, it hurt. A spell caught him in his chest and a floaty sense of calm caused his breathing and heart to slow. His mind raced.

“Can you look at me Sirius?”

A woman with short hair, tattoos, and professional robes stood before him. Her face level with his but not too close. Ronan. The healer.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“How often does this happen?”

He shrugged.

“Hourly?”

He shook his head.

“Daily?”

He shrugged.

“About once a day, a little less?”

“Some times more,” he rasped and then coughed, to clear his throat.

“Do you know why it’s happening?” Ronan asked, her voice still just as calm as it was.

“Whenever I think happy thoughts. Anything good,” Sirius tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice and failed.

“It’s only ever happened with good thoughts?”

Sirius thought about it. “Strong emotions.”

“Good,” Ronan said, coaxingly. “Are you ready to hear about it?”

He sat up a little bit more and nodded. He could take it.

“There are several things happening to you. The good news is that I can fix a lot of it today.”

Sirius’s eyebrows raised, that was faster than he was expecting. “Twelve years of dementor damage gone?”

“Yes,” Ronan said, “and no. The first thing seems to be a couple of lingering curses. They aren’t complete curses, more like fragments or shards. They all seem to be variations of pain or suffering curses. They aren’t powerful enough for you to notice on their own but combined with the dementor damage, they are strong enough to effect you.”

This was news to Sirius.

“The next is dark residue. It’s very minor, like it’s been healed before. If you were any other patient then I wouldn’t treat it but it’s giving something for the dementor’s magic to latch on to. Any questions so far about the results?”

He shook his head.

“Once I address those two things, I would like to recommend a regiment of nutrition potions to be taken today. The only catch is I would have to monitor you pretty closely during that time. At the end of it, you’d be back to a healthy weight and muscle tone.”

“Yes, please,” Sirius didn’t have to think about that. He didn’t want to flinch every time he passed a reflective surface.

“Allright,” Ronan sounded pleased. She sat back on her heels. “Once you are physically healthy, I would like to address the dementor damage. It should take only a couple of spells and maybe a cleansing ritual, depending on your magic. However, since the number of patients this has been attempted on is so small, I can not guarantee the results.”

That sounded concerning.

“It won’t make things worse,” Ronan hastened to add at whatever expression he was wearing. “But we might need several sessions.”

“Then I’ll be fixed?” Sirius asked, doubtfully.

“No,” Ronan said simply. “Dementors do a lot worse than affect us magically. Your brain, your magic, has been trained to shove away any and all good memories and emotions. You will need to untrain your brain to avoid having more reactions like you just had.”

“How?” Sirius asked. Of course there’s more. There’s always something.

“Therapy,” Ronan said. “Time. Things that you have access to and the ability to accomplish.”

Sirius thought about this as Ronan stood and dug through her bag. “Can I check on my Godson before we start?”

“Of course,” Ronan said. “Would you like to be treated in your office? Or would you be more comfortable elsewhere?’

“Where would you recommend?”

“I’ve treated people everywhere from the middle of remote dragon reservations to their bedrooms. Somewhere you are comfortable and won’t feel trapped would be best.”

Sirius looked around the room that reminded him of his grandfather. “Maybe not here, then.”

“I’ll follow you.”

“Will it be,” Sirius searched for the right word, “upsetting to witness?”

Ronan considered this as they left the study. “Depends, I suppose. A small child might think it’s scary, in a way that lots of children think healers are scary. All of the things we will be doing will be extremely low risk. Nothing unexpected or startling should happen.”

Something tight eased in Sirius’s chest. “Great.”

Harry was sitting quietly in the sitting room when Sirius turned the corner.

“Sirius!” He threw himself into Sirius with a thud.

“How’d it go?”

Harry frowned and didn’t answer even as he squeezed harder as he hugged Sirius. Sirius frowned as well, this wasn’t how he normally acted.

Sirius glanced at the healer Harry had seen. “Everything all right?”

“Harry wanted to check in before he started his treatment.”

Harry stayed quiet.

“We had the same idea,” Sirius said, trying for a light, amused tone. He wasn’t sure if he managed it.

“Are you ok?” Harry whipped his head up, nearly hitting him in the nose. He let go of Sirius and stumbled back. Sirius let him go.

“I’ll be alright, right Healer Ronan?” He looked back at Ronan who was now setting her bag on a side table.

“That’s right.”

“Just some lingering curse damage, malnutrition, and dementor damage. All easy enough fixes.”

“Curse damage?” Harry was worried, he flexed his hands as they shook.

“You know, courtesy of years of sting hexes from my mother and the lovely innovations of our local Death Eaters.”

“Your mother?”

“Was not the best.”

“I have bone damage from Uncle Vernon,” Harry offered, staring hard at the floor. “I’m ok though.”

Sirius stayed calm only through years of dementor-motivated practice. He survived Azkaban. He could react as James had for him.

“Well,” Sirius said, “I’m glad to hear you’re ok. You know you are never going to go back there, right Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry seemed to relax a bit, glancing up at him. “I have to take Skele-grow. And nutrient potions.”

“Skele-grow is the worst,” Sirius shuddered. “Are we taking the same nutrient potions?”

“Not unless you’re choosing the longer set of potions,” Harry’s healer said. Sirius could have sworn he’d learned his name. “I’d bet you chose the short course.”

“That’s not an option for Harry?”

The healer looked at Harry who shrugged. “It’s ok. I want Sirius to know.”

“Harry is underweight but not dangerously so. Thankfully, Hogwarts’s meals seem to have helped Harry maintain his weight. The nutrient potions will help stock up his reserves and help with his bone density. I want him to be prepared for his upcoming growth spurts.”

“How tall was Dad?” the question burst out of Harry.

“Taller than I was,” Sirius said with a laugh. “He shot up after 6th year. He was only a couple of inches shorter than Remus.”

“Am I going to be that tall?” Harry asked his healer.

“How tall was your mother?”

“About my height,” Sirius said.

“It is likely, with your potions courses and proper nutrition, that you will be somewhere in between your mother and father’s height. Unless, of course, your grandparents or great-grandparents are much taller and then you could exceed your father’s height.”

“So taller than Sirius then,” Harry said with a grin.

“The important takeaway,” Ronan agreed, joining the conversation. “How would we like to do this?”

Sirius looked toward Harry who looked back down at the floor. “What treatments does Harry need?”

“There’s damage to his bones, that will need Skele-grow. Nutrient potions. Other than that, not much.”

“No lingering damage from the Unforgivables?”

Harry flinched and stared at his shoes.

“Unforgivables?” the healer seemed surprised.

“My godson was kidnapped after winning the Triwizard tournament,” Sirius had a bad feeling tingling down his spine. “He was tortured by Death Eaters and Voldemort who used the Crutiatus curse and the Imperius curse.”

“Well,” the healer said. “Let me check.”

“Is it alright that we are here?” Ronan asked. “I can leave, Harry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled.

“Let me or Sirius know if that changes,” Ronan pulled out the parchment that she’d taken notes on and started to read over it.

The healer mumbled and waved his wand. Harry didn’t move as the spells washed over him.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the healer looked astonished and then worried in quick succession.

Ronan looked over but didn't say anything.

“Harry,” the healer said. “I know that you haven’t had regular healer appointments. Just so you know, if a healer asks you if anything of concern has occurred recently, that would be something worth mentioning.”

“I thought Madame Pomfrey would have fixed it.”

“Even if she had,” Harry’s healer said gently, “it’s important for you to mention just so the next healer can have the whole picture.”

Harry nodded but didn’t say anything.

“We can fix this, you’ll need an extra treatment or two Harry, but it should be routine, low-risk procedures. Luckily you’re young and the damage isn’t extensive. You should make a full recovery.”

Harry didn’t say anything and glanced at Sirius.

“Who would like to go first?”

Harry bit his lip and glanced down at his shoes.

“I can,” Sirius said, as cheerful as he could manage. Harry didn’t look any less worried. “Would you like to stay, Harry?”

In the end, it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Sirius expected it to be. Healing spells and curse breaking first, a process that he could ignore and tease Harry for knowing a lot of the healing spells from Quidditch, then potions. The potions were maybe the most dramatic in terms of Harry’s reaction who did a double take when Sirius turned toward him after an unpleasant five minutes that felt like a mix between taking a strong dose of Skel-grow and the in-between phase of Polyjuice.

“That bad?” Sirius joked, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“You look like how you looked in my parent's wedding photos,” Harry said. “You look like yourself. But young.”

That soothed a part of him while also breaking another part wide open. His skin felt too tight, too dry. His bones ached in a way that would fade, different from the constant pain he’d been carrying around.

Ronan continued to move around them like he and Harry weren’t the epicentre of an awkward emotional storm.

Harry blinked twice and the moment passed. Life moved on.

Sirius couldn’t tell if Harry wasn’t phased by the cleansing ritual or if he was completely overwhelmed. He spoke when he needed to. Stayed solemnly quiet when he didn’t. The only reason Sirius was staying calm was how much better he felt. For the first time in 13 years, it felt like he could finally come off of high alert. He wasn’t holding as much tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t as bloody cold as he always was. He could walk from room to room without losing his breath. He felt better than he had since James and Lily had been murdered. He could think that without losing his mind.

“I am very pleased with these results, Sirius,” Ronan smiled at the colors flashing around him. “I wonder if doing it here, in your family’s ritual space, has helped.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sirius said, stretching.

“Alright, Harry,” Harry’s healer, Healer Alcott? Maybe? Stepped forward. “I would prefer building up your body’s reserves before a cleansing ritual. We will just start with the positions today, along with a few healing spells.”

“Do you need to do them here?” Harry asked, looking around the plain room.

“It couldn’t hurt but the spells would work anywhere else as well.”

Harry didn’t seem like he wanted to leave, just like he was curious.

“Would you like to leave?” Healer Alcott asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

He said that a lot didn’t he?

Healer Alcott glanced at Sirius who nodded.

“Alright, Harry,” Healer Alcot said, raising his wand. “Here we go.”

Harry watched the spells surround him and glow.

Sirius knew these ones. James and Remus had needed some of each on a semi and regular bases respectively due to quidditch and on account of being a werewolf. They shouldn’t take this long.

Harry sat down suddenly, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Healer Alcott said soothingly. “It’s just like what we talked about.”

Harry didn’t respond, just continued to watch the magic around him.

After too long, the spells faded.

“How does that feel?” the healer asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

“Let me know if that changes,” Alcott said. He looked toward Sirius and nodded. “I’ll leave the potions with you, Harry needs to take one vial before breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Sirius nodded, waited for Harry to stand on shaky legs, and then escorted everyone back to the foyer.

“I’ll send you an owl,” Ronan said when became apparent that his focus was on Harry.

“I’ll do the same,” Healer Alcott was already stepping into the green flames of the floo.

“It’s important that both of you eat,” she continued. “Nothing too heavy, don’t force it, but at least a few bites of something that sounds good.”

“Like a hangover,” Sirius said knowledgeably.

That got a small snort out of Harry.

“Same general guidelines,” Ronan said. “Except I would also be gentle with your magic. It might be more or less responsive than you are expecting it to be. That’s normal, with changes happening to our bodies.”

Sirius and Harry nodded dutifully.

“Thank you, healer,” Sirius said.

Ronan gave them both one more glance over and then stepped through the green flames as well.

“You heard her,” Sirius cheerfully plowed through the glazed look that had come over Harry, “lunch!”

Chapter Text

Sirius’s go-to hangover food was a toasted sandwich, regardless of the contents. Harry seemed content with a toasted ham and cheese so he made four of them, cutting them into triangles the way Remus teasingly would.

He waited until Harry was sitting up straighter and looking Sirius in the eye as they chatted to ask, “Did you like your healer?”

Harry dropped his eyes and shrugged, “He’s fine.”

“I thought so too,” Sirius said, watching the small signs of disappointment drag Harry’s shoulders toward his ears, “but I think we can do better. Andy picked him since he specializes in adolescents but I’m not sure he’s the best match for you.”

“I liked your healer,” Harry picked at the crust of his sandwich.

“Would you like to see her too? I trust her professionalism. She wouldn’t tell one of us something that the other person wouldn’t like the other to know.”

“He didn’t believe me,” Harry crushed the crust into flakey crumbs.

“I didn’t like that,” Sirius said. “I don’t think a healer has to take our word for it but they at least should act like they trust our accounts of reality.”

“Healer Ronan believed you?”

“Yes, she did.” She hadn’t flinched or looked away when they’d talked about his family. Hadn’t said I’m sorry or I understand during the cleansing rituals. “More importantly, I think she believed you.”

Harry pushed the crumbs on his plate into a pile.

“Would you like me to ask her if she has an opening for you?”

“Is that mean to Healer Alcott?”

Merlin, he forgot sometimes that Harry was only fourteen. “No. Sometimes, even if the Healer hasn’t done anything wrong, a patient is going to be more comfortable with someone else.”

“Could you write to her?”

“I’ll ask when she sends me that owl,” Sirius said, getting up to search through the pantry some more. He and Harry hadn’t bothered with making it to an actual dining room, instead, they settled in the small room off the kitchen that also connected to the pantry.

“What happens next?”

“Well,” Sirius reached for the top shelf where Andy tended to hide her sweets. Nothing. “I think you should help us interview the tutors, it will be easier for you to find a good match that way. Same with mind healers.”

“Mind healers?”

“Mind healers for you and me,” Sirius said. “You don’t ever have to talk to them, not if you don’t want but you do have to sit through the sessions with a healer you feel comfortable with.”

He was stealing Andy’s words again. Hermione’s reasoning too. He wanted to order Harry to talk to whoever could help. Wanted to scream and throw things and yell that this wasn’t the boy who would exist if his parents were still alive - if Sirius had done his job - if Harry had gone to someone who loved him.

Harry would be arrogant, or at least confident. Wouldn’t ever hesitate to ask for things he needed, and wouldn’t ever hesitate to ask for something he wanted either. He would be loud, confident in his right to take up space. Gods above he would be bigger, shoulders filling out in the way James’s started to with the round cheeks that Lily had until she was 17.

His hair would be longer or shorter or something other than this - well cared for were the words he was maybe looking for. He’d have clothes that were clean and that he liked to wear. He’d know what shampoo he’d like. He’d know how to ask for a healer he liked. He would have James and Lily. He would call Sirius uncle. He would call Remus uncle.

Remus.

“Ok.”

Sirius turned to look at him through the door of the pantry. Harry was studying the pattern of the crumbs the same way one might try to divine from tea leaves.

“My mother hurt me,” Sirius started softly, unsure if it was going to help. “My father hurt me. My grandfather didn’t care. My grandmother was drunk to the point I never saw her sober. No one at Hogwarts knew. James had a guess that something wasn’t right but he didn’t know. Bella and Regulaus and Andy and Cissy were the only people who knew. They were trapped too so they knew. We couldn’t go to anyone, Harry. We couldn’t. There wasn’t an adult alive that I could ask and Godric knows that no one saw and thought to ask.”

Harry was watching him, not surprised. He understood this too, in a way that his parents wouldn’t have been able to understand.

“Lily,” Sirius was going to cry. “Lily told me once that my thermometer was broken. I asked what a thermometer was.”

Harry laughed - the intended effect.

“She amended her metaphor to scales, like the ones we use in potions. She said my scales weren’t balanced. That I had the weight of the worst thing my parents ever did to me weighing down one side. When I put a new experience on the other side, that’s what I was comparing it to. My ability to judge normal was skewed. It still is skewed. I can tell for other people,” Sirius laughed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “If what happened to me happened to you, I would be furious, Harry. Andy would have to talk me down from murder. She had to talk me down from murder.”

Harry looked up, startled at this.

“But because it happened to me, and most of it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, my scale says it’s fine.”

A knowing look came over Harry.

“Talking to a mind healer can help balance my scale,” Sirius said. “That’s what Lily said. She wanted me to go when she found out she was pregnant and James insisted I was the godfather. She said she wanted someone with a balanced scale to be in charge of her son. I imagine she would be dragging me there by the ear now.”

“She’d want me to go,” Harry was scowling at the table. “Hermione wants me to too.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” Sirius said. “We’ll go through mind healers until you find one you like.”

“Would Healer Ronan know a good one?”

“Good idea, I’ll ask her.”

“What if I don’t want to talk,” Harry said suddenly.

“That’s ok,” Sirius said, watching the fight drain out of him. “You’ll still have to sit there. You could talk about quidditch for all I care. I need proof that I am providing for all your needs, even if you choose not to use them.”

“Could we find a healer who likes Quidditch?”

The way Harry studied his reaction to this question felt like a test like Harry was pushing and pushing to see where Sirius drew the line. Unfortunately for Harry, Sirius was much louder in his teenage angst than Harry had any hope of achieving. Harry was still well within the bounds of normal kid questions. Unless he purposely baited his former family into a fight, something Sirius didn’t recommend, he could handle his rebelling.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said.

Harry nodded, eyes still on his face.

“So, tutors and mind healers,” Sirius said, answering the original question. “Tutoring to get you caught up and prepared in any way you need. I’m willing to bet that Snape is barely willing to teach you anything. Imagine if you came in for fifth-year prepared.”

“He’d hate it,” Harry said, suddenly delighted. “He couldn’t say anything about it either.”

“The best kind of mischief,” Sirius said. “Then mind healers to heal or at the very least to just be here. Then Quidditch? Inviting friends over? Taking over Muggle London? It’s summer, there’s a lot of options.”

“Could we go -”

Sirius and Harry both jumped, Sirius managing to pull his wand and Harry getting his hand and wand tangled in his jeans pocket before they realized it was an owl slamming into the window.

“Wand holster!” Sirius smacked a hand to his head to hide how his hands were trembling. “I knew we forgot something.”

“Errol!” Harry said. “It’s the Weasleys!”

A silver streak came through the window and Harry managed to yank his wand out.

“Mr. Black,” a voice said.

“Patronuses can talk?”

“This is Bill Weasley,” the patronus solidified into a baboon. “I wanted to warn you that my mother’s sent a howler. She is in a rage, she doesn’t mean most of it. Ron, Ginny, and the twins would like to make it known that our mother does not speak for them.”

The patronus faded into nothing.

“That was thoughtful,” Sirius said. “Should we check on the bird?”

“Errol,” Harry said, shoving the window open and leaning over it. “Patronuses can talk?”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “I can teach you.”

“Sweet!” Harry pulled a bundle of feathers over and carefully handed a smoking red letter addressed to Sirius.

Sirius tore open the envelope and it yanked itself out of his hands.

“SIRIUS BLACK! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING? RETURN HARRY TO HIS AUNT AND UNCLE’S AT ONCE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT KIND OF DANGER YOU HAVE PUT HIM IN? HE NEEDS TO BE SAFE! WE SUCCESSFULLY KEPT HIM SAFE AND I WILL NOT HAVE YOU COMING IN AND MUCKING IT ALL UP!”

The letter tore itself up.

Harry stared.

Sirius rubbed a finger in his ringing ear.

Harry stared some more.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak.

Harry burst into tears and got out of the room as quickly as possible.

Sirius sighed.

He carefully propped Errol up, conjured a bowl of water, called for Kreacher and waited for the snap of apparition. Kreacher took both the owl and the bowl of water without saying anything - a win - and popped away again. Then he trailed down the hallway, giving Harry time to get where ever he was going. His room? Outside? He could probably use the wards to find him, his grandfather had always been able to do that.

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to centre himself. Meditation was taught to pureblood children starting at age four. It was a necessary building block for Occlumency and Legilimancy. It was also necessary for warding and ritual, for pushing magic out into the world with intent. More specifically with the intent you want, not the intent you have. Two very separate things.

It was dark with his eyes closed. For some reason that startled him. Dark like his cell. Quieter than Azkaban; no one was screaming. It wasn’t cold either. He had been so cold his bones had ached. Though apparently, part of that had been curse damage exacerbated by dementors. Bloody hell did he not miss dementors.

He dreamed about them every night. Not in a nightmare way. In a normal way, if there was a normal way to dream of dementors. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He would be in his cell. They’d be coming down the hallway, he could feel the stone around him getting colder and colder. The screaming would pick up and abruptly drop off when the dementors got too close. He’d fumble for the magic he had left, the small flickering light inside of him, tug at it until he could shift. He’d flail awake, as a dog, in a bed that didn’t smell like despair, adrenaline pumping through him. It took ages to fall back asleep. If he tried to go to sleep as a dog, the reverse would happen and he’d startle awake as a human.

He was so tired.

Harry.

He was trying to find Harry. Obviously, meditation wasn’t going to work.

His room first, maybe.

Sirius didn’t rush, taking his time to observe the densely woven carpets, the gleaming wood floors and the creepy but beautiful wallpaper. He swore that there were eyes in the pattern. He could only ever see them out of the corner of his eye but they were there.

Harry’s door finally had the placard labelling it Harry’s Room. Sirius knocked twice and then swung the door open. Harry was sitting in the window seat, something Sirius was pretty sure hadn’t been there the first time he’d seen the room. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees and was staring determinedly out of the window.

“You’re not going back,” Sirius said, deciding on something he knew for sure. “Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”

Harry kept staring out the window but mumbled, “I know.”

“It’s wrong for Mrs. Weasley to say that you were safe there,” Sirius took a stab in the dark and offered up another thing he knew to be true.

Harry drew his shoulders up to his ears. Did that mean he was on the wrong track?

“Whatever you are feeling is reasonable, Harry,” Sirius didn’t know how to do this. How did James do this? How did Mr. and Mrs. Potter do it? How did anyone? God, he missed Lily. Lily knew what she was doing, always. When she didn’t she had lists and reasons and confidence. Sirius didn’t have any of that. All he wanted was for Harry to feel safe.

“Then tell him that,” Lily stood, hands on her hips, wand in one hand and kitchen towel in the other. A blend of magic and muggle wrapped together by outdated 70s wizarding fashion and wellies that she still had on for some reason. “If Remus has done something that upsets you, TELL HIM.”

“Lily, it’s not that easy,” James looked forlornly at his girlfriend. “It’s Remus.”

“Remus is a full-arse person. He deserves to know if he’s making his friends feel shitty.”

Sirius had laughed then. At James’s surprised expression when Lily swore. At Lily’s practical approach to life. At the fact that he was there, with them, warm and safe and home.

“If you want someone to know something, tell them,” Lily had finally declared, throwing her hands up to the sky. “It’s not rocket science.”

“Rocket science?”

“Harry,” Sirius said, into the stretching, trembling silence. “I am bad at this.”

Harry looked up at him then, confused.

“I don’t know how to do this. I certainly don’t know how to do it well. So if I mess up I’m going to need you to tell me.”

Harry nodded slowly, eyes bright and red behind his new glasses.

What would Lily do? Lists and reasons and confidence.

“When I got upset as a kid,” Sirius said, “my parents would hex me, or send me to my room, or make me recite our family tree, or something else terrible. I don’t think that’s the right thing to do.”

Harry tilted his head toward him.

“When I got upset at Hogwarts, James would take me flying or pranking or would wrestle me to the floor or tackle me onto the couch and hold me until I stopped shaking. When I was older and James had gotten over being a prat and Lily was finally talking to us, she would order us to talk about it. I hated it but it helped. Got easier too. During the war, I would duel with whoever was available just to feel alive.”

Harry snuffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, “Hermione goes to the library when she’s upset.”

“Based on the last few days I would bet she’s there when she’s happy too,” Sirius said. Hermione had basically lived there, only appearing for meals or to sleep. Both events that she had to be reminded about.

“She’s not happy now,” Harry said frowning, “but yeah.”

“She’s not?”

“No,” Harry said. “She reads more books for fun when she’s happy. She hasn’t touched the stack you bought her yet.”

“She said she was saving them for Hogwarts.”

“That’s probably true,” Harry was unwinding a little bit, his knuckles less white, his jaw relaxed. “But if she was happy she wouldn’t be able to help herself.”

Sirius filed this away for later. “What about Ron?”

“Depends on who he’s mad at,” Harry shrugged. “He’ll go to the people he knows that will agree with him and complain nonstop.”

Sirius filed this away as well. “What about you?”

“I like to fly?”

“Exercise works well for a lot of people,” Sirius said, striving for mild agreement. “Probably why duelling worked well for me.”

“I like to read,” Harry said, softly. “Not what Hermione reads. I like …” He trailed off frustrated.

Sirius waited.

“It’s not textbooks,” Harry said, finally. “But they explain why things work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Books that explain things that no one else explains. Like the charms at Ron’s house. Or the spells that keep tables clean. Or how to make a potion - NOT textbooks but why you can add something else or how Snape knows things.”

Things that any pureblood child would know from birth. That they wouldn’t think to think that someone wouldn’t know. That wouldn’t be explained anywhere.

“Like a motorcycle manual for magic,” Sirius offered.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Kinda. There’s not a lot of them at the Hogwarts library.”

“Which bookstore do you like?”

Harry shrugged again, “I don’t want to waste my money.”

A meeting with Gringotts. As soon as possible.

“What else do you like to do when you’re upset?”

“Go for a walk. Do homework.”

Harry didn’t go to people. He retreated.

“So we’ve got going for a walk, duelling, talking about it, pranking, finding someone who agrees with us, going flying, reading a book, doing homework, or something we haven’t come up with yet.”

Harry nodded.

“Do any of those sound like they would help?”

Harry went back to looking out the window. “Is Mrs. Weasley right?”

“Pardon?”

“Is it dangerous for me to be here?”

Sirius’s instant reaction was to deny it. Instead, he took his time, hoping Harry would appreciate it. He ran through all the things he’d already considered. “I don’t see how.”

Harry looked back at him, eyebrows drawn together.

“I don’t know what protections were placed on your aunt and uncle’s but it allowed Ted and I to walk right through the front door.”

Harry considered this. “The Weasleys came through the floo last summer.”

Sirius pushed his rage aside, “So your address was also semi-public knowledge.”

Harry didn’t seem inclined to comment on this.

“I think you’re safer here,” Sirius said finally. “It’s private, heavily warded, unplottable, under Fidelius, and filling up with people who care about you.”

“Is it safe for you?” Harry looked away to ask this.

“Just as safe as it is for you,” Sirius said. “Probably even more so considering my NEWT scores and duelling abilities. Also having a purpose is keeping me sane.” He wasn’t joking.

Harry nodded and looked back out the window. “Did Dumbledore know? Did Mrs. Weasley?”

“I think so, Harry,” Sirius said, gently. “I think he knew about me too.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know if he knew at first, but Hermione made some compelling points about after you helped reveal Peter.”

“Like what?”

“Dumbledore is Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He could have called my lack of trial forward at any time, insisted on Veritaserum or a wizarding oath to ensure what I was saying was the truth. I could have been free.”

“It was a choice to keep you there,” Harry pushed his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his eyes, rumpled in a way that so painfully reminded Sirius of James. “Was it a choice to keep me at the Dursley’s? Why did he put me there?”

“It was certainly a choice for you to end up there. I don’t know any ministry employee who would have made that choice.”

Harry spent some time polishing his lenses. Sirius eased himself onto the window seat and looked out the window. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were walking slowly across the lawn, examining the various plants that were about.

“Can we go to the library?” Harry finally asked. Mr. Granger was leaning over a Screechsnap that was starting to climb up one of the hedges.

“Sure,” Sirius said, waiting until Mr. Granger jumped back, startled by the noise. Satisfied he followed Harry into the hallway, grinning.

Harry and Sirius had made it into the hallway before they were waylaid by another owl at the window. When Sirius had warily opened the window another owl swept through. “This looks like a ministry owl.”

Harry yanked on the scroll from the other owl, “I think this is Fred and George’s handwriting.”

Sirius,

I apologize for the Howler, Molly is very upset. Can we meet? Molly and I are concerned about Harry’s safety.

Arthur

“Fred and George wanted me to know that they can run interference with their mother and that they are glad I am not living with my aunt and uncle any more.”

“Is Mrs. Weasley as loud in person?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Until she runs out and then she’s back to normal.”

Sirius pursed his lips. The Weasleys were family to Harry, even more so than Hermione. Eventually, he would love to see them visiting Harry at Bowtruckle Run. The wards and charms protecting Bowtruckle Run could allow him to let the Weasleys visit and, if it went badly, ban them from coming back. The Fidelius charm wouldn’t work against them anymore but every other defense would still be in place. There wasn’t much damage they could cause with one supervised trip. Sirius knew this. However, he didn’t want them here. Didn’t want them to come in and tell him how he failed. How Harry shouldn’t be safe. How he wasn’t doing enough. How they knew so much better.

This was his home now. He didn’t want to let people in he didn’t like and Merlin and Morgana did he not like Molly and Arthur right now. How could anyone look at Harry and think he was ok? How could any parent look at Harry and not think that something was wrong?

“Do you want to talk with Arthur and Molly?” Sirius asked, tugging a hand through his hair and trying to think. He could ask Andy to do it if he had to, but this felt like something Harry’s parents should handle and Sirius was as close to it as it got.

“They won’t listen,” Harry said.

“Do you want to be there while I talk to them?”

Harry nodded, looking back down at the letter in his hands, “Can we invite everyone?”

“Maybe for dinner?” Sirius suggested, hating the suggestion even as he said it. “We can talk to them about this after.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, excited and bright. “They can see that I’m safe and that you are good at this. Ron can come over.”

Harry’s …. Harry’s never had friends over had he? Sirius hadn’t been able to do that in his own home until he had an apartment. He could give Harry this.

“What should we serve?” Sirius asked. “What do they like to eat?”

Harry grinned and started on about mash and brussel sprouts and pudding and Sirius did his best to breathe.

Dinner with the Weasleys. Dinner with Molly and Arthur and their children. He could do this.

Bloody hell.

He couldn’t do this.

Fine.

He’ll invite Andy.

Chapter Text

Sirius took great pride in how fancy the dinner invitation was in response to Arthur’s note. Fancy parchment, fancy ink, fancy words, fancy owl, and fancy House of Black seal. He was positive Molly was going to hate it.

He and Harry had eventually made it to the library to find Hermione buried in old books about even older magical creatures. Kreacher had been there too, a distrustful look on his face as he watched Hermione with the books. He’d popped out of sight when he saw Sirius but Sirius could feel him lurking, just out of sight.

Hermione had agreed dinner was the best way to go about this, Molly was big on normal family things apparently, and help Sirius figure out the wording as Harry tried to find the longest title of the books stacked in piles around Hermione.

They’d sent out the invite and had heard back as immediately as one could with owls. Which led him to today. Two hours before guests were to arrive. For dinner. That Kreacher was refusing to make. Or make well, rather.

“Is something displeasing Master Sirius?” Kreacher asked over overcooked broccoli.

Murder is wrong, murder is wrong, even if it is a house elf.

“Kreacher!” Thank Helga for Andy. She swept into the kitchen, the skirts of her robes swirling around her. “What is this mess?”

Kreacher straightened out as much as he was able, “Dinner, Mistress.”

“Molly Weasley nee Prewett has grown up on the work of the Prewett elves. I understand that is a high bar to compete with Kreacher but if we need to acquire another elf just say so. Surely we can find one who can cook broccoli.”

“Prewett elves?” Kreacher spat. With a snap of his fingers, the kitchen was in motion. “Kreacher will prepare something better than broccoli.”

“Mrs. Weasley does not believe the House of Black capable of taking care of Harry,” Andy continued. “I plan to prove her wrong today.”

“Kreacher has raised four generations of Blacks,” Kreacher said indignantly. “Kreacher can take care of the half-blood boy.”

“It’s not us you have to convince Kreacher,” Andy said, dismissively, as she turned to leave the kitchen. “Sirius, I need your opinion on table settings.”

“Table settings?”

“Table settings.”

“This is the Weasley family we are talking about. And Harry.”

“We’ll pick something that Harry is comfortable with but they are still our guests, Sirius.”

Table clothes and flatware weren’t exactly interesting but did make the time pass quickly.

“It’s Quidditch Hermione,” Harry was saying as he bounded in ahead of Hermione. “You could at least think about it.”

“I can’t even ride a broom! How am I supposed to play Quidditch?”

“You could come up and watch,” Harry argued. “You got to start somewhere.”

The floo flared green. Arthur stepped out first, looking around.

“Mr. Weasley!” Harry said, bouncing on his toes.

“Hello Harry,” Mr. Weasley said with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Sirius. Andromeda. Hermione. Let me help Molly through.”

He reached a hand back through the floo.

A signal. That everything was alright.

Andy didn’t move but Sirius knew that she must be thinking the same thing. What had the Weasleys been told about the Blacks?

Molly came through and used Arthur’s hand to balance. The floo stayed green. Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and one other that Sirius didn’t recognize tumbled through.

“Harry!” Ginny cried. “Hermione!”

“Mate!” Ron swept Harry into a hug. “We were so worried.”

“I’m ok, Ron.”

One of the twins - Sirius was going to figure this out, he swore - gave a low whistle, “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” Andy said with a polite smile. It wasn’t as icy as Sirius was expecting. “Welcome to Bowtruckle Run.”

“A family estate, I expect,” Molly said, taking off her shall. Kreacher appeared wearing a clean pillowcase. He took her shall and then moved to Arthur to take his coat before going down the line of Weasley children, oldest to youngest.

Sirius hid his disbelief. He hadn’t known that Kreacher remembered how to do this. However, he was a Black elf and tonight the Black House was united.

“A former summer home,” Andy said.

Molly snorted and moved past them, “Harry, dear.”

Sirius kept a careful eye on Harry. He hugged Molly back, assuring her that he was fine. When she pulled back, he apologised for scaring her which she promptly waved away.

“Mr. Black,” the twins said together bowing and holding their hands out, grinning. “Excellent mischief, sir.”

He shook each hand, “I’ve heard you are pretty good at it as well.”

“We just wish we could have helped get Harry out of that house,” the one on the left said cheerfully. They moved to Andy. “Mrs. Tonks!”

“Hello Fred and George, Bill.”

Bill pushed through his brothers sweeping bows and shook Andy’s hand when it was offered. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Tonks.”

“Indeed.”

“How long has Hermione been here?” Arthur asked, without greeting them.

“The Grangers have been here since Harry arrived,” Sirius said. He should have warned the Grangers about the Weasleys. He should have made sure they were on the same page. Dinner was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea.

“Willingly?” Arthur asked outright.

Sirius blinked at him, surprised by the accusation stated plainly. Andy drew in a breath to no doubt give a scathing reply when Hermione stepped away from her friends.

“What are you implying, Mr. Weasley?” She asked, chin up.

“I -”

“Because it sounds like you’re implying that Sirius and Mrs. Tonks forced me and my parents to be here.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Weasley said, backtracking. “It’s just unusual that -”

“My parents were invited to a wizarding function?” Hermione asked, an edge to her voice that she’d used when she met with him the first time in the woods. “That they were welcomed into my best friend's home?”

“Hermione, that’s not what I -”

“Then maybe you were implying that my parents wouldn’t want to be here to support Harry and me despite the semester we had.”

“Hermione -”

“You could ask them, Mr. Weasley. They will be joining us for dinner,” Hermione finished, sugar-sweet. It hurt Sirius’s teeth.

“I would love to show you the dining room,” Andy said to Molly. “It’s been a long time since I had room to host so many people.”

Ginny watched her father with wide eyes but followed her mother and Mrs. Tonks. The Twins watched with grim expressions but gamely followed Harry and Ron down the hallway. Bill leaned against the wood trim that lined the doorway to the hall, waiting.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Arthur started to say.

Sirius raised his hand, cutting him off. “Arthur, I appreciate what you have done for Harry. You welcomed him into your home. Your wife gave him the first Christmas presents that he can remember. He considers Ron family. It wasn’t enough.”

Arthur stared.

“I am in the position to be enough, to keep Harry safe, warm, fed, clothed, loved. I am in a position to put him first. If you have questions or concerns that you think I need to hear, then I am more than willing to discuss them after dinner but let’s wait until then. Harry’s really excited to have his friends here.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded. Sirius waited until Arthur looked nervous, a trick from his mother, and then led Arthur and Bill down the hallway as well.

Dinner was a chaotic affair. The twins had taken a look at their father’s face, winced at a comment from their mother, and then true to their promise in the letter, ran interference. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were roaring with laughter in no time, paying no attention to the fuming adults at the other end of the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger knew how to play this game, perhaps not to the level that Black children were raised to play at, but good at it all the same.

They smiled and complimented the food. Put up with Arthur asking question after question about simple objects like they were museum guides. Ignored Molly’s outright hostility. They chimed into Hermione’s complex conversation about warding with Bill with intelligent, well-thought-out questions. They smiled indulgently at the chaotic noise coming from the end of the table and complimented the Weasleys on their children’s accomplishments that they’d heard about from Hermione’s letters.

They also remained perfectly neutral, not letting Molly bait them into a conversation about why they were there or their opinions on Harry. Tension leeched from his shoulders. There was a chance to avoid disaster.

Desert came out, a dazzling array of hand pies in fantastical shapes. Molly turned an interesting ruddy red. Andy flashed a smile down at her plate, pleased in a way that she couldn’t hide. At the other end of the table, Ron held a pie in each hand, ignoring Hermione’s rolling eyes. Sirius held onto the moribund peace and bit into flakey crust and summer fruit.

“Want to see my room?” Harry offered when the conversation petered off, pride radiating off of the set of his shoulders.

“Sure!” Ron said, pushing back his chair. “Come on, Hermione.”

“I’ve seen it Ron!” but Hermione pushed back from the table as well. The twins beat a hasty retreat as well, dragging Ginny along with them.

“Shall we move to the Study?” Sirius rose, pausing to pull out Andy’s chair for her. She took his arm as they led the way to the study. He sat Andy in the elegant wood chair and sat on the edge of the desk. “You have concerns?”

Arthur was the only one who had bothered to sit. Bill leaned against the door frame. The Grangers stood by the window, not quite leaning against the sill. Molly had dipped like she was going to take a seat but at Sirius’s inquiry, she exploded outward, pacing toward the desk.

“What in Merlin’s Name were you thinking?” Her voice hit decibels comparable to his mother’s. “Removing Harry from his family? No note? What were we supposed to think? What was Dumbledore supposed to think?”

“I am Harry’s family,” Sirius said. “This is his home.”

“You are an escaped prisoner from AZKABAN!”

“After he was unlawfully imprisoned,” Andy cut in smoothly, chin tilted just so. “The Wizengamot has acknowledged their mistake and, as is written in the Potter’s will, Harry is under Sirius’s care. Not his Aunt’s and Uncle’s.”

“Dumbledore,” Arthur started to say.

“Has no say,” Sirius said. “Should never have had a say.”

“We would not have won the last war if it wasn’t for Dumbledore,” Molly was irate. “Don’t you dare stand there and say that he shouldn’t have a say.”

“Over Harry? Why should he?”

“He is the Boy Who Lived! Dumbledore can keep him safe!”

“He is my Godson,” Sirius stood, stepping forward to meet this challenge, “and he was not safe. Gods above, Molly, you have eyes. Look me in mine and tell me that Harry’s family have given him enough to eat. Treated him with respect. Cared for him as a family should.”

“Voldemort is out there,” Molly waved a hand toward the window, bringing the Granger’s stares to her face. “How could you possibly keep Harry safe?”

“This is one of the safest buildings in Europe,” Sirius said with a calm he did not feel. He could feel the Granger’s eyes on him, appraising and sharp. An audience. “Harry is safe here.”

“This was not your decision to make,” Molly took a deep breath and turned to Sirius. “It was foolish, reckless, and impulsive. I am absolutely disgusted by the lack of care you have shown.”

“IT IS NOT MY LACK OF CARE THAT IS DISGUSTING,” Sirius roared, startling Molly back. Bill stood straighter but did not draw his wand and so Sirius watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “I will admit that I have failed Harry. I gave him to Hagrid to chase after Peter. To get revenge for my brother’s death. For Lily’s death. For my family’s death. I failed Harry the minute I let him leave with Hagrid. I’ve failed him for thirteen years. But it was one choice that led to that failure. How many times has he entered your house too skinny? How many times has he flinched when you’ve come too close? How many times has Ron said something just odd enough for you to know?”

Molly did not answer. Arthur did not meet his eye.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

“I took him in! I fed him! I got him his school things! I got him on the train!” Molly was loud when she wanted to be. “Where were you? You can’t just swoop in now and say I know best, you haven’t been here. You're his godfather in name only.”

Arthur stood, pulling Molly back. Molly did not back down. “His Aunt and Uncle have wards that you do not have. Harry needs those wards -”

“Check them,” Sirius spat at Bill. “That is why you are here, is it not? I consent. Check these wards. Then I will take you to the Durselys. You can check there as well.”

Bill’s wand flew into his hand from his sleeve and he crossed to the window in three big steps.

“Excuse me, Dr. Granger,” Jean moved out of his way. Sirius turned away from the coloured light that congealed on the window panes. He made eye contact with Andy who immediately went back to watching the Weasleys while his back was turned.

He felt more than saw Bill’s magic reach the wards. He shook off the instinct to throw the magic off and instead let it settle. Let him see. Let him see the generations of runes, of blood, of power. Let him see the might of the House of Black that stood ready to drain itself dry for Harry.

“Unplottable?” Bill asked. “I mean, outside of the Fidelius charm?”

Sirius nodded, his back still turned.

More magic brushed against his awareness. “You hold the family magic, obviously.”

He turned back around to watch Bill.

“What would you do if my mother were to drag Harry back to that house?” Bill’s voice carried a tinge of academic curiosity but didn’t hold a threat. Regardless, Sirius had to choke down the protective rage that boiled up inside him.

Bill let out a low whistle. “Nothing is getting to Harry in this house short of an all-out siege. Even that might not work. If it did it would take enough time to get Harry to safety.”

“The other wards are better,” Molly said, stubbornly. “Dumbledore -”

“Is a headmaster. A very powerful headmaster but a headmaster all the same. He has no business determining the strengths of wards or who has custody of children,” Andy was glorious. Sirius couldn’t wait for the next Wizengamot meeting.

Arthur was listening to them now, Sirius could see it in the way that he considered Andy. The way he respected his son’s declaration. Molly was still lost in righteous fury. She needed to see.

“Shall we?” Sirius asked, offering his arms. Bill came and latched onto his forearm. Arthur took his other one and Molly grabbed onto Arthur.

Sirius glanced at Andy, who gave a slight nod, and then spun on his heel, dragging his personal collection of Weasleys along with him. They popped into the dark and silent street of Privet Drive.

Arthur looked excitedly around while Bill cast Disillusionment Charms over himself and both his parents. Sirius shivered and opened his eyes, and more importantly his nose, much lower to the ground.

“Shall we?” Bill asked and Sirius pranced down the street heading to the house that looked like all the other houses.

They even smelled the same. Sirius sneezed at a lamppost.

Bill muttered another charm and cautiously approached the house.

Sirius chose to ignore the house in its entirety and instead snuffed his way across the street.

Cats. Lots of cats. He took another sniff. How many cats? Too many cats.

Emotions were easier like this. As a dog, he could be completely focused on the number of cats - many - that lived across the street from the house Bill was interested in. He could distance himself from the fact that that was Harry’s former house. A house that contained a family that had hurt Harry. A house containing adults Sirius had gotten very near to killing.

A shrew! Cats and a shrew. A good day for smelling. Not as good as the forbidden forest, naturally. Nowhere on earth smelled quite like it. I wonder if I could - A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Sirius bounded back over to Bill, in a better mood than he arrived.

“I’ve seen enough,” Bill said darkly. “Let’s go back.”

Sirius shifted, skin rippling too fast and too slow all at once and stood as a man. Bill grabbed his father’s arm and Sirius’s offered arm at the same time and Sirius spun on his heel. They all popped back into existence in the study. Bill pushed his way through everyone to stand at the window, staring out at the dark lawns.

“Bill?” Molly asked, watching him worriedly. “You’re rather pale. Do you need to sit down? I could get you a snack.”

Bill turned to Sirius, “Under no circumstances is Harry to go back to that house. We would be complicit in his murder.”

“That bad?” Andy asked, furious.

“Worse,” Bill whirled to the window and then back again to face his parents. “What did Dumbledore tell you, exactly?”

“He said that it was the safest place for Harry!” Molly was panicking, just a bit now. She might not trust Sirius and might not have truly understood what Harry had been showing her through his actions, but this was her son. She knew her son and her son was acting like something was very, very wrong. “He said that there was a protective enchantment, tied to his aunt through his mother’s blood. Harry had to live there for it to work.”

“He wasn’t lying,” Harry piped up from where he leaned behind Andy who was still sitting at the desk. The adults flinched, Sirius included. Andy smirked. “It helped me defeat Quirrell.”

“Quirrell?” Molly asked.

“When he was possessed by Voldemort and trying to take the Philosopher’s Stone first-year,” Harry said like they should know this already. “It burned him to death.”

Bill looked distraught. “It’s been altered, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry looked away uncomfortably. “Voldemort used my blood. He can touch me now.”

“There’s nothing else on the house,” Bill said. “No wards, no charms, no blessings, no rites, no hexes, no alarms, nothing.”

“Nothing,” Arthur repeated.

“Nothing,” Bill said. “Harry’s a sitting duck there.”

“Which is why Sirius brought me here,” Harry said, looking at Molly and Arthur. “It’s safer for me here.”

“We know, Harry,” Arthur said, gently.

“You didn’t,” Harry said, “which is why you came to dinner. You wanted to make sure that Sirius wasn’t hurting me. You wanted me to go back there even though you saw that he wasn’t.”

“We don’t,” Molly said, “we just want you safe.”

“I’ve never been safe, Mrs. Weasley. Sirius is the only adult who’s ever made it so I was.”

Molly looked like she’d been struck.

Sirius didn’t want to fill the silence that started to stretch. He liked watching Molly desperately think of something to say.

“Have you left Fred and George alone?” Bill said an attempt at humour that fell short. Nobody commented on it.

“Nah,” Harry said. “They’re with Hermione.”

“We should get going,” Molly said abruptly. “It’s getting late.”

“Mom -”

“Mrs. Weasley, Ron and I were wondering if -”

“Not tonight!” Molly stood. “We need to be going.”

Harry watched, baffled, as Mrs. Weasely efficiently gathered her family from where they were scattered around the manor and hustled them through the fireplace in the foyer. All attempts from her children to stay longer or spend the night - Harry asked! It’s ok with Sirius! - were swept aside.

“Thank you for having us,” Molly said before she vanished into the green flames.

“What just happened?” Harry said looking at Sirius. The Grangers just looked impressed with Molly’s efficiency.

It was Andy who answered. “Mrs. Weasley has just learned that she’s placed her trust in the wrong person in rather a dramatic fashion. I would imagine that she’s rather embarrassed.”

“Are they coming back?” Harry asked, worried. “We wanted to play Quidditch.”

“Give her a week or so,” Andy recommended. “Let her figure out where she stands. Remember how confusing it was for you?”

Harry nodded.

“You could write to them,” Sirius offered. “Plan something for next week.”

“I always forget that’s an option,” Harry said, excited, before he ran off to do just that. Hermione followed, a thoughtful expression still on her face.

“It could have gone a lot worse,” Andy offered, a hand on his shoulder. She took off toward the stairs and Jean and Richard followed. It was late, later than Sirius had expected.

It could have gone a lot worse. Molly had a temper, Sirius could remember it from Order meetings. It could have gone a lot better. That wasn’t what was bothering him. Dumbledore had isolated Harry from everyone who could have possibly cared for or supported him. Not only that, he’d left him defenceless. Harry was underage. He couldn’t use magic. He was in a muggle neighbourhood in a muggle house. If Voldemort or one of his followers had shown up Harry would be dead. Dead, and if Dumbledore had had his way, no one would have been any the wiser.

Harry could have died.

How could he send Harry back to Hogwarts?

Chapter Text

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure what had happened last night but whatever had gone on between the adults had left Harry anxious and Sirius in a funk. Quidditch, tea, nor dinner broke them out of it.

Harry was clingy in a way Hermione hadn’t seen, choosing to move from room to room with Sirius who in turn seemed to be sleepwalking his way through the day.

“It could just be a bad day,” Hermione said, when Harry asked her opinion. “He’s got twelve years of trauma to work through.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

With Harry so unsettled Hermione reluctantly stayed away from the library, instead carting around bestiaries and desert dry accounts of history from room to room as the boys moved about their day.

Finally, when both of them turned down dessert and retreated to a sitting room on the second floor Hermione swore wasn’t there the last time she’d walked down that particular hall only to both get up again, she’d had enough.

“Sit down,” she commanded. Harry responded out of habit. Sirius glared and sat down anyway. “Talk about it.”

They both stared at her.

“Harry is upset because of yesterday and is worried because you are upset. You’re obviously upset about something. Talk about it.”

“Harry,” Sirius rushed to assure him. “I’m ok. Truly.”

“Was the house wards really that bad? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Well, yes. And no. Yes, the housewards were that bad. No, that is not what is bothering me. Or it’s only part of what is bothering me.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“I am supposed to keep you safe. I have not done a very good job of it as of yet. How is anyone supposed to believe me that I am going to be better in the future?”

“You’ve done more than anyone else!” Harry stood up angrily.

“Sit down,” Hermione ordered again. “We know that.”

Harry sat.

“It’s just something Molly said yesterday, is all. I’m thinking about it too much.”

“Well, how do we fix it?” Harry asked stubbornly.

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just need time to get over it.”

“No,” Harry said. “Not that. How do we make them believe you?”

“Time,” Hermione said. “The more Sirius does the things he’s doing the more evidence he has.”

“But aren’t there magical ways to prove that’s the truth?” Harry was turned toward Hermione now. “You said there are things called wizard oaths and truth charms.”

“I’m not sure that’s -”

“You’re a genius, Harry,” Sirius said.

Going to work in the face of public opinion, Hermione finished silently.

“You too Hermione, Harry wouldn’t have thought of that without you.”

That was more acknowledgement than she normally got.

“How do we do this?” Harry asked, upbeat for the first time all day.

“I’ll renew my godparent oaths. It might not make everyone believe me but it will certainly make me feel better.” Even if Sirius’s tone was lighter, something about his expression made Hermione nervous.

“Is it ritual magic? Family magic?” Hermione asked, the questions burning through her apprehension. There was still so much she didn’t know about family magic. She’d been swept up in house elves and hadn’t had time to read about anything else.

“Inter-family family magic,” Sirius said. “Do you want her there, Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “That’d be cool.”

Boys.

“Then off we go,” Sirius said. “There’s a different ritual space that I want to use.”

“Where is it?” Hermione put her books aside.

“The forest,” Sirius said. “We’ll need our cloaks.”

—

It wasn’t as cold as Hermione was expecting. The wind was cold enough to want a cloak but warm enough to be typical of a summer night.

Sirius didn’t bring anything with them.

“We’ll be enough,” He gestured at Harry and himself to answer Hermione’s question. “Godfather and godson. We’ll be the conduits.”

Sirius pulled Hermione to the side, grimly eager, and told her to stay put with her wand away. Then he positioned himself across from Harry, a little less than two meters away.

Hermione felt it when he started to speak. It wasn’t a spell, or if it was it wasn’t one she recognized and it went on for longer than any spell she’d ever read about. It was French, with Latin here and there, and Harry didn’t look away from Sirius even though she knew he didn’t understand any of it.

There was a buzzing in the air, like a miniature version of what the magic had felt like during the Black renewal rites. Sirius's voice got louder, Hermione recognised the words Black and then soon after Potter. Harry heaved in a breath like he’d been punched in the gut. And then.

And then.

There was something very old. Something very old, very powerful. Something very old and very powerful and far away that was rapidly coming closer.

“Jamie,” Sirius breathed, tears rushing down his face.

Harry was crying, laughing with breathless sobs.

Hermione could feel the magic, feel the tug behind her breastbone, the warmth that enveloped all of them as that very old, very powerful thing arrived. The magic was old and warm like spices that heated someone up from the inside out.

A green ball of light appeared, crackling into existence, the colour of Harry’s eyes and pickled toads, brushing against Sirius’s forehead in a way that reminded her of a greeting with a pulsing glow of light before moving to Harry. His always messy hair swayed in an unfelt wind. For the first time in a long time, despite this Hermione thought Harry looked content.

The magic changed. Crackling and snapping in the air. Harry started to glow a deep, glimmering gold.

Sirius fell to his knees, stunned. “Lily.”

Hermione held her breath, as still and quiet as this moment suspended in time. Harry examined his hands, which glowed the colour of gallons and held a ball of emerald green. When he looked over at Hermione his eyes were rimmed in burning gold.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius gasped. It was louder than Hermione thought it should be and she looked around.

The clearing they were in was quiet. There was no noise other than their breathing, their tears. Harry’s hair continued to move like there was a breeze rushing around them, Hermione’s hair tickled against her neck where it escaped from her braids. The trees and grass whipped about with a force that Hermione couldn’t feel. The silence was deafening, louder than the heartbeat she could hear pounding in her ears.

A beam of pure, blinding light shot from Harry and hit Sirius in the centre of his chest. It dissolved into sparks that shot away from Sirius, falling down gently like fairy dust.

Sirius tore at his shirt, pulling it down far enough to show his tattoos, his breastbone. There was a healed silver scar in the shape of a many-pointed star tucked in among the ink.

“I won’t let you down,” Sirius said. Harry was still growing green and gold. “Harry comes first, before anything, I understand now. I know I didn’t before.”

Harry startled and then took a step forward. He looked dazed and unsure but still lifted his chin and met Sirius’s eyes squarely. “Sirius Black III, I name you an ally of the House of Evans.”

Years of etiquette training likely forced Sirius to bow from where he was kneeling even as his face showed devastated shock. “I, Sirius Black III, am honoured to name Lily Potter nee Evans and Harry Potter of the House of Evans as allies of House Black. Lily, I swear to you, I will not let you down.”

The magic vanished and Hermione fell with the force of its absence. Sirius was on his hands and knees, breathing hard. Harry was still staring at his hands. They were normal now, dark underneath the night sky. The sound of leaves rustling in the night was a comforting sound.

“I thought she was pregnant,” Sirius said, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks. “I thought that was why her magic was acting up. It happens sometimes. When she was pregnant with you, Harry, everything was overpowered. She would wash dishes by hand because she kept breaking them. Smashed them into smithereens against the ceiling. But that’s not what she was doing, was it? She was giving everything she had to the Evan’s family magic. Must have figured out the charm as and found the rituals. James must have known as well, otherwise, he would have been worried sick when she couldn’t even levitate a casserole dish.”

“That’s why Harry survived, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, bone-chilling certainty sweeping through her. Of course, a baby didn’t defeat a raving madman, why hadn’t anyone thought to check what Lily had done? What a mother had done to protect her son.

Harry stared at his hands.

“It has to be,” Sirius said. “Lily was always clever. Always powerful. She loved you, Harry, more than anything.”

“She didn’t use her wand,” Harry said, voice dull and brittle. “When Voldemort killed her she didn’t have a wand. If she’d have her magic, if she could have used her wand, would she have survived?”

“Harry we don’t know what happened that night,” Sirius said.

“I do,” Harry said, fingers flexing into fists. “They were in the living room with me. Dad told Mum to run, that he’d hold them off. He didn’t have his wand. Mum took me upstairs. Voldemort blasted the door in. She begged him. She said, “Not Harry, please not Harry.” He told her to stand aside. When she wouldn’t, he killed her.”

Sirius was frozen, hands trembling.

“It’s what I hear when the dementors come near me,” Harry said shrugging down at his fists. “It’s the only time I can remember what they sounded like.”

“Harry,” Hermione hated how lifeless he sounded. This is how he sounded after Cedric died. After he learned it was dragons. After his name came out of that gods-forsaken cup. Harry didn’t look up. “You were all going to die either way.”

Sirius looked over at her, furious. Harry’s head tilted toward her.

“Voldemort is a skilled duelist. Once he was in that house, he was there to kill you as quickly and as ruthlessly as possible. Your parents were in hiding. I’m sure there was a plan in place if they felt the Fidelius charm fall but since Pettigrew told him the secret, the charm was still active. They had maybe 30 seconds warning, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Then there wasn’t enough time to think, much less fight. Say Sirius was there, or even Sirius and Professor Lupin. With thirty seconds warning, maybe Voldemort is held off in the front hall. Long enough for what? Your mother had a plan that did not involve raising her wand. Since you’re alive, we can assume it worked. Since she didn’t raise her wand and she died, we can assume that it was a necessary part of the plan. Or a human necessity. So James, Sirius, and maybe Professor Lupin are fighting in the front hall. James panics and doesn’t have his wand. Or maybe he does. Does it matter? Three and one, battle each other until a standstill in the front hallway, and then what? Voldemort kills all three of them and then moves on to Lily?” Harry was crying and Sirius looked less angry but still distraught. She was sure of this in the same way she was sure of test answers, nothing else made sense other than this to be the plan. They just needed to believe her. “Everyone says Lily was brilliant.”

Sirius nodded but didn’t say anything, hands smoothing his hair back.

“Lily managed to establish a new line of family magic. Managed to turn Voldemort’s killing blow into his downfall. Did it all on her own, or maybe with James’s help. We have to assume that Lily had information that we didn’t and considered her death the best option. We need to trust Lily.”

“If there were three of them, couldn’t they have beaten him?” There was emotion in Harry’s voice now and Hermione could have wept in relief.

“We would have tried Harry,” Sirius pulled at his hair. “We would have died for you Harry, all of us, without a second thought. We wouldn’t have wanted that to be necessary but we would have done it in a heartbeat. Voldemort was a damn good duellist. He had the power, the skill, and the repertoire. If we had five duelists against him, it would be a fair fight.”

“Why?”

Hermione had the answer to this. Could feel the ink stains and newspaper under her fingers as she responded. “Voldemort’s biggest strength was his ability to manipulate people. He was a smooth talker, he sounded nice and kind, and he could promise people resources whether it was money, power, or attention. If he wanted something that someone wasn’t willing to give, he would take it. He used blackmail, poison, and intimidation to get his way. If that didn’t work, he’d force them. It worked. Harry, he had some of Britain's best duelers under him, and the practice they all did showed. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius’s cousin, was technically the best. She had precision and accuracy. She could enter any fight and expect to walk away. Voldemort has more power behind him. He uses it for shields and slow-acting curses.”

“He called the Death Eaters to the cemetery. He used the dark mark to call them. Could he have done it then?” Harry was looking at her like she was personally going to damn him or save him.

“Yes,” Hermione said gently. “He could have called an army in a minute. If what I read about Bellatrix is anywhere near true he might have called her out of spite as soon as he saw Sirius.”

“You would have died,” Harry said to Sirius. “You would have died and I would have still had to go to the Dursleys. No one would be left to save me.”

Sirius closed the distance between them and crushed Harry into a hug. “Always, Harry. I will always come for you.”

“Do you think Mum had a plan?” Harry’s voice was muffled by Sirius’s shoulder.

“She must have,” Sirius said. “Like Hermione said. Lily loved you with everything she had. She wouldn’t have missed you growing up for anything other than saving your life. She would have wanted to live for you, live with you if she thought there was any other way.”

“And Dad thought it was a good idea?”

“James would have gone along with it if Lily said it was a good idea. If Lily was able to create a family line of magic I guarantee that she had access to the Potter family library, James would have needed to give her access.”

“The Potters have a library?” Hermione was surprised that Harry had asked the questions she was thinking and then was ashamed that she was surprised. Of course, Harry wanted to know if the Potters had a library. He would want to know anything and everything about his family.

“At their estate,” Sirius said. “Where your grandparents used to live. I have a room there.”

“You’ve met my grandparents?”

“Yeah, kiddo, they took me in 6th year.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He sounded overwhelmed again but not in a bad way. More amazement and less terror or anger. Hermione much preferred this version.

“They were like my parents, well more of parents than mine were. James and I called each other brothers. I would have been your Uncle Padfoot - Uncle Sirius if your mother had her way - Remus would have been Uncle Remus, and - and Peter.” Sirius’s face crumpled. “Peter would have been Uncle Peter.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, but he was sort of grinning.

“Lily used to joke you would have enough of us to make up for her side of the family,” Sirius offered.

“She didn’t like Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked with a real grin.

“It was complicated, kiddo, but Merlin’s pants did she not like Vernon. That was some simple old fashion hate.”

Harry broke into giggles. And then couldn’t stop.

“That’ll be the ritual magic,” Sirius said, nodding. “Let’s get you home. You can sleep it off.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Harry argued, even as he was tucked underneath Sirius’s arm.

“Then we can try our new bag of Bertie’s Beans,” Sirius said. “Or play chess.”

“Ron’s good at chess,” Harry said seriously. “His chess set is violent.”

“I bet it is,” Sirius said, amused. “The best ones are.”

Hermione took Sirius’s arm when it was offered to her and he manoeuvred her and Harry out of the clearing.

“Ready to go?” He asked the woods at large. Hermione had time to tighten her grip and then Sirius turned sharply, Hermione’s hand stuck to him like it was glued. They turned between time and space and they popped into existence in the entrance hall.

“Can we play something other than chess?” Harry was still slumped into Sirius. “I don’t want to pay chess.”

“Play chess, Harry,” Hermione corrected absently.

“I don’t want to play a game of chess,” Harry insisted.

“We could play cards,” Sirius said. “There’s got to be a muggle deck somewhere nearby. Otherwise, Hermione could help me transfigure a set.”

“Not me?” Harry asked indignantly.

“How many suits in a deck of cards, Harry?” Sirius asked.

“4.”

“What are they?”

“Errrr,” Harry said.

“Hermione can help, I just need someone to double-check the face cards.”

Sirius transfigured a deck of cards out of the contents of a junk drawer. Unlike muggle cards, the face cards moved.

“I used to be able to be able to make them talk,” Sirius said, frowning. “I’ll have to remember how I did that.”

The Tonks family had retired for the evening and Hermione’s parents must have gone to bed or been sucked in by something at the library so it was just Harry, Sirius, and Hermione gathered around the table. Harry slowly settled into the buzz of magic, relaxed in a way Hermione had rarely seen before. Sirius’s eyes were more focused now, instead of staring off into the beyond any time he wasn’t talking. They tracked the cards, focused on whoever was speaking, and lingered whenever Harry would laugh, which was often.

Something had changed between them and Hermione was feeling it too. She felt closer to Harry and to Sirius. More grounded. Less anxious. More settled in her skin in a way that wasn’t usual. She was content to laugh and play cards, and giggle at the silly look Harry had. She felt that she belonged in a way she hadn’t before.

“Sirius,” Harry asked, as they stumbled up the staircase late that night. Hermione was the type of tired that made her loose-limbed and clumsy. “Do you have more pictures of my parents?”

“I should,” Sirius said. “Somewhere.”

“We should put them on the walls,” Harry said, nodding to the portraits that tittered as they walked past. “I always wanted to have pictures up on the walls.”

“Sure, kiddo,” Sirius said, eyeing the walls critically, “I think we can manage that. It’d be nice to have some friendly faces up there.”

Hermione studied the next portrait they passed. It was kind of grimy, they had yet to dust any of the portraits, and the woman looked grim and severe behind the yellowing lacquer. She wasn’t speaking or shouting, as some of the other portraits were wont to do. “They could be more cheerful,” she allowed.

“Some of them just need some maintenance,” Sirius said. “Portraits are maintained by the wards and magic that run through where they’re hung. The more magic, the more lifelike they are. They get grouchy.”

“They need tea,” Harry said, frowning. “Or, well, the magical version of tea.”

Sirius laughed at that and waved goodbye to Hermione as he directed Harry through his bedroom door. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed. Are you ok by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,” Hermione smiled. “Goodnight Harry! Goodnight Sirius.”

“Goodnight!” They called back.

Chapter Text

Harry and Sirius spent half a week interviewing mind healers. Most of them didn’t make it past the letter phase and only a few of them made it past the floo interview. Harry settled on a man who had burn scars like Charlie and who’s size and bearing reminded her of Hagrid. He wasn’t really large enough to be a half-giant but something about someone who moved so gently while also being so big was undeniably similar to Hagrid.

Hermione was happy with the choice and more importantly, Harry was cautiously hopeful.

Sirius’s choice came from the shortlist that Healer Ronan sent over. His mind healer had silver hair tied neatly back in a little bun at the top of their head with shaved, startlingly white sides. The way they spoke reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall, short and to the point. Hermione still hadn’t caught their name.

Sirius scheduled his mind healer appointments at the same time as Harry’s. They both were going twice a week for a half hour.

“I’d never get anything done during that time anyway,” Sirius said, waving an arm about, “besides, it feels like I can’t back out if we are both doing it.”

Hermione was much more involved with the tutors. She arrived at tea time with a scroll of questions organised by subject and then area of focus. Harry glanced over it, considered the list of tutors and their qualifications that Mrs. Tonks was holding, and then firmly stated he trusted Hermione’s choice on the matter. He and Sirius left shortly after to play a two-person modified game of Quidditch which Hermione still didn’t understand the rules of.

“You don’t need tutors in any of these subjects, Hermione,” Mrs. Tonks said, striking through some items on Hermione’s lists.

“I just want to be prepared,” Hermione said, tugging the list back over. “There’s so much I don’t know and I don’t want to fall behind.”

“Hermione,” Mrs. Tonks said in a tone that abruptly brought a stinging heat to Hermione’s eyes, “I will not waste your time with tutors in subjects you’ve already mastered. Unless, of course, you want to sit your NEWTS early.”

That was too soon, Harry would be alone, Harry could die, would she never get a normal school year? What about her electives? Who would be the head girl?

“I don’t think I want to do that,” Hermione said. “That’s just so soon.”

Mrs. Tonks nodded. “In that case, I would recommend considering these options.”

Hermione looked at the list. “These are all etiquette teachers.”

“As well as tutors in warding and ritual magic,” Mrs. Tonks said. “I think these subjects would better use your time.”

Hermione looked down at the list again. “Why?”

“You are an exceptionally powerful witch, who has rallied one of the most powerful Houses in wizarding Britain with a single call. A move which has thrown the Wizengamot into chaos. You’ve done this in order to acquire a better guardian for one of the most controversial people in politics once it became apparent you had no outside support to keep him safe,” Mrs. Tonks leaned forward with a sharp smile. “Imagine what you could do if you knew what you were doing.”

A strange feeling welled up in her chest, one she got when she’d mastered a spell or gotten an O on a paper. She had rallied the noble and most ancient House of Black. She had gotten Harry out, not only from the Dursleys but from a yet unravelled plot that was slimy at best and sinister at worst. Even if she hadn’t planned to, she had sparked chaos in the Wizengamot even if it was only explicitly over Sirius for now. For the first time all year, the future sprawled endlessly out before her. She had options. She had time. She had support. Who would be able to stop her if she knew what she was doing?

“I want tutors in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes,” She decided with a confidence she had missed. “Etiquette, warding, and ritual magic as well.”

“It will be a heavy workload,” Mrs. Tonks didn’t make it sound like a warning. She sounded pleased.

“I’ll manage,” Hermione said. She was sleeping again, surely she could manage. The more rest she got the closer to unstoppable she felt. “Harry’s going to need that too.”

“We’ll have to prioritise,” Mrs. Tonks agreed. “He should have some rest this summer.”

“He’s fine in Herbology, Astronomy, and Transfiguration. Not great, but he mostly gets it and asks for help when he needs it. We could probably skip it this summer,” Mrs. Tonks made a note on her parchment. “He wants to have potions this summer if only to bother Professor Snape, and I really think he should have charms, he could be great in charms if he had a push. Harry’s never going to learn anything from Professor Binns so History of Magic as well. He is insisting on taking Divination again but frankly, they treat the class as a joke so I don’t think he needs a tutor.”

“Does he have a talent for Divination?” Mrs. Tonks asked. “He shouldn’t waste an elective on it unless he has a talent for it.”

“Does anyone?”

“Who’s teaching the class?”

“Professor Trelawney.”

Mrs. Tonks made another note on a different parchment. “That should finalise the academic side of things.”

“Harry needs to be ready to be in the public eye,” Hermione said. “I don’t know if that’s what etiquette training is for but if it is, that should be the first one.”

“Sirius will need to teach him how to be head of House as well,” Mrs. Tonks waved her wand and the scrolls rolled themselves closed and neatly piled themselves up. “Tutors will start this upcoming Monday. I will see you at dinner.”

With nothing else to do with her day and the boys still outside Hermione made her way to the library. Her parents were there, not yet back to their normal schedule. With Harry legally in Sirius’s possession, there wasn’t a reason they couldn’t go back to work on Monday but they hadn’t left yet. Hermione had been avoiding the conversation in the hopes that she could stay with Harry for the summer if she didn’t bring it up. There was an awkward tension in every conversation she had with her Dad. He’d spent the majority of the time here quietly watching, taking in everything magical that Hermione couldn’t show him at home. Her mother did her best to smooth it over but it was still there, still something that they were going to have to talk about.

To her surprise, she found her parents bent over her fourth-year potions book.

“Hermione,” her father said. “Do you have an encyclopaedia of plants that I could reference?”

“Sure,” Hermione was surprised. Beyond her history books that her mother had read her parents had been rather hands-off when it came to her magical schoolwork. “It’s in my room but there might be a copy here.”

The herbology section was vast, with books related to highly niche subjects outnumbering the broader topics. Hermione found an older edition of her current school book and brought it over to the table where her parents were camped at.

“What’s the name of the regulatory body for potions?” her father asked as he thumbed through the encyclopaedia.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. Her dad always managed to ask questions she hadn’t considered. “I know Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey keep the hospital wing stocked and that St. Mungo’s usually hires their own potion masters.”

Her dad hummed, stopping on one of the pages. “Chinese chomping cabbages,” he offered to her mother.

She looked up from the potions book. “Lovely! Hermione, what are you doing this afternoon?”

She had been planning to talk with her father but looking at him now, something told her to wait. There was a glimmer of excitement that Hermione hadn’t seen him have towards magic. “I’m researching the origins of house-elves.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Her mother was already turning back to her book. “I expect a full report when you’re through.”

If this is all the compromise that her parents could have toward her magic, just this, sitting together reading in a house full of magic, she could be happy. A sense of peace she hadn’t had since she was young filled her and Hermione settled into it happily. She had a lot of reading to do.

---

“What do you mean you’re going to have tutors?” Ron said, dismayed. “It’s summer!”

“Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. She’d been both bossy and irritable when she’d come through the floo, insisting on dropping off her children.

Harry, Fred, George, and Ginny were already most of the way outside with their brooms. Ginny had Sirius’s slung over her shoulder. Ron had slowed his long-legged pace for Hermione only to catch the attention of his mother with his dismay.

“What?” Ron snapped back. “It’s not like she needs them, Hermione is smarter than all of us.”

She tried not to grin when she heard that and instead modelled herself after Mrs. Tonks' calm expression. She’s not sure she succeeded.

“Ronald is more than welcome to join,” Mrs. Tonks said airily, to Ron’s horror, “it would do Harry some good, I think.”

Hermione couldn’t hear Mrs. Weasley’s reply over her giggles as they made their way outside. “At least consider potions, Ron, imagine Professor Snape’s reaction when you and Harry know what you’re doing.”

Ron stopped his sulking to laugh. “I reckon that might be worth it.”

Quidditch, as always, was joyous and vicious. Harry, as well as the Weasley boys, were delighted and dismayed by Ginny’s ability on a broom.

“What about it?” She asked of their disbelieving looks after scoring once again in their modified game of two on two on the seeker. “It’s not my fault you haven’t been paying attention.”

Hermione stayed on the soft grass, toes wiggling in the summer sun and let herself relax.

Harry dove, a lazy, elegant corkscrew. Ginny heckled with a boldness that surprised her brothers.

“Stop flirting!” Fred called out, laughing.

George cackled as Fred swore, swerving to avoid Ginny diving fast and low over his head.

The sun continued to beat down. Hermione smiled at the cheerful insults, stretched out into the soft grass, and entirely by accident, slipped off into a dreamless doze.

---

“I don’t need a tutor!” Ron stomped angrily past his mother. “It’s summer!”

Hermione only just barely refrained from agreeing with Mrs. Weasley. Ron did need tutoring. It would be good for him.

Harry bumped Ron with his shoulder. “It won’t be too bad, mate. We can do the same subjects.”

“Will we have homework?” Ron moaned, “It’s summer. We are supposed to be free.”

“There won’t be homework, Mr. Weasley,” Mrs. Tonks said, amused. “Though some of the potions will take a longer period of time.”

Ron groaned, ignoring Mrs. Weasley’s hissed "Manners!"

“It won’t be too bad, Ron,” Hermione said. “You’ll be better prepared for next year.”

“Says you! You like this sort of thing!”

“Ron,” Mrs. Weasley boomed. “Stop shouting!”

Ron’s face turned cloudy, “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

Harry only let a small smile show once Ron was stomping toward the floo, unable to see it. “I think it’ll be kind of fun, with both of you there. Like Hogwarts.”

“I think so too, Harry.” God, he looked happy. “OWL year is really important and I think doing some of the work now will make it much more bearable.”

“It’ll give us more time for Quidditch,” Harry added.

Hermione sighed at him, making him laugh. “Is that all you ever think about Harry?”

“Sometimes I think about dinner,” Harry said seriously.

They dissolved into giggles.

“Come on,” Harry said. “We’ve only got one more day of proper summer left. Might as well find something fun to do.”

“Not flying,” Hermione said, instantly. “Maybe we could explore?”

“I swear there are more staircases every time I look,” Harry said. “Maybe we could start by the greenhouses?”

That was as good a plan as any.

Chapter Text

Given the number of times Trelawney had predicted his death, Harry had thought Divination was a useless subject. It turns out that while Trelawney was a rubbish seer and an even worse teacher, Divination was actually kinda cool.

“Now,” the tutor Mrs. Murk said, “I don’t want to imply you’ll be able to do this. The ability to See isn’t something everyone can learn. You need to have an aptitude for it.”

“Hermione doesn’t have it,” Ron said with a grin. Harry tried not to giggle, Hermione rarely had meltdowns but when she did, they were loud.

Mrs. Murk gave them a sharp look.

“Err, how do you know if you have an aptitude for it?” Harry asked, trying to yank Ron and himself back on track.

She nodded once in approval. “There are many ways to tell, though only a few now are applicable to you both. We will see if any of the divination tools call to you.”

Mrs. Murk set a heavy carpet bag on the table and pulled out crystal balls. She paused, mid-motion, and shook her head. “Obviously not.”

Ron sat up a bit, intrigued. “How’d you know?”

“I am able to See, not all the time, not everything, as I just explained but your responses to the crystal balls were so loud I would have to be blind not to notice.”

“Did you really see something?” Ron asked, “Or is it more of a feeling?”

“I am able to Visualise the future,” Mrs. Murk said. “It is difficult, though not as difficult as seeing the past, but this was more so a gut feeling.”

“Huh,” Harry recognized this expression. This was Ron pondering something. Not his thinking face, something he saw often during study sessions at the library, but Ron putting together something three steps ahead of Harry. A face seen during Buckbeak’s trial and chess games.

Mrs. Murk pulled out a tangle of yarn and set it on the table. Next came a dish of water, the water not spilling even after she tipped the bowl to get it out of the bag. A deck of cards came out next, with potion plants carefully depicted on each one.

“Hey!” Ron said. He picked a card up. “Devil’s snare.”

“Still too soon,” Harry said, peering over at the card. The tendrils moved lazily in the illustration.

“What happened with Devil’s snare?” Mrs. Murk said, elbow-deep in her bag.

“We got trapped in it, in our first year,” Harry said. “I didn’t remember what it was and Hermione panicked. Ron helped calm Hermione down and get us free.”

Mrs. Murk plunked two candles and an impressively large hunk of crystal down on the table. “Lucky Mr. Weasley was there. Light these, please.”

The candles slide themselves across the table to Harry and Ron. Harry looked around for matches before hastily catching up to Ron who had already pulled his wand. Ron managed to light his candle seconds before Harry. Nothing happened.

Mrs. Murk watched the flames flicker for a moment before pulling the still-lit candles back across the table with a flick of her wand.

Next to land on the table was a bag of ash, opened to spill out onto the table. A pin cushion, a small but wickedly pointy knife, and a spider all tumbled out of the carpet bag.

Ron swore loudly and nearly tumbled his chair backwards to get away.

“Sorry! So sorry!” Mrs. Murk levitated the spider back into the bag. “No spiders then.”

“No thank you,” Ron said, safely staying half a metre away.

Bones came flying out of the bag and this time it was Harry’s turn to hide a flinch, the flash of bone white startling him.

Harry glanced at Ron who met his gaze. How much more could there be?

Ron shrugged. Who knows?

Many more. There was a pile on the table containing odds and ends like the still burning candles, an eyeball in a jar, dice, smooth black stones, and a handful of what looked to be paper clips before Mrs. Murk announced “I think that will do.”

Everything flew back into the bag.

“Now,” she said. “Just to be sure, may I read each of your palms.”

It was phrased like a question but spoken like a request. Unlike his time in actual divination class, Harry didn’t feel any dread when he handed over his palm.

“You have many trials ahead of you,” Mrs. Murk said grimly.

Of course, Harry stared hard at his palm, trying to see what she’d seen. He should have known better to expect anything good.

“They will be difficult. Challenging,” Mrs. Murk sounded far away. Her eyes snapped to Harry. “You will not be alone. You will never be alone. Your friends will protect you. Your family will protect you. You will protect them in exchange.”

“Will we be ok?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Mrs. Murk pursed her lips at his palm. “Palms aren’t like books; there aren’t a lot of details. When we See, what we See isn’t decided by us. I can See that you will be happy. I can see that you will be angry. I can See that there will be danger, more so than the average person. Your lifeline is tricky Harry, why I couldn’t say. Perhaps because you’ve already been hit by the killing curse.”

She looked up to see his expression and her voice became more sharp. “You won’t be alone Harry. That jumped out at me as loud as anything I’ve Seen. I hope that brings some comfort.”

It did, especially after the graveyard. But he hadn’t started out alone then either.

Ron gamely offered his palm when the silence started to get awkward.

Mrs. Murk looked down and smiled. “As I thought. You are well suited to this.”

“Me?” Ron asked, shocked. “What do you mean me?”

The tutor remained entirely unfazed, “You have an innate talent for divination. With practice, you could be a great seer one day.”

Ron sat back in his chair, taking his palm with him, for once looking painfully overwhelmed without a trace of anger.

Harry saw him glance over his way before looking down at his lap. Why would this bother Ron so much? Why would he care what - oh. “Do you know what this means?”

“What?” Ron seemed nervous.

“You could predict Slytherin quidditch strategy.”

Ron’s face clears immediately. “Or quidditch scores!”

“There are generally regulations in place regarding divination,” Mrs. Murk said, though she seemed amused.

“If I am a seer is that what I have to be?” Ron flushed a brilliant red as he finished his sentence. Harry was still trying to parse through his meaning but luckily the tutor knew what he meant.

“No,” she said. “Think of it as a skill. One that is useful but doesn’t need to be anything more than that. If you wished, you could go far with it or you could just use it to know when you’d need to bring an umbrella.”

“You got to,” Harry said. “Think how cool it would be to just know things no one else could know.”

“No one else would know, would they?” Ron’s tone was a twin to how he sounded standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. “None of my brothers can See. Ginny can’t either.” He looked at Harry. “I can do something that Hermione can’t do.” Something that you can’t do went unsaid but for once Harry thought that they both recognized what the other person was thinking without being angry about it.

“Have you come to a decision?” Mrs. Murk spoke like she knew the answer. Maybe she already did.

“I’ll do it,” Ron said, ears still red but no longer looking warily at Harry. “Might as well try.”

“Excellent. I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Weasley.”

—

Ron had gone home. Hermione and her parents had gone home as well. Hermione hadn’t seemed thrilled but Mrs. Tonks had sent her and her parents each home with a bag of Floo powder that had caused Hermione’s shoulders to come down a bit.

“Harry?” Sirius came down the hallway dressed in nice robes, his hair pulled neatly back.

Harry looked up from the book he was reading on household cleaning spells.

“I’m going to go to Gringotts. Would you like to come? We could meet with the Potter account and get an overview of the work we will need to do.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “How should I dress?”

“Whatever you feel comfortable in,” Sirius said. “It’ll probably be colder if we go into the vaults.”

Harry had never had so many clothes to choose from and had never had to consider blending muggle and wizarding clothes. He’d never had clothes this nice ever. Casual pants in the muggle world seemed to be jeans or pants with lots of visible pockets. Casual pants in the wizarding world seemed to contain multitudes. Harry settled on pants similar to those he’d seen Percy wear on the weekends, knowing Percy it was more formal than anything he’d wear casually but not nice enough to wear to a business meeting making it probably safe to wear to a Gringotts meeting.

The last time they’d been in Diagon Alley, Harry had watched what guys his age had been wearing. He could see Muggle influences in the younger people, especially denims. T-shirts hadn’t been as common. When he had seen them it had reminded him of something that Tonks or Charlie would have worn. Come to think of it, a lot of Ron and the twin’s clothes had probably come from Charlie, Percy didn’t dress like that.

The pants were dark green and matched the dark green of a robe Harry was pretty sure went with the pants. He picked out a long-sleeved, collarless white shirt that was looser than anything he’d owned before while still fitting him in the way it was intended.

Hopefully, he looked ok.

He pulled on the boots that had become his go-to, leather shoes seemed to be more common among wizards.

“Harry -” Sirius came to his doorway and knocked. “You look nice. Do you have a coin purse or something of the like?”

Harry shook his head.

“We’ll sort that out today then.”

Confident that Sirius would have said something if he looked completely ridiculous, Harry made sure he had his wand and portkey and then held still for Sirius to grab onto his shoulder. The spinning, twisting squeeze still made him a bit wheezy but wasn’t nearly as bad as the first time.

The apparition point was full of people moving in and out of existence. “How does no one land on each other?”

“You know,” Sirius put a hand on his shoulder and moved them through the crowd. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it happen before.”

People stared as they walked down the street but it wasn’t anything Harry wasn’t used to and this time, he wasn’t alone. People stared just as much at Sirius as they did at Harry. Sirius took it in stride and didn’t seem to care, beyond scanning the crowd habitually. He kept up a stream of continuous chatter, telling fun facts, stories about the marauders getting up to trouble in Diagon, and important information he thought Harry might like to know about the Alley or products floating in windows.

Harry was laughing by the time they reached the steps of Gringotts, Sirius grinning over at him. Harry stepped into the lines that moved slowly toward the long counters. There was always something new to look at, today it was a wizard in grimy robes cradling gems the size of ostrich eggs through the doors and immediately setting off some kind of alarm. Harry flinched at the high-pitched screech and looked at Sirius who looked unconcerned.

“There’s going to be a lot said today that I’m assuming you won’t understand,” Sirius was solemn now. “That’s not your fault. This is your birthright, Harry. Ask as many questions as you need. Interrupt us as many times as you want. If something doesn’t sound right, say so. Even if you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry nodded.

“We’ll do my stuff first,” Sirius said. “I think the House of Potter stuff might be overwhelming. I want to be able to go home right after if we need to.”

Harry nodded again.

“Mr. Black,” a goblin called them forward. “Mr. Potter.”

Sirius nodded his hello. “I’m here to withdraw some items from my vaults. I believe Burnuk had some papers for me to sign as well.”

The goblin motioned to one of the goblins behind him who took off toward a hallway.

“Harry here needs to meet with his account manager. He’s been kept from being able to do so until now.”

The goblin leaned forward to see Harry properly, “That's a serious accusation Mr. Black.”

“I’m a Sirius kind of wizard,” Sirius said with a straight face.

Harry bit his tongue.

The goblin nodded and made several notes on the big, leather-bound book in front of him.

“This way, Mr. Black,” A goblin directed them down the long line of the counters.

Sirius’s vaults were in a different part of the underground tunnels than Harry’s. Harry was breathless from the exhilaration of the last steep drop of the cart and was completely unprepared for the size of Sirius’s vault. Sirius was rich. Like rich rich.

It was like the treasure in a storybook, there were piles of coins, shelves and shelves of jewellery. There were books and tapestries and swords. Anything Harry could think of was there.

“I need to pick a few things up for Andy,” Sirius said, going over to the jewellery. “There are some things that you might be interested in as well. Feel free to look around.”

Harry was looking at honest-to-God crowns when Sirius called him back over. “Do you like any of these? You wouldn’t have to wear them every day unless you wanted to, but during the fancy parties Andy wants to throw you would be expected to wear jewellery.”

Harry studied the rings.

“This one's all right,” he said, touching a band that had tiny gems studded into it. Another one was thick and round, almost looking like a cartoon. “This one’s kind of funny. “

“None of the others? The snake is kind of cool.”

A gold snake eating its own tail. It had dark blue gems for eyes. “Er,” Harry said. It did look cool. “Won’t that make everyone upset? Given that I’m a parselmouth and everything?”

“You’re a what?” Sirius looked over at him.

“Er, yeah. That’s why Ernie and everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin. I accidentally talked to a snake. I didn’t mean to do it.”

Sirius blinked at him, looked back down at the ring, and then back up at Harry.

“If anything, that would make me want to wear it more,” Sirius said after a long moment. He paused again, looking down at the ring. “Do you want a pet snake?”

“I,” that had never occurred to Harry. “Wouldn’t it be mean to leave it behind for most of the year?”

“You could ask it, I suppose,” Sirius said, grinning now. “That’s so cool. We could build it a little house in the greenhouses or something.”

“Is it too fancy to wear to Hogwarts?” Harry asked impulsively. The anger he felt all of last year came bubbling up. He was never going to fit what people wanted him to be. Why should he hide away?

“Depends what else you’re wearing with it,” Sirius said. “There’s got to be some other snakey stuff down here.”

There was. There was a surprising amount of it.

“This makes more sense,” Sirius said, squinting at an inscription on a ring. “This guy's name was Draco, hence the snake theme.”

“Huh,” Harry said. He was holding way too much snake-themed jewellery. To be fair, some of it was as plain as anything could be in the Black vaults and some of it was only very subtly snake-themed. “Is Draco a common name?”

“It’s not uncommon, especially in the Black family. It’s one of the more well-known constellations.”

“Should I have non-snake stuff?”

“Probably. What do you think of these?”

They spent another twenty minutes combing through the rings and bracelets and necklaces strewn about them for something Harry could picture himself wearing.

“Mr. Black?” A goblin had opened the vault door. “The Potter Account manager is available at your convenience.”

“Best not to keep him waiting,” Sirius conjured up a bag and Harry dumped the jewellery he was holding into it.

A brief roller coaster ride later and Harry was following Sirius back up to the main floor. Instead of going back the way they came, the goblin led them down a side hallway.

“Gnarlak is ready to see you,” the door opened as the goblin ran his finger down it, metal melting away into stone. The stones parted and Sirius led the way in.

“May I see your key, Mr. Potter,” Gnarlak didn’t waste any time. “We have much to discuss.”

“I don’t have my key,” Harry said.

Sirius looked at him, concerned, “How have you been getting money?”

Harry shrugged, “Hagrid or Mrs. Weasley would take me or get it for me.”

“You gave them your key?” Sirius didn’t sound mad, just concerned.

“I never had it in the first place,” Harry said, feeling defensive. Was that unusual?

“You’ve never had possession of your key?” The goblin asked sharply.

“I’ve held it,” Harry said.

The goblin sighed and a large book flew from one of the shelves to his desk. “Let’s start from the beginning Mr. Potter. When is the last time your vault was accessed.”

“I’m not-”

Sirius cut in, sharp, controlled, and angry. “We should assume nothing has been handled properly. How did someone other than Harry end up with his key? The account holders died, surely there is a procedure to secure their vaults.”

Gnarlak flipped through the pages, muttering. “Upon the deaths of James and Lily Potter, all vaults under the Potter name were secured, barring the renewing vault set up for their son, as the son was still alive the key remained in his guardian’s care.”

“That would have been me,” Sirius said. “I did not have the key.”

“Then you should have filed a claim for a lost key.”

Sirius’s posture somehow straightened even more and Harry’s eyebrows raised and he looked from Gnarlak to Sirius and back again. “I would like a copy of Gringotts policy regarding access accounts of accounts belonging to minors without guardians.”

“Gringotts doesn’t have a policy regarding minors without guardians,” Gnarlak said.

“Then I would like to see Gringotts policy on who is allowed to access a vault.”

“Gringotts allows anyone with a key to access a vault. A key can only be given freely to another person by the owner of the vault.”

“Obviously not,” Sirius said, “as neither Harry, Lily, James, or I gave the key to Mrs. Weasley or Hagrid.”

“Gringotts is not responsible for what the vault owner does with their key,” Gnarlak waved a hand and a pile of parchment appeared on his desk. “I will refer you to the agreement signed upon the opening of the vault in question.”

Sirius took the parchments and started to read. Harry hesitantly reached out, and when Sirius helpful held the papers out, took the last parchment in the stack. At the bottom were two signatures.

James Potter

Lily Evans-Potter

Harry stared at his parents' signatures. His handwriting didn’t look anything like his parents. He didn’t know that.

He also didn’t know that his mum continued to sign her maiden name. Everything he’d ever read had called her Lily Potter.

“Are you in charge of the Evans’ vault as well?” Harry asked.

Sirius looked over at him in surprise.

“No,” Gnarlak said.

“May I speak to who is?” Harry asked. “Or set up an appointment?”

Gnarlok wrote something down and the note disappeared. “They will reach out to you.”

“Good thinking, Harry,” Sirius said and then went back to reading.

Harry traced his father’s signature.

Sirius turned the page.

Harry traced his mother’s signature.

Gnarlak seemed perfectly comfortable sitting in silence.

Sirius rolled the parchments up, tapped them, and then pocketed the copy that he’d made. “I would like to file a claim for a lost key.”

“Sign here please,” Gnarlak handed over a form. Sirius read it, signed it, and then handed it back. “As you do not have a key, nor have you been registered as a guardian prior to this, we will have to confirm your identities.”

“To prevent theft, I’m sure,” Sirius said.

Gnarlak did not dignify that with a response.

Harry tried to look like he knew what was going on when Gnarlak unfolded a parchment to sprawl across the desk. Sirius pulled a gilded knife out of his pocket and pricked his ring finger on the opposite hand. He let blood drip onto the dark circles in the centre of the page.

“Three drops is enough,” Sirius said, handing the knife to Harry.

Carefully he pricked his ring finger and let three drops of blood splash down to the paper. As soon as the third drop hit the page the writing began to move.

“Careful,” Sirius took the knife back before Harry could set it in his lap.

Small, cramped writing flooded the page. Gnarlak read it over. “Mr. Black, guardian to Harry Potter, heir apparent to the House of Potter and the House of Evans.”

“The House of Evans has a vault here?” Sirius asked. “Not just a vault for Lily Evans?”

“As I said,” Gnarlak said. Sirius and Harry both waited but it appeared the Goblin was done speaking.

“As to the missing key?” Sirius prompted.

Gnarlak picked up the form Sirius had filled out. “The vault will be rekeyed, any former keys will no longer work.”

“I would like an overview of the Potter and Evans’ vaults, as well as a tour of the vaults.”

“I am the vault manager for the Potters, Mr. Black. I cannot help you with the Evans Vault.”

“That will suffice,” Sirius said, stiffly.

True to Sirius’s warning, Harry did not understand much of the following conversation. If he understood everything correctly, he was rich. Not as rich as Sirius, he didn’t think, but rich. The vault he had thought was his only vault turned out to be just a trust vault with a sum that was refilled to a set amount every year until he was 19, at which point he would have access to the full vaults. Sirius, as his guardian, would have access to everything.

The House of Potter also did something with investing but Harry quickly lost track of the conversation. Sirius asked many questions, taking notes in a small, leather-bound notebook with a shimmering silver quill that almost looked like a fountain pen. He asked for copies of everything and a stack of parchment began piling up on the corner of the desk.

Harry looked back down at his parent’s signatures.

“The Evans vault manager will see you now.”

Sirius sighed at this announcement and swept his wand over the desk, shrinking the stack of parchments down and sending it flying neatly into his pocket. “Thank you for your help, Gnarlak.”

Gnarlak didn’t respond.

“This way Harry,” Sirius waited for Harry to head out to the hallway.

“Are they usually that way?” Harry asked.

Sirius glanced down at him, “Not usually, no. I wouldn’t call them friendly by any means but they are usually a bit more helpful.”

“Mr. Potter,” there was an open door to an office nearly identical to the last.

Sirius motioned for Harry to go through and then joined him in the small space.

“Gnarlak has sent confirmation of your identities,” the goblin said, “so we can get started. I am Urgog.”

“Hello,” Harry said. Sirius echoed him.

“The Evans vault is a bit unusual. It was left with instructions that Mrs. Evans-Potter was very clear that they were to be carried out exactly as specified. Unlike a normal House vault, the only time I was to inform its heir of its existence was upon his request to see the vault.”

“Lily wanted to hide it.”

“In the event of her death, I was supposed to close the vault, reclaim the keys, and wait. If the vault was never claimed by her child then the vault would close upon his death.”

“Why?” Harry butted in.

“Mrs. Evans-Potter didn’t say, nor did I question her. She was vouched for by her husband whose family has been a patron of this bank for a very long time.”

Sirius sighed, sitting back in his chair and looking pained. “There’s no note? Anything left with you for Harry?”

Urgog shook his head. “Would you like to see the vault?”

Harry didn’t notice how long the ride was or if they were going a way he recognized. He was going to his mother’s vault. A vault she set up for a House that no one knew existed. What did she need to hide? Why wouldn’t she want him to know? Maybe she’d known that there was a chance that he wouldn’t have had control of the Potter vaults and didn’t want to risk him losing control of this vault as well. That didn’t make sense, he only had control of the renewing vault. Not the rest of the Potter vaults. She could have made hers like that.

The cart swung to a stop and Harry pitched forward. Sirius caught him.

The goblin ran a finger down the door and the metal began to click apart.

“No key?” Harry asked.

“Goblins don’t need keys to open the vaults. This is their domain.”

“They can open any vault?” Harry asked.

“I haven’t personally checked,” Sirius said, “but I would assume so. They built them after all.”

The vault door swung inward.

Sirius looked at Harry who didn’t move. He took two steps forward, looked through the door, and then stepped into the vault. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, kiddo, but this wasn’t it.”

Chapter Text

Lily was many things. Passionate. Kind. Clever. Emotionally intelligent. Terrifying with a wand. She was not neat.

Sirius looked around the blank walls of the vault. The empty, swept floors of the vault. The two chests arranged in the centre of the floor.

One was Lily’s school trunk. The other had the same shape but was new with no scuffs, patches, or stickers.

“That’s it?” Harry asked disappointedly from the doorway.

“There’s a letter,” Sirius said, pointing to the top of Lily’s school trunk. “Why don’t you open it?”

Harry clambered in and broke the wax seal on the heavy parchment envelope. He opened it and pulled out two letters. One was written on parchment, the other written on lined notebook paper pulled out of a spiral-bound notebook. Harry glanced at the lined paper before handing it to Sirius.

He looked it over. It was Lily’s handwriting. What she’d written was another problem. Runes and arithmancy covered the top part of the page. A warding diagram covered the bottom part. Some of it was familiar to Sirius.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to take the chests today,” Sirius said, studying the diagrams. “Lily made them next to impossible to remove.”

Harry didn’t respond, mouthing words silently as he read the parchment.

Sirius stepped closer to read over Harry’s shoulder.

My darling Harry,

If you are reading this, then Voldemort has succeeded in killing both your parents. It’s a future I never wanted for you. I hope that we’ve died after you’ve grown, that your dad and I got to see what Hogwarts house you’re in, watch your quidditch games, and learn your favourite foods. If we’re really lucky then you are an adult in a future where your dad and I did our job well and you’re prepared for life.

If you are reading this letter, I don’t think we got that lucky. So I will write this letter like we didn’t get any time.

Harry, my dearest, you are so loved. You are so wanted. We are so proud of you. You were born into a war and were a breath of fresh air for everyone. I have never seen a baby make so many people so happy.

You are going to grow up and make choices and evolve into a whole person. I’m so sorry that I’m not there to see it. I love you. I love the person you became. No what ifs, no what abouts. You are my son and I love you. I’m so proud of you, for all the things you are doing. Your father is reading this over my shoulder and has asked, “What if he’s the next dark lord?” I’ve smacked him on your behalf. However, should you choose to be the next dark lord I will still be proud of you. I will still love you. There is nothing you can do to change that.

I created the House of Evans to protect you. The family magic is new but it is mighty. You’ve been ritually added to the circle. You are protected. It isn’t enough. Circles and Covens and entire families are being wiped from existence in this war. I need to keep you safe and family magic alone was not enough. So I did more. I’m not sure if what I did has been done in this exact way before. I am sure it wasn’t legal. If you need plausible deniability I suggest you don’t open the new trunk. It has all my work related to doing more.

This is the third copy of this letter. I tried writing it twice before and found it to be impossible. How can I possibly fit everything I need to tell you in a letter? How will you know how much you are loved?

I don’t think it’s possible. I started to fill my school trunk for you. Things I want you to know. Things I want you to have. Things I hope you will never need but couldn’t imagine surviving this war without. If, God forbid, you are underage and are here alone Harry don’t open either trunk. Find an adult you trust. Get them here. Have them open it with you. Or wait, until you are of age. Under no circumstances should you use anything in them until you understand what they do.

I love you more than you will ever know,

Mum

Sirius was there, the day Harry was born. It was a terrible year, filled with terrifying, horrible days. And then Harry was born. Privately, Sirius had thought it was a bad time for a baby. They were all in the Order, fighting a war without an army against a madman. People were going missing from the streets. Their friends were dying in combat. There was a spy among them.

Then Harry was born and none of that mattered. It wasn’t about them anymore. It was about getting James through the Salazar-cursed fighting and the death and the hopelessness to get home to Harry. It was about beating Voldemort because how on earth are you supposed to go to Diagon Alley with a baby when he’s still running around? It was about the fact that the only time Sirius felt like he was home was when he went over to the Potters for dinner.

When Lily and James were alive Sirius skillfully deflected every conversation about them dying and leaving Harry behind. Them dying wasn’t an option. Sirius was going to get them through this war single-handedly if need be.

Lily, obviously, had known that wasn’t as sure of a thing as Sirius had liked to pretend.

Harry was crying, tears running down his cheeks even as he was silent.

Sirius went to put his arm around him and Harry collapsed into his chest, sobbing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sirius shushed him, rocking from side to side. “It’s okay, Harry. You’re ok.”

Harry clung to him. Has anyone ever held him while he cried? Sirius tightened his arms around him and decided to stand there for as long as Harry needed.

Harry snuffled and rubbed at his face. “You’re an adult I trust.”

“That I am, which trunk do you want to open?”

“Both.”

“Which one first?”

Harry pointed to the new one. “Unless we need plausible deniability.”

“About Voldemort’s defeat?” Sirius asked drily. “I’m pretty sure we all know the narrative already.”

The trunk wasn’t locked. Or maybe it was. Either way, it opened readily for Harry, swinging open on silent hinges. “It’s a room!”

“It’s an undetectable extension charm,” Sirius said, pulling Harry back before he could stick his head in. “Careful Harry, we have no idea what’s in there.”

“Lumos!” Harry dove back in, wand first. Sirius mentally shrugged. Lily wouldn’t have put anything in that could have harmed Harry by entering the trunk. “It’s notebooks. And books. And a star chart?”

“Shove over,” Sirius dropped to his knees and also stuck his head and shoulders in. The inside of the trunk was stacked floor to ceiling with notebooks. They each had a number on it.

“Here’s number one,” Harry said, handing Sirius a plain, cheap notebook like the kind Lily would buy in bulk before the start of each school year.

Sirius opened the front cover.

Sirius shut the front cover.

“What did it say?”

“Harry this is very illegal.”

“Mum said that already.”

“Harry this is supposed to be impossible.”

“We knew that already.”

“Harry this is big.”

“History-making even,” Harry said, straight-faced. “How did I survive?”

“Ritual human sacrifice,” Sirius said.

“That’s it?” Harry asked. “Dumbledore already said that.”

Oh to have grown up in the muggle world. “What did he say exactly?”

“He said that my mother died to protect me and her love and sacrifice is why Voldemort couldn’t touch me.”

“That,” Sirius said, “is bullshit, first of all. Impressive-sounding bullshit on a topic that most people don’t know about. Second of all, ritual human sacrifice is a hell of a big deal, Harry. A you can’t tell anyone about this kind of big deal.”

“Why not?”

“If Voldemort had been performing ritual human sacrifices the rest of the countries in the International Confederation of Wizards would have authorized a hostile takeover of Britain with the sole intent of killing Voldemort. The amount of power a human sacrifice generates is insane and very, very illegal.”

“Powerful enough to stop an unstoppable spell?”

“Powerful enough to kill every single person in Wizarding Britain and Hogwarts and have some left over.” Harry’s face went white. “I have no idea how Lily used that power to stop an unstoppable spell. I don’t even know how she knew how to do the sacrifice.”

“Don’t you just have to die for someone?”

“If that was true,” Sirius said, “then there would be a significant amount of people running around with protections like yours, especially after the last war. There are rituals you can do to channel the life and magic being sacrificed. There are more rituals you can do to amplify it. You aren’t just taking everything a person has at the moment. You are taking everything they will be in the future.”

“How do you know this?” Harry was starting to look appropriately freaked out.

“I’m a Black,” Sirus said. “This was a bedtime story.”

“I don’t think that’s normal.”

Sirius shook his head with a humourless laugh and put the notebook back. “I am more than willing to go through this with you but not today. I don’t think my brain could handle it.”

Harry nodded, “Can we look in the other one?”

This trunk was also bigger than it was supposed to be.

“It’s not just notebooks,” Harry said happily, pointing to packages, envelopes, photos, and what even looked like a mirror.

“Don’t discount the notebooks,” Sirius knew those notebooks. Lily was brilliant, excelling in charms and potions in ways that were previously thought impossible. The only reason Sirius had survived combat was Lily sharing new spells with him and healing him and the others with perfected potions. Any time Lily hadn’t been out fighting, which was often once she was pregnant and then a mother, she’d been scribbling in her notebooks.

“They aren’t numbered,” Harry said. “Where should I start?”

Sirius looked around for anything else he recognized. A battered red notebook stood out to him, on top of a precariously balanced set of journals. “I’m pretty sure those are her diaries, the red one is from first year. She carried it everywhere.”

Harry grabbed it and then hesitated. “Is it weird to want to read it?”

“If it’s in here you have permission.”

Harry nodded and looked around again. “There’s so much.”

“We can always come back. Gringotts isn’t going anywhere.” They were going to have to come back to understand what Lily had done to Harry.

“Next week?” Harry asked. “We still have to go through Dad’s vault.”

“Vaults, Harry,” Sirius said. “While historically not as wealthy as many of the old pure-blood families, your family has been around since the 12th century. They’ve accumulated some things.”

In retrospect, he and Harry might have been too overwhelmed to start on the Potter vaults but there wasn’t any way to deny him the opportunity to see what remained of his family.

“Oh Merlin,” Sirius said miserably when Harry’s worried questions finally penetrated the buzz in his head. “Sorry. It’s the furniture from their house. I wasn’t expecting that, sorry.”

Harry jerked back around to look at the furniture at the front of the vault. “Really?”

“That couch was in the living room. The chairs belong in the kitchen at the small table,” Sirius took a deep, deep breath. “The bed and dresser on the left are from my room.”

“You had a room there?”

“It was technically a guest room but I used it the most.”

“Where did you live?”

“I had an apartment,” Sirius said. “I still ended up having dinner most nights at James’s.”

Harry nodded, pulling open a box. “Pictures! Can we bring these with us?”

“Sure kiddo,” Sirius shrunk the whole box down and then made it lighter. Harry put it in his pocket.

“I -,” Harry looked around. “What do we need?”

“There should be a ledger,” Sirius said. “Or maybe a tapestry. You should be able to feel it. It should feel warm and alive.”

“Alive?” Harry asked, on alert.

“Not like that,” Sirius said wearily, walking toward the shelves. “Warm with magic. Like it is magic.”

Sirius took a deep breath and reached for his Occulmancy shields. He was safe here. Harry was here. They were in Hogwarts. He let his shields come down and breathed through the coldness that swept his body. Another deep breath let him centre himself enough to start pushing his awareness out. It wasn’t a good idea to do this in another family’s vault but it wasn’t necessarily a bad one. Andy would probably disagree. Sirius knew though, how much James’s parents had meant it when they’d called him son. He wasn’t a part of their family magic but he knew it would recognize him as something that it once protected.

Where the Black family vaults were filled with gold, the Potter’s vault was arranged around objects. There was furniture, bookshelves, tapestries, flying carpets, potions supplies, cauldrons, desks, trunks, wall hangings, generations of heirlooms and artefacts arranged almost like a labyrinth, herding them towards the centre of the room.

“I think it’s in the middle,” Harry said. “It’s where I would put it.”

“Well, it’s not around here,” Sirius said. “It could be worth looking.”

Harry looked at everything with wide eyes and no expression. It had been an exhausting day and they hadn’t even done anything with the Potter family magic yet.

“There,” Harry said, “it’s in the middle.”

“Is it calling to you?”

“It’s been waiting for me,” Harry said. They continued to weave through the aisles of the vault. “It’s been … hibernating.”

Family magic was, for all intents and purposes, a survival tactic. It would make sense for it to be resilient, to be able to survive the equivalent of a famine.

The Potter’s ledger came into view, sitting on a simple wooden table that wobbled when Harry leant up against it.

“Every family does this differently,” Sirius explained lowly. “There’s a lot of old, layered magic at work. Some ledgers record the members of the circle, members who can access family magic. Some record the members and their deeds. Mine shows the Black family, who can and can’t access the family magic, and is also an official record for Gringotts on who can access the vaults. If I were to add someone to the ledger it wouldn’t necessarily mean I had added them to the family magic.”

“But if they aren’t added by you?”

“Then they were added to the family magic. If for some reason I didn’t want them to have access to the vault just as any other family member would then I would need to come it and cross their name off.”

“That seems like a bad system.”

“It’s tradition,” Sirius said. He couldn’t figure out how to explain that family magic and the ledgers evolved over generations, shaped into forms that fit the family. The Black ledgers made perfect sense to Sirius because that’s what fit his family.

“Our has changed,” Harry’s hand trembled on the cover. “The last person to touch this was Dad.”

Sirius couldn’t stop the image of James standing alone in the vault, setting up the ledger for his son, just in case.

“It’s waiting,” Harry dropped his hand. “I shouldn’t open it yet.”

“What do you need to do?”

“It’s hungry,” Harry hesitated over the word.

“It’s been a while since anyone fed into it,” Sirius realized. “It needs a sacrifice.”

“Isn’t that illegal,” Harry sounded like he was ready to do it anyway.

“Not that kind of sacrifice,” Sirius scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You missed the one Hermione saw, yours will look a bit different. You’re the only one in the circle.”

Harry nodded at this. “Do we need anything else? I’m kind of tired and I can’t do anything until I have fed the magic.”

“Yeah, we can go home,” Sirius said looking around. “Hang on. You can wait by the door if you want.”

Even 14 years apart and with the whispers and shadow of a traitor standing between them, Sirius and James were still on the same wavelength. A small box, resting on one of the shelves at eye level, seemed to sparkle under the light. There was an envelope with his name on it.

Sirius picked it up and warmth ran up his fingertips. James. He blinked away the tears blurring his vision and opened the card.

Padfoot,

Take care of him for me.

Prongs

Sirius choked, carefully putting the card back into the envelope and tucking the box under his arm.

When he thought he could speak without sobbing he asked, “Ready Harry?”

“I want to take this too,” Harry said, holding something gold and shining. A polished earring.

“Your ear isn’t pierced,” Sirius said without thinking.

“Then let's pierce it,” Harry put the earring in his pocket. “I want to wear it.”

“First things first,” Sirius said, “let’s get home.”

“Then we pierce my ear,” Harry was insistent now.

“Then we pierce your ear,” Sirius agreed. It’s not like he or his ears had any ground to stand on about it. “At home.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said with a shaking voice, letting himself be led out of the vault. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Despite Hermione’s fear that living at home and commuting to Bowtruckle Run via Floo every day would make her feel disconnected from the magical world, it turned out to be freeing. She could be at home with her parents, at Harry’s practising magic, and back home for dinner all in one day. She’d never had that choice before. Her parents were much less cranky now that they were back home and going back to work. The floo worked for them, independently of Hermione, and that simple fact seemed to have broken down an invisible barrier between them. Dinner last night had been peaceful in a way Hermione couldn’t remember.

Ron was at his first divination lesson of all things. Harry was at a Mind Healing appointment with duelling scheduled with Sirius right after. That left Hermione at an etiquette session.

Wizarding etiquette was fascinating, mostly clear, and utterly enraging.

“This is sexist,” Hermione threw her hands up in the air before crossing them again.

“Yes,” Mrs. Tonks said, heading off any argument Hermione had prepared. “It’s also a weapon.”

“A weapon.” Hermione slumped down in her chair, doubtful but willing to hear her out.

“If you know how to use it.” Mrs. Tonks eyed Hermione’s posture and she instinctively corrected her posture and glanced down at the flatware in front of her. Even if she thought this wasn’t the best use of her time, it was still a lesson and she was going to do it well.

“And how do you use it?” Hermione’s posture was still perfect and she reached for the correct fork without rushing once Kreacher presented the meal - socially acceptable ways to treat house-elves left her feeling sick - and took a neat bite of the third course.

Mrs. Tonks, as always, was perfectly poised and chewing a small bite of food. Swallowing, she took a sip of wine and asked “What do you want?”

“What?”

“Someone to listen to you? Someone to pay you attention? Someone to choose you over someone else? Someone to think your idea was their idea? The rooms respect? The room to designate you as part of the background?”

“Respect,” Hermione’s answer tumbled out of her faster than she could consciously think of it. “I want them to take me seriously.”

There was more to it than that, a bubbling secret that she rarely thought about and even more infrequently indulged. Knowledge that she'd never had. How to do her hair, how to gossip, when to gossip, when to giggle, the confidence to just be that most of her year had that she could never act on without thinking herself into knots. She fought the rising blush and took another bite of her food, chewing demurely.

She’d had that power for one night, one night when everyone’s eyes on her hadn’t been a bad thing. The look on Lavender’s face, the look on Pansy's face, the look on Ron's face ... each had been so different but so thrilling. She had been in command of that room that night, had accidentally come up with the correct combination of escort, hair, dress, something that had put her above everyone else.

Could she have that again?

"Then you need to be able to follow the rules flawlessly," Mrs. Tonks sat forward, fork resting on her plate. "You need to know the rules inside and out, however sexist and purist. Any wizard should look at you and see the perfect traditional witch. That way when you break the rules, when someone else breaks the rules, the message is crystal clear.”

“I know what I’m doing and I meant it,” Hermione considered this and took a sip of her drink.

“Perhaps more importantly in the grand scheme of things,” Mrs. Tonks continued, “Following the rules can make them feel comfortable. Behaving better than them can make them admire or fear you. Understanding how people view you allows you to manipulate how they feel about you.”

They finished the course as Hermione considered this. “I’m going to need to know how to act at school.”

Mrs. Tonks seemed pleased that she’d reached this conclusion. “It would be a fine place to practise with nearly no consequences for your future. There are many powerful families with school age children right now. They would be good acquaintances to have in the future. At least some of them will be heads of House and I would imagine many others will be inheriting businesses.”

“I -” A new course appeared on plates made from an indeterminate material. Hermione stared at the risotto. “I don’t want to not be me. I’m proud of being muggle-born. I earned my place at the top of the class. I like school and reading. I don’t want to lose myself to make others like me.”

“You won’t,” it wasn’t Mrs. Tonks of House Black staring across the table at her, it was Mrs. Tonks, mother to Tonks, looking at her. “I promise. This is to give you armour, Hermione, not to hide you.”

Hermione nodded and stabbed a scallop on the end of her fork. “I’d like that.”

“Then let’s begin,” Mrs. Tonks said with a sharp grin. “I was thinking that we could start with your wardrobe.”
___

Harry’s Mind Healer was calming in a way adults rarely were. He was big, broad-shouldered, big-handed, and attention-grabbing with the burn scars that wrapped around his arms and fingers. His left pinky was missing its tip. Harry liked him immediately.

“I like to start my sessions by saying a little bit about myself,” he said once they were settled into the plush, comfy chairs Harry had chosen for them. “I’ll give a shortened version since you’ve already heard most of it. My name is Edward Skyyes. I am a licensed and trained mind healer just like any you would find at St. Mungo’s. I used to work out at the Dragon reservations in Bosnia and Slovenia, hence the burns. My partner wanted to live closer to civilization to start our family so here I am.”

“That’s probably not as exciting,” Harry said.

“There are less things-are-on-fire-that-shouldn’t-be emergencies,” Edward agreed. “Do you have any questions about my credentials or mind healing?”

Harry shook his head.

“Why don’t we start with a little bit about you? Just the basics.”

“My name is Harry,” Harry said, immediately feeling foolish. Edward nodded though, so maybe he was doing this right. “I am fourteen years old. I’m in Gryffindor. I’m the seeker on the house team. I’ll be a fifth-year next year.”

“Hi Harry,” Edward said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”

When was the last time someone had told Harry that upon meeting him? Edwards's eyes didn’t even flick to Harry’s forehead.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Harry said belatedly.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about your family?”

“Well, my parents are dead,” Harry said. “Er, you probably already know that.”

“We can do one of two things,” Edward said pleasantly. “We can pretend I don’t know anything and I am learning it for the first time or we can realise I probably know some of your history but only from third or fourth-hand sources and would much rather hear it from you.”

Harry nodded and started again, “Well, my parents are dead. They were killed by Voldemort who was trying to kill me.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you Harry,” Edward said. “Thank you for sharing that.”

“I don’t really remember it,” Harry said, looking down at his knees. “Unless there are dementors nearby.”

“How often have you been near dementors?”

“Well, a lot third year,” Harry said. “Oh, and my boggart is a dementor so I practised a lot while I worked on my Patronus.”

“How’d your patronus work turn out?”

“Really well,” Harry said with a grin, “Do you want to see?”

Maybe you weren’t supposed to show your mind healer your patronus but Edward seemed to enjoy the stag that burst out of Harry's wand on command.

“This is marvellous Harry,” Edward offered his palm out to Prongs.

“Prongs is great,” Harry said. “I used him to save Sirius from the dementors.”

“Where was this?”

“In the Forbidden Forrest.”

“At Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Prongs faded away. “It was when we realised Peter Pettegrew was really Scabbers.”

“Scabbers?”

“My friend’s pet rat.”

It was freeing being able to talk about this. Usually, Harry did his best to avoid all of these topics but Sirius had pulled him aside before the session and explained the oaths that Edward had taken to keep this stuff private. More importantly, Sirius had told him he trusted Edward and there wasn’t anything Sirius wasn’t comfortable with Edward knowing. That had meant a lot.

“It sounds like you had a wild third year.”

“I think second-year was probably worse,” Harry said thoughtfully. “With the basilisk and all.”

Edward took a deep breath and leaned forward, “Can you talk about that more?”

“In my second-year the Chamber of Secrets was opened by Ron’s younger sister who was being possessed by Voldemort through his old school diary. He kidnapped her and tried to use her, er, life force? I don’t know, he was going to use her life to make him come back to life. He set the basilisk free and I had to kill it with the sword of Gryffindor.”

“This was your second year?” Edward was taking notes now.

“Yes,” Harry said. Edward seemed like he was actually learning about this for the first time, which was a refreshing change of pace. It had always been his word versus somebody else’s. He never really had someone listen like this before. Hermione probably would have but she was always right there with him.

“And in your fourth-year, you were in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I didn’t enter myself,” Harry insisted. “I was entered by a death eater who was trying to resurrect Voldemort. Who did use me to resurrect Voldemort.”

“Can you tell me more about that?” Edward’s quill was moving faster now but he finished whatever he was writing and looked up at Harry.

They spent the whole session like that, Harry telling Edward about school or the Durselys or living with Sirius and Edward asking him to tell him more. He didn’t ask more questions or ask how Harry felt about things. He just let Harry talk. More than that he seemed to believe him.

“Alright, Harry, we are out of time for today,” Edward said. “Thank you for sharing all of this. I’m going to come back in two days. I’ll go over my notes and we might dive a little deeper into some of the experiences you’ve just told me about. In the meantime, I have some homework for you.”

Harry tried to keep his face neutral but must have not succeeded.

“Nothing bad!” Edward said with a laugh. “I want you to come up with a list of things that you do to make yourself feel better when something bad happens.”

“Sirius did that with me!” Harry said, that really wasn’t so bad.

“Oh good,” Edward said. “A lot of the people I work with, especially those who have had bad things happen to them and aren’t used to talking about it, find talking about their responses to traumatic events an easier way to start examining their reactions, rather than just trying to name their reactions. I’ll help with that bit next time. All you have to do is do your best to figure out how you make yourself feel better.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “I mean, why do my responses after the event matter?”

“The way we deal with trauma, especially repeated trauma, can impact how we make decisions later. If we don’t take the time to evaluate how we respond and take steps to improve our responses for next time, just in case, we can get stuck in unhealthy or unhelpful habits.”

“It’s like strategy sessions for Quidditch,” Harry said. This was eerily similar to one of Wood’s speeches.

“Exactly,” Edward said beaming. “Do you have any other questions?”

Harry shook his head. He can do Quidditch.

“Then I will see you in a couple of days, Harry.”

—

Harry seemed energetic when he met Sirius in the duelling room.

“That wasn’t bad at all,” he declared. “It’s kind of like Oliver Wood’s quidditch talks.”

“Oliver Wood?” Sirius raised an eyebrow as he continued to set up the wards. He’d scheduled duelling after mind healing for Harry, in case he needed space or an outlet and he’d scheduled his own sessions at the same time for the same reason. Harry’s upbeat mood was already helping.

Harry launched into an explanation of the intense Quidditch captain with a lengthy side note into explanations of the current Quidditch teams.

“Well,” Sirius said, blinking at the sheer onslaught of information. “That’s good?”

“Yeah,” Harry took a deep breath. “I was worried it was going to be weird but it wasn’t.”

“Ready for duelling?”

Harry bounced on his toes waiting for instructions.

Sirius had been appalled to learn that Harry’s, and by extension the rest of his year, had only had one duelling class. He’d been even more upset to learn why there’d only been one session.

“There’s two kinds of duelling. For sport and for survival. They are very different.”

Harry was listening raptly.

“For sport, there are rules and regulations. It’s not only about winning, it's about your posture, the combinations of moves you do, and the level of difficulty of the spells you use. For survival, it’s about how fast you can incapacitate the other person. Unless you decided you want to become a duelist in a league, we will only go over the basics in case some challenges you to a duel for sport.”

“The one where you bow,” Harry said grimly.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “We’ll spend most of our time on the other kind of duelling. That’s not to say that duellists in a professional league wouldn’t be terrifying in a fight, they are. We just aren’t going to bother learning the rules and focus on looking pretty. We are also going to fight dirty.”

Harry nodded.

“Like everything fun in life,” Sirius gave a long-suffering sigh, “it’s important to start with the basics.”

Some of the nervous energy went out of Harry.

“Shields and disarming spells.”

“Oh.”

“I, of course, will be free to use anything that doesn’t cause pain.”

“Wait, what?”

“Ready?”

“Wait, Sirius!”

Harry barely got a shield up in time to deflect Sirius’s nonverbal tickling hex. Harry was fast. The shield shattered and the room began to shift.

“We’ll end when you disarm me or you yield!” Sirius called gleefully as Harry dove behind a newly formed boulder.

“How’s that fair?” Harry’s tone was grim but he was smiling as he poked his head back up before diving back down again to avoid the flying tongue-tying hex.

“This is a perfectly legitimate assessment of your understanding of basic concepts and your creativity!” Sirius called, flicking his wand to levitate the boulder.

The disarming spelling shot several times at his ankles from under the boulder and Sirius swore, caught by surprise. Harry ran toward the trees and mist in the corner of the room, the blue glow of his shield surrounding him.

“We could match your hair to your eyes!” Sirius called, searching for any form of movement. “Oh! James made this wicked hex where you have to sing everything backwards. That could be our dinner entertainment.”

The woods were silent, the trees now taking up most of the room.

Sirius crept through the trees.

A single spell came shooting from his left. He rolled and started to run in the direction it came from. A spell came from the right. He dodged. He sent out an arc of electric blue. Nothing.

He jogged forward again, the ground was beginning to rumble, signalling a change on the way. His feet started to sink into rapidly softening earth.

A rustling from behind him in the tall grass.

The familiar colour of the disarming spell came whistling at him and he dodged right again, smacking into the shimmering blue wall of a shield.

“Nice!” He cried out, even as he couldn’t see, blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Expelliarmus!”

Sirius flicked a shield into existence.

“Expelliarmus!”

Sirius swore at the force of the hit. “Dear Merlin Harry!”

“Expelliarmus!”

Sirius dropped his shield and sent a torrent of water that propelled him backwards. He could hear Harry sputtering indignantly.

The room went back to normal, leaving Harry standing, shield up, dripping wet, glancing confusedly around.

The room went pitch black.

Sirius twirled, spinning away from Harry’s next attempt and swishing his wand out as he did. Hundreds of tiny lights, “Like glow worms,” Lily’s grin could have lit up the room on its own, swirled around him. A slash of his wand sent them spiralling out. This wasn't a normal night surrounding them. It seemed to eat the light, none of them casting a halo. “How do you think the cloak works?” James played with the pattern of the fabric, “It almost seems like we aren’t there when we’re under it. Like it swallows us whole.” Harry swore as the first light hit him, shield bubbling up around him. The rest of the lights beelined for him, smacking against the side of his shield. “Stop laughing!” Peter couldn’t help but laugh as well. “I can’t get it to stop doing -” Thwack! “Get it off of me!” Sirius watched his hand rise, watched his hand complete the wand movement for the full body-bind curse, and watched the curse ricochet into Harry’s shield. “You’re overcomplicating it Siri,” Reg looked over at him, already wearing a flat mask over his reactions, even at twelve, even as he spewed someone else's words, “you just can’t let it get to you. Let it wash over you, flow around you.”

He was trying, for Merlin’s sake. He was. He was free, he had Harry, Andy was here, he had a family again. He’d survived.

James was lying on the staircase, body twisting over the stairs in only the way dead weight can.

“James!”

James was dead. James was lying dead on the stairs in the house he bought for his bride. Sirius had helped pick out this house. His brother was dead, he needed to move, needed to get to Lily, Hagrid couldn’t have been sure. Lily couldn’t be dead. Who would take care of Harry?

His feet weren’t moving. Was he breathing? James is dead, lying right there. His body doesn’t look right without him in it. When was the last time they’d renewed their circle? He didn’t even know when he’d died. Hadn’t felt it.

The nursery door was open. The roof and wall were gone. Lily’s body was lying in front of the empty crib.

Peter.

Oh Gods.

Peter.

Light burned, rushing towards his face and Sirius ducked instinctively, casting his own disarming spell. Spots danced in his vision. His body kicked into high gear. He didn’t bother with shields, revelling in the way his muscles burned as he kept moving, weaving around spells, standing his ground.

“Legilimens!” Bella always pushed too hard, uncaring of the pain she left in her wake. Sirius hoped the effort it took to let the claws scratch down his mind, not bending or breaking under the pain, didn't show on his face.

“Nice try,” Sirius said calmly. “Completely original and totally unexpected.”

Bella giggled like it was a compliment.

Light flooded the rest of the room as the duelling room opened up into a grassy field. Harry was brilliant, a determined frown on his face as he tried to manage his shield and disarm him at the same time, he was so close - Sirius started to chain his spells, movements blending into each other, spells leaving his wand at a higher rate. Harry’s eyes widened and he stopped casting disarming spells, just focusing on his shield. Sirius slowed a fraction.

Harry watched his wand.

Sirius drew a breath. There!

Harry went to cast. Sirius sent three spells at him in quick sucsession.

“Expelliarmus!”

The shield held. Sirius grinned and kept casting. He wasn’t sure Harry had even noticed what was happening.

“Expelliarmus!” The shield was still up, flickering but there.

Sirius swayed to the side and kept casting.

Harry grunted and the shield flickered before glowing stronger. “Expelliarmus!”

Sirius didn’t move as the spell went wide. He sent sparks that bounced harmlessly off of Harry’s shields with clouds of blinding sparks. Harry’s shield, obviously, held despite the shower of lights around him.

“Expelliarmus!” The shield didn’t waver at all, the disarming spelling flying out, dead centre.

Sirius grinned wider and dropped into a lunge, the spell flying over his shoulder.

The fight didn’t last much longer. Sirius broke through Harry’s shield within a couple of minutes, dyeing him a lovely shimmering pink.

The hum of the wards died down, and Harry slumped to the floor, rolling to his back, sucking in deep breaths. Sirius decided to join him.

“Why am I pink?” Harry asked.

“I could make you purple instead,” Sirius offered. “Either way it will last until dinner.”

“Ugh.”

“You are fast.”

“Seeker.”

“Duelist,” Sirius corrected. “Did you notice what you were doing?”

“Losing?”

“Holding your shield wordlessly while also casting?”

Harry’s eyes widened comically and he sat up. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Probably why it worked, you’ve got good DADA instincts.”

“So we do it again?” Harry said. “And see if I can do it again?”

“Not right now,” they were sweaty messes, both of them. “We can try again tomorrow.”

Harry flopped back down to the floor. “Tomorrow then.”

Chapter Text

Ron hadn’t had an adult focus on him this much outside of detention. It was strange.

“We will be working our way through different divination tools today.” Mrs. Murk indicated the carpet bag from last time. “Not every seer likes or can use every tool. I have the more common ones today but it is possible the one that best suits you isn’t here.”

Ron nodded, leaning on the table.

“Some people don’t need tools to See but everyone can get better readings with a tool that suits them.”

“What kind of jobs can you get as a Seer?”

“There are many, many jobs one can do with only a NEWT in divination. If you decided to combine your divination interest with another subject, even more jobs open up.”

The same tools from last time flew out of the bag and arranged themselves on the table.

“How much can you get paid?”

“Private business consulting would probably pay the most. Predicting and choosing the investments, foreseeing the most beneficial partnerships. There are businesses that would pay a lot of money for accurate, detailed Seeing.”

Ron picked up the yarn considering this. He wasn’t brilliant like Bill or Percy or even the twins. Wasn’t creative like Fred or George. Didn’t have family money like Harry. Didn’t have a passion that would get him somewhere like Charlie. If he could See, everything could change. “How do I know what tools work for me?”

“You just know,” Mrs. Murk said. “I know that sounds very unhelpful but it’s true. We just have to try until we find it.”

“How come we can learn divination at Hogwarts without finding a tool?”

“You can still learn the theory of tools without being able to use it, with such large classes it’s an easier method to teach beginners.”

“It doesn’t make much sense,” Ron put the yarn down.

“Last time you picked up the cards,” Mrs. Murk suggested.

Ron picked up the cards, shuffling them like George had taught him. It felt good to be able to focus on his hands.

“Almost,” Mrs. Murk murmured.

Ron slid a card out of the deck. “Mahogany.”

Mrs. Murk frowned thoughtfully. “There are a couple of ways cards can be used to See, a standard deck like a playing deck or a deck of tarot cards can have universal meanings attached to them, proven over and over again by generations of Seers. Other decks can be used but might be more personally meaningful to the Seer.”

“I don’t really know plants,” Ron said, staring at the card, “well, besides what I’ve learned in herbology.”

“Ignoring what’s on the cards, how does using the cards feel?”

Ron shuffled them again. An ash tree this time.

“It feels like it means something,” Ron said. “I just don’t know what.”

“It could mean it’s the wrong deck,” Mrs. Murk picked through the pile of tools, “or it could mean it’s the wrong tool. Try this.”

“This isn’t right,” Ron said, sure of himself without knowing why. The rune stones were regular rune stones. He rolled them, the stones scattering across the table. “There’s too many.”

Mrs. Murk pulled dice, a gold coin, and a collection of bones out of the pile.

Ron picked up the coin and flipped it.

“Yes,” it felt right. He couldn’t describe it beyond that.

“Coins are often used for yes/no predictions,” Mrs. Murk said. “Different materials work better for different people.”

“Heads for yes and tails for no?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Simple as that,” Mrs. Murk said. “Your magic will influence how it lands. The coin is merely a conduit, just like your wand.”

“Would a deck of cards work well for me?” Ron flipped the coin and watched it bounce and spin before settling face-up on the table.

“Excellent job!” Mrs. Murk exclaimed. “I was right, you are a natural.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ron protested. “I just flipped a coin.”

“We will add meditation to the list,” Mrs. Murk said. “I will be speaking with Mrs. Tonks. Being able to sense magic is a useful skill in divination. I could feel your magic when you did that Mr. Weasley. That is a valid answer.”

“Huh,” Ron said, looking back at the coin. It hadn’t felt like he’d done anything at all.

“Now the work can begin,” Mrs. Murk’s bag packed itself, leaving the coin and the cards out on the table. A chalkboard swung down, floating behind her. “Let’s start by using the coin to see if you can narrow down what kind of deck you need?”

Divination felt like guessing.

“Do I need a playing deck?” No.

“Do I need a card deck?” Yes.

“You’ve already asked that.”

“I meant a deck of playing cards.”

“You asked that first.”

Ron sighed.

“You have to be extremely precise. We talk about Etymology later but word choice or saying what you mean and meaning what you say is extremely important.”

“Do I need an exploding snap deck?” No.

“Do I need a deck of cards used for a game?” Yes.

“That could mean one person in history has created a game using these types of cards,” Mrs. Murk cautioned.

“Do I need a deck of cards that is only used for a game?” No.

“Now you’re thinking,” Mrs. Murk said approvingly. Ron flushed and kept flipping his coin.

“Do I need a deck of cards that people collect?” Yes.

“Oh, a - Do I need a chocolate frog deck of cards?” No.

“What else do people collect?” Mrs. Murk asked. It didn’t seem like she was looking for him to provide an answer. “What do people collect and have to do with wood?”

Mahogany. Ash.

“Do the cards I need have plants on them?” Yes.

“Do the cards I need have potion ingredients on them?” Yes.

“Is the deck I need this deck?” Ron pointed to the deck already on the table. No.

Ron sighed. This was going to take a while.

—

Sirius watched from the windows over the lawn as Harry dived at the ground, the wind pushing his hair straight back from his head.

“Alright,” Andy glided into the room and deposited herself in an overstuffed leather chair. “Tutoring went great for everyone, you and Harry seemingly survived mind healing, we need to add meditation to their schedules, and the kids made it outside. What did you need?”

“Harry and I went to the Potter vaults,” Sirius said. The box James had left him sat on his desk, unopened.

“Are you ok?”

I don’t know. Sirius held on tighter to the window frame.

“Did something happen?”

“Lily had a vault too.” Sirius took a deep breath and turned to his cousin. The only remaining original family member that he actually liked. “Lily was brilliant.”

Andy nodded grimly, catching onto his mood.

“Lily loved Harry,” Sirius continued, “more than anything.”

“It was war,” Andy said. She would get it, wouldn’t she? She was raised a Black, ran away with a muggle-born husband, and survived the war. She’d been careful about going out, she didn’t want to be mistaken for Bella, but she’d still fought. Her husband had still fought.

“If you want plausible deniability, you should tell me now.”

“Harry Potter survived the killing curse,” Andy said, eyes dark and knowing. “Tell me how.”

“We’re going to have to understand how she did this,” Sirius warned. “She left her notes. You are going to know things that you aren’t supposed to know. It’s a crime to speculate, much less understand.”

“Tell me.”

“Ritual human sacrifice.”

Andy swore viciously, springing from her seat and striding to the window. She stared unseeing at the kids while gripping her skirts in her fists.

“How?”

“Lily’s brilliant,” Sirius said helplessly.

“Sirius, ritual human sacrifice has been banned since anyone can remember. It hasn’t been practised since the dark ages. The rituals have either been lost to time or very purposely and thoroughly been burned from this world.”

“Lily cracked it,” Sirius slumped into a chair. “Harry knows. I don’t think he understands how big of a deal this is.”

“Occulmancy,” Andy said. “Tonight. As soon as possible. Wards against Legilimency for as long as we can get away with it.”

“Blood wards, Andy?”

“Dumbledore won’t say anything about it, I’ll make sure of it. You’re telling me Cissy doesn’t send Draco into that place without some sort of protection?”

“Draco’s probably mastered Occulamancy.”

Andy waved away his point. “I need to tell Ted. Oh Merlin I can’t tell Ted. If one of us goes down for this Nymphadora is going to need a parent.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said, panic swirling through him. Lily, what the hell were you thinking?

Laughter broke into their bubble. Harry was dangling off his broom, low to the ground. The twins swept in around him.

Harry. When wasn't she thinking of Harry?

Andy waved away his apology, turning to the hidden panel where the good whiskey was kept. She poured herself a measure and then shot it back in one long swallow. Smoothing her skirts she rearranged herself in the chair. “It’s not your fault. I’m not sure it’s anyone’s fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Andy said, “what happens when you give birth. You're yourself and then you aren’t. Your heart, your soul, your purpose is wandering around outside of your body. There are very few things I wouldn’t give up to keep Nymphadora safe.”

Sirius instinctively looked for Harry. James's son who he needed to keep safe.

Dear Sirius,

Harry isn’t safe. Dumbledore is ok with that. Are you?

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

Panic, unlike anything Sirius had ever felt flooded his body. Harry. James was dead. Lily was dead. Harry wasn’t safe. Where was Harry? Why wasn’t he safe? He was supposed to be safe.

Andy was still talking. “I can’t fault Lily for trying to find a way around that.”

“And succeeding.”

“Obviously. Putting aside stopping an unstoppable curse, how the bloody hell is Godric’s Hollow still standing?”

“Lily,” Sirius said, shrugging helplessly. “She was brilliant and fearless.”

“She could have very well killed herself, Voldemort, and Harry. Not to mention the rest of the village.”

“If there was a chance that she could have harmed Harry she wouldn’t have done it.”

Andy fell silent, hands perfectly still in her lap. She was much more flustered than she was letting on.

“What now?” Sirius asked. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what this meant. Didn’t know how to start making things make sense again.

“Now we know,” Andy said. “I’m not sure there’s much more to do until you can learn more about specifics.”

“I’ll need help,” Sirius warned. “The Black sisters were always much better at this sort of thing than I was.”

“The impossible?”

“Ancient Runes,” Sirius said moodily.

“Your old enemy,” Andy said, teasing. The whiskey had brought some colour back to her face. “I’m not as good as Cissy but I am still damn good. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sirius turned back to the Quidditch game. Harry was flying lazy loops, scanning the air. “Thank you.”

“We’re family, Siri,” Andy said, tipping back her head until it hit the chair. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

—

“Harry!” Fred swooped down. “Nice earring, mate. Love what you’re doing with yourself.”

“Gold earring, gold on the glasses, what’s next? A gold -?” George turned to swipe at a bludger hurtling toward them. They only had one out, Fred and George tasked with protecting everyone. Harry was playing as the seeker, trying to catch the snitch before Ginny outscored him, with Ron attempting to help Harry win.

“I wanted to match the snitch,” Harry said drily, watching the horizon for that flicker of gold.

“I like,” Fred said a little more gently but no less upbeat. “Reminds me of Bill a bit.”

“He’s always been cool,” George agreed.

Fred took off, low over his broom to meet the bludger before it could bash into Ron.

“You like silver then,” Harry nodded to George’s fingers.

“And gold,” George wiggled his other hand at him. “They tried to give Fred gold and me silver but that never lasts long.”

“Completely by accident, I suppose.”

“Absolutely,” George said, nodding enthusiastically.

“Ron never wears any,” Harry said, stating a question that had been rattling around his head.

“There is some for him,” Fred said as he came to hover below them, “but Mum won’t let him wear it yet. She’s afraid he’s going to lose it.”

“Fair,” Harry said, thinking of all the quills that Ron had had for only a day.

“It’s Prewett family jewellery,” George explained. “Mum only got so much and it’s from her side of the family - we’re wearing her brother’s rings.”

“They were twins too.”

“Died in the last war.”

“According to Dad, they were wicked.”

“Funny too.”

“Handsome as well.”

“Sound like anybody you know?”

Harry took off, ignoring the twin’s whoops, racing toward the hoops where Ron floated guard, chasing the glint of fluttering gold.

“Death before mercy!” Ginny spiked upward, brushing close enough to Harry to cause their clothes to pull against each other. She spiralled back down, rolling around him in the air, sitting her broom all the while.

“Ginny!” a chorus of voices.

“What the bloody hell was that?!” Harry stood up on his footpegs and he came to a sudden stop. The snitch was long gone. “Since when could you fly like that?”

Ginny was already swooping off with the Quaffle, scoring neatly against a baffled Ron.

“120!” she crowed.

“You’re on the Quidditch team,” George decided.

“Harry, she’s on the Quidditch team,” Fred commanded.

“If Angelina sees this at tryouts she’s on the team,” Harry said.

“You don’t have an open position,” Ginny said. “I’ll try out next year once you lose some chasers.”

“You could tryout anyway,” Hermione said from the ground. “That’s the point of tryouts isn’t it?”

Harry ignored the pit opening up in his stomach. Ginny was great, amazing really if she could fly like that all the time, but she wasn’t his teammate. This was Angelina’s year. To bring home the team that had been hers since Harry started.

“I could,” Ginny mused, slouching over her broom. “It’s a lot of time though, I’m not sure I want to do that yet.”

The stone in his stomach shrunk, “I wish we had a rec league.”

“A what?”

“You know, you meet for games but you don’t have to practise. It’s just for fun.”

“We could do that anyway,” Ginny said. “Get permission to play on the weekends. When no one is using the pitch.”

“They might go for it if we open it up to all houses,” George said.

“Make it about house unity,” Fred nodded.

“Then we’d have to play with Slytherins,” Ron said, flying over when it became apparent that everyone was taking a break.

“They aren’t all bad,” Fred said with a shrug. “If a requirement is that they play nice.”

“The policies for student clubs are outlined in the student handbook,” Hermione said without looking up from her book, a collection of muggle fairy tales.

“We have a handbook?” Ron asked.

“It’s where the uniform regulations are,” Harry said.

“Huh,” Ron considered this. “Do we want to eat lunch?”

—

“He can do what?” Harry asked flatly.

“It’s not like reading a book,” Sirius hurried to add. “He can get a feel for general emotions, whether you are lying or not, or quick flashes of your thoughts or powerful memories. Anything more than that you’d probably notice.”

“But I wouldn’t be able to keep him out.”

“Not without training or blood wards,” Sirius gestured with the ring he was holding.

“Not regular wards?”

“It’s some nonsense about self protecting self,” Sirius said. “It works better and for longer. I’ll teach you how to renew them even though you won’t need to do that until you're back here again.”

Harry nodded, obviously stuck on the whole Dumbledore can read minds part of the conversation.

“Three drops of blood should do it,” Sirius said, handing him the silver potion knife. “The runes on the inside of the ring should do the rest.”

“I’m powering the ward?” Harry asked.

“Well,” Sirius said. “It’s mainly your family magic but yes, should the family magic run dry you’d be powering the ward.”

“I need to fix the Potter family magic.”

“I was thinking your birthday would be a good time to do it,” Sirius said. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what do you want to do for that?”

Harry looked completely lost. “I forgot all about it.”

“Well,” Sirius said. “A bit of short notice but it’s on Monday. We could have a party and renew the Potter magic all in one day. I’ve done more with less notice than throw a birthday party.”

“I’ve never had one before,” Harry admitted and Sirius’s heart shattered. “I don’t know what I would want to do.”

“You have,” Sirius said softly, “you probably just don’t remember.”

“I wish I did,” Sirius recognized the look on Harry’s face, had seen it on himself so many times around his age.

“I’ll find the pictures,” Sirius promised. “Do you want me to plan your party?”

“Yes,” Harry said, full of relief. “Can the Weasleys come?”

“Of course,” Sirius said. “All of them?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much.”

“You can have as many people as you’d like. Do you want anyone from school?”

Harry ducked his head. “I’ve never hung out with anyone outside of school before.”

“Well,” Sirius said. “Here’s your chance.”

“The quidditch team?” Harry said. “We could play?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Sirius said. “Any of the other students you know? Or want to get to know?”

Harry considered this, “It’s not that I’m not friends with them, I’m just not really close with them. Neville maybe? He helped me with the Triwizard tournament.”

“Will you have a better time if he’s there?”

“It wouldn’t be worse. I don’t know if he likes Quidditch.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Sirius promised. This was going to be the best birthday ever.

Harry cautiously pressed the tip of the knife into his thumb and let three drops of blood fall onto the round, polished crystal of the ring. The blood-soaked in, turning the clear gem cloudy, then a deep even red.

Harry put the ring on. “I don’t feel any different.”

“You aren’t supposed to. Can I check to see if it’s working?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not the best at this,” Sirius warned, “ but I should be able to tell if it’s working. Legilimens!”

He had never been able to cast this spell non-verbally. He had always needed to say it like a battle cry to get it to work. Bella had been able to drop in and out of minds easily the last time he’d seen her. It hurt and she thought that was funny. He had always been freaked out at the feeling of going into someone else's mind. Luckily, Harry’s ring worked. It was the mental equivalent of running into a Protego.

“Excellent,” Sirius said.

“I know I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this,” Harry waved his hand with the ring, “but Hermione and Ron get to know right?”

“They’ve probably earned it,” Sirius said. “Hermione might even need her own ring.”

“Can any ring work?”

“It needs the runes,” Sirius said, “and some gemstones take blood better than others.”

Harry twisted the ring around on his finger. “Is it weird to only wear one ring?”

“I wouldn’t,” Sirius said, wriggling his ring-heavy fingers at him, “that doesn’t mean that others wouldn’t only wear one ring.”

“Who else can read minds?”

“It’s not so much reading as -”

“Sense emotions and thoughts then?”

“Lots of people with varying degrees of skill. I can. Andy can. Bella can. Cissy can. Dumbledore, Voldemort, James could, Lily could but hated it so never was actually able to do it, Snape.”

“SNAPE?”

“He’s quite good at it actually.”

Harry seethed at the wall. “Why is no one talking about this?”

“It’s not polite,” Sirius said. “Also while technically not illegal it’s not something people advertise either.”

“So none of the muggle-borns know? Or muggle raised?”

“It’s not purposefully hidden,” Sirius said. Even to him, it sounded like an excuse.

“But I’m safe from it now?”

“Yes.”

“Why now?”

“No one should know what your mother got up to. It would be a very big, very bad thing.”

“Who would be looking into my head?”

“I’m taking you to a meeting with Dumbledore tomorrow.” Andy had been against this idea completely. They’d been arguing about it for days. Harry is a child. Dumbledore is dangerous. This is too much too soon. Sirius wasn’t convinced. Every day he watched Harry read the newspaper front to back. Every day he watched him tense up and looked relieved, either from the lack of news about Voldemort or the slander against Dumbledore (they’d swiftly stopped the slander against Harry, why Dumbledore allowed it to continue was anyone's guess). Harry needed to know, he deserved to know.

Harry’s eyes snapped up.

“If you want to go.”

“Yes.”

“There will be rules,” Sirius warned. “There’s a lot that he can’t know.”

“That’s fine. I want to go.”

“There will be other people there as well,” Sirius warned. “They’re on Dumbledore’s side. Not ours.”

“That’s fine. What are we meeting about?”

“During the last war, Dumbledore ran a group called the Order of the Phoenix,” Harry snorted at the name. “They fought Voldemort. Your parents, Peter, Remus, and I joined right out of school. Neville’s parents as well.”

“What time is it?”

“In the afternoon. I’m hosting it at my parent’s house. We’ll need to go over right after lunch.”

Chapter Text

“Why are we doing this?” Harry whispered.

“There’s a portrait of my mother in the front hall,” Sirius whispered grimly. “If we wake her up she will start yelling. It’s an unpleasant experience.”

“Why are we here at all then?”

“Dumbledore needs a place to hold meetings for the -”

“No, I get that,” Harry indicated the dark house around them. “Why this house?”

They made it through the hallway and into the kitchen.

“My mother was a paranoid bitch,” Sirius said in normal tones. “The amount of wards and hexes on this house, not to mention all the illegal surveillance charms mean that it will be nigh impossible for anyone to get any information about the Black family they shouldn’t.”

“Like?”

“Where our other properties, family secrets, or easily accessible ward or charm work. Or, you know, our bedrooms or something.”

Harry made a face. “What do the surveillance charms do?”

“Well, right now, not a lot,” Sirius said. “That’s what we are here to fix. That and the privacy spells.”

“Privacy spells?”

“Like the Fidelius Charm,” Sirius said. “It makes it hard for people to find our location.”

“Are we using the Fidelius Charm?” Harry asked.

“If we need to,” Sirius did his best to ignore his rising anxiety. “Dumbledore wanted to do it right away but we couldn’t agree on a secret keeper.”

“Who’d he want?”

“Himself,” Sirius said. “It’s my house though, I want to be in control of who comes and goes.”

“Dumbledore is the leader?” Harry asked. “Like a General?”

“Sometimes,” Sirius remembered Dumbledore’s voice, booming over fields and streets. “Sometimes it feels more like he’s a chess master and we are all pawns.”

Harry nodded again and looked around the kitchen.

“Kretcher’s been removing everything that he wouldn’t want to get touched by the Order, which is about everything in the house.”

“Are you going to keep it this empty? Where is he putting everything?”

“Other properties, our vaults, some mysterious third location,” Sirius frowned. “Hermione might be wearing me down. I told him he could keep anything that he knew I wouldn’t want around me as long as it wasn’t dangerous.”

“Did he like that?”

“He might have been crying.” It had been an uncomfortable time.

“It must have meant a lot to him,” Harry ventured.

“I think it did.”

As if he knew they were speaking about him, Kreacher popped into the kitchen. “The house is ready.”

He’d been doing his best to not to refer to Sirius as master and Sirius was more than ok with that. It reminded him of his father.

“It does look a lot better,” Sirius said. Entire millimetres of grime had been removed and while the house wasn’t close to what anyone would call cheerful, it was at least comparable to how it was when he had last set foot in this house.

Kreacher didn’t seem to know what to do with the compliment. Sirius took his silence as the gift it was and led Harry deeper into the kitchen.

Leaving behind the arrogance and confidence that had been bred into him and cultivated from birth, Sirius was good at spell work. He excelled in magic at the intersection of wards and transfiguration and charms. At tweaking spells with intent and theory until it suited what he needed. Harry’s eyes stayed on the fluid motions of his wand arm as Sirius traced over the listening charms, the privacy wards, and the surveillance runes carved into doorways.

This was fun work, seeing past his own magic, his own spells, and looking into the layers that already existed and making it better.

Harry stayed quiet, watching the glowing runes sink back into the bones of the house. He followed Sirius up the stairs, watching as Sirius started pulling up the existing warding.

“What is it?” He asked when Sirius hissed through his teeth.

“This was my mother’s work, her version of parenting,” Sirius started to tug the strands of magic apart. “We couldn’t go down to the kitchen without her knowing.”

“That’s why there were so many locks on my door,” Harry volunteered. “Uncle Vernon thought I was sneaking food.”

Sirius funnelled the rage rampaging through him into his wand. It was enough to yank his mother’s magic loose.

“Is her portrait a part of it?”

Sirius looked over at him, “What makes you ask that?”

“It feels like it's going back down,” Harry pointed to the wall.

Sirius put his hand on the wall, magic - thick and slow - pulsed down the wall. Flinching back, he pulled his hand away, trying to shake away the sensation. “Kreacher!”

Kreacher snapped into existence.

“Did my hag of a mother tie her portrait into the wards of the house? Into the family magic?”

“Mistress was so clever,” Kreacher said to Sirius’s feet. “Her heir was dead, poor master Regulus! Who was to give Kreacher orders? Mistress protected her house.”

“If she gives you an order do you have to follow it?” Sirius asked, more panicked than he probably should be.

“I serve my mistress,” Kreacher said. “Mistress is most proper, she knows -”

Sirius cut off the rant. “I forbid you from taking orders from my mother’s portrait.”

Kreacher’s mouth snapped shut.

“Can you disconnect the portrait?” Harry asked.

“Not right now,” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “This makes a lot more sense - there aren’t many ways to permanently stick a portrait to a wall - and is exactly my mother’s brand of paranoia.”

“Is this really bad?”

“My mother is a dark lord sympathiser,” Sirius said. “Oh Merlin, so are the rest of the portraits.”

“Can you charm them? Or silence them?” Harry suggested.

“No,” Sirius said, “well, maybe. But I don’t know if I have time.” He trailed off. It had been such a long time since the house wards were properly managed. The magic was like hand-spun yarn that had been pulled thin in some spots and was still fluffy and thick in others. Strong wards could be tied into a portrait’s own innate magic and influence the portrait's abilities. No doubt the house wards here helped portraits spy on occupants and ensured loyalty to the family. As holder of the family magic, he should be in charge. Should be’s meant nothing in the face of whatever the hell corrupted nonsense that his mother had managed to do to her portrait.

There wasn’t any sense in speculating if he could try. Sirius put his hand back on the wall, reached out, pushed down the rising panic and disgust at the brush of his mother’s magic, and followed the magic into the bones of the house.

Magic, of course, fed into the portraits. Keeping them active. Protecting the house. Sirius probed at the tethers, but couldn’t find anything abnormal. His mother’s portrait was another story. The family magic didn’t feed directly into it, thank Merlin. Instead, a sickly and pulsing strand went from portrait to ward line, feeding off the magic.

Sirius poked at it. It surged up and slapped him.

“Sirius!” Harry caught his elbow before he could stumble down the stairs.

“My mother’s portrait is bound to this house, she has no other frame,” Sirius growled out. “The rest will sleep.”

He tugged on the wards. They resisted. Sirius tugged harder. They gave in. It wasn’t elegant, a show of sheer brute force. The portraits slept where they were, some tumbling out of chairs and to the ground.

“Did it work?” Harry asked, examining a witch who seemed to be sleeping against the portrait frame.

“For now,” Sirius said. “I’ll do it better later. We are running out of time. Our guests should be here soon.”

—

Harry was perfect. He’d taken what Sirius said to heart, staying visibly calm and silent, sitting to the right of Sirius at the head of the table. Instead of sitting in the kitchen, Sirius had instructed Kreacher to set up the formal dining room. It looked every inch of a formal, dark, pureblooded family home.

Sirius himself was wearing dark red which stood out nicely against the deep blues and greens, blacks and silvers. Harry had chosen green and gold, his family colours even if it wasn’t intentional. His eyes were vibrant, bringing out the red of his scar, and the gold at his ears and hands caught the candlelight.

They looked composed and ready in a way no one was expecting. Or at least, that was the hope.

Andy was the first one to the house, sitting to Sirius’s left. She was wearing silver robes that glimmered. They would have looked gaudy on anyone else. Instead, she looked deadly.

Members of the order slowly trickled in. Each were taken aback when they saw Sirius and suspicious when they saw Andy. Many of them remembered Sirius from the last time they’d done this and seemed surprised at the change. They took their seat, nervous quiet chatter starting up.

Elphias Doge.

Mundungus Fletcher.

Alastor Moody.

Arthur Weasley.

Were they the only ones left?

Kingsley Shacklebolt came in next, talking animatedly with Ted. Ted kissed his wife on the cheek and sat beside her. Elphias Doge’s face lost a little bit of its suspicious. Good old Ted.

The portrait in the hall started to shriek as a loud thud vibrated through the floorboards.

“That will be Nymphadora,” Andy said serenely like her aunt wasn’t screaming slurs loud enough to make them wince. “Do excuse me.”

Shaklebolt chuckled.

Harry continued to examine the adults, not flinching when they looked back.

Sturgis Podmore. Sirius didn’t know a lot about him.

Hestia Jones.

Emmaline Vance.

Tonks, escorted by Andy.

Molly Weasley and her sons Bill and Charlie.

Minerva McGonagall and Snape. Harry flinched, drawing a deep breath before looking back up. Sirius didn’t know who he was reacting to.

Remus Lupin. Sirius had been wondering about Moony. He hadn’t written. Hadn’t shown up. To be fair, Sirius hadn’t either. He waited for Remus to make eye contact, to wink, to show he was ready to go with the plan, to distract while Sirius dropped the dung bombs and ran. Instead, Remus folded himself into his seat and started to talk to Emmaline Vance.

He was pissed then. At Sirius. Again. For something, Merlin knows what. Panic, the nice kind, the usual kind, the shit Remus is actually upset panic filled Sirius. Maybe he should have written. What do you say to a man that helped free you sort of and then those events helped get him fired that was also your family?

Harry was looking at him, Sirius gave him a smirk and Harry looked back at the people filling up the table.

Panic later. Razzle dazzle the crowd now. Fucking James and his names for things. Now he had him rhyming.

Calm enough, Sirius turned his attention back to the door.

Dedalus Diggle entered with Dumbledore.

Stay calm. Don’t shout. Andy had been quite clear on that. You are not alone.

As soon as Dumbledore took his seat Kreacher put out refreshments. A few people murmured appreciatively.

“I would first like to thank Sirius for hosting,” Dumbledore said.

“Is this really the best place to host?” Moody hadn’t touched anything on the table. “I don’t like it, Albus.”

“Until we have a better option, 12 Grimmauld Place is the best option.” This sounded like a well-worn argument. “I would like to welcome everyone to the first official Order meeting. I know many of you have been doing the work already.”

“I’m sorry, Albus,” Molly interrupted. “Should Harry really be here for this?”

Harry looked over at Molly, eyebrows raised, but remained quiet.

“Well,” Molly said, flustered as everyone looked at her. “He’s only a boy. Everyone else here is of legal age.”

“Harry has my permission to be here,” Sirius said. He looked back at Dumbledore expectantly.

“What about Andromeda Black?” Elphias asked, looking at Dumbledore. “Who invited her?”

Ted drew in a slow breath but looked at his wife.

“This is my family’s home, Mr. Doge,” Andy arched an eyebrow. “It was poor planning if you didn’t want me at this meeting.”

Elphias turned puce and looked away.

“As I’ve said,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Until a better option presents itself this is the best option. However, I do agree with Molly Sirius. I must insist Harry leaves the room. This is no place for a child.”

“So noted,” Sirius said cheerfully. Harry didn’t move.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore’s face showed his age. “I must admit my disappointment, first at you risking Harry’s safety as you did when you removed him from his aunt and uncles and now as you expose him to things that he is not ready for.”

“I wasn’t ready for my parents to be murdered, Headmaster,” Harry’s voice was tight but controlled. “I wasn’t ready to burn a man to death as a first year. I wasn’t ready to kill a basilisk or go back in time or fight for my life in a stupid tournament that I didn’t enter. I wasn’t ready to be kidnapped by Voldemort or used to bring him back to life. No one cared to ask me if I was ready then. Sirius asked this time. I am ready to be a part of this meeting.”

“Harry, I am simply not comfortable -”

“With Voldemort running around?” Harry cut him off. “I agree. What are we going to do about that?”

“There are no reports,” Moody said. “Voldemort has been silent.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “What’s he waiting for?”

“Are we sure of his goals this time around? After such a long absence shouldn’t we consider the possibility that Voldemort will choose to act differently this time around? Many of his supporters are actively involved with politics or business. They will have a good understanding of the current affairs of Britain.” Bill spoke up, much to the surprise of the old guard.

“He continues to have an unnatural interest in Harry,” Moody said. “There must be a reason for that.”

“He couldn’t kill me every time he tried,” Harry offered. “Maybe it’s about proving a point?”

“What made him want to target the Potters anyway?”

The distance Remus put between him and Lily and James by saying the Potters lit a spark in Sirius’s chest that was threatening to explode into an inferno. Why was he doing that? Say their names.

Remus met his eye for the first time and looked away. Sirius knew he knew that he was mad and why.

“Perhaps we should focus on how to keep Harry safe. Sirius, I must insist that he is returned to the Dursleys at once."

The spark ignited the pressure in his chess and Sirius found himself saying, “I will commit the crimes I was accused of before I let that happen.”

Andy shifted slightly, Ted hid a grin behind his hand, Remus raised his eyes to the heavens, and Harry settled into his seat, looking at him to see what else he was going to say.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to regret speaking when Harry reacted by relaxing.

“Since Harry’s safety and accommodations have been settled,” Andy smoothly moved them along, “perhaps we can discuss our upcoming goals. I for one am very worried about Voldemort's revival. Headmaster I’m sure you have more to say about this.”

Everyone looked back at Dumbledore.

“After the events following the Triwizard Tournament, I reached out to many of you,” Dumbledore was frowning. “I’ve given you various tasks and I’m glad to report that these tasks have been accomplished.”

Dumbledore had prioritised the mobilisation of people and resources. Each person reported around the table.

At his turn, Sirius smiled and gestured to the table that held refreshments courtesy of Kreacher. “I was to provide a secure meeting place.”

“You’ve done well,” Dumbledore said. “Moving forward I would like to add the protection of the Fidelius charm, especially considering Harry is living here. Without the protection that his Aunt’s house provides, we will need to take every protection available to us.”

“Why was he removed?” Podmore spoke.

Harry tensed.

“I’m Harry’s guardian,” Sirius said before Dumbledore could say whatever he was going to say. “As I am now available to fulfil my role as Godfather I felt it best for him to live with me.”

Several heads nodded.

“Harry’s safety is my utmost concern. To that end, we are living at another property, one that only a select few can access.”

Molly, Arthur, and Bill didn’t move, their gaze steady on him. Moody looked suspiciously around at everyone while nodding approvingly.

“It, of course, is under Fidelius and has many other wards and protections. It is the safest place for Harry.”

Dumbledore’s face was unreadable. “And your plans for the Fidelius here?”

“As I’ve said, I’m ready to be the secret keeper. Just let me know the time and date.”

“As the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, I must insist on being the secret keeper.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Sirius borrowed a phrase from his mind healer. “As head of the House Black, I have a duty to the family. Surely you understand why I can’t give that level of control to a non-family member.”

“We will revisit that after the meeting,” Dumbledore skipped over Harry and turned to Andy and Ted. “As to your house?”

“I’ll be the secret keeper,” Ted said cheerfully. “We’re stocking up on healing supplies.”

They moved on. Sirius kept his eyes on whoever was speaking and watched Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll be reaching out to the werewolves,” Remus said so evenly Sirius wanted to scream.

“I assume the goal is to keep Voldemort from recruiting werewolves with promises of rights or revenge?”

“Yes.”

Remus was really upset. Sirius racked his brain trying to figure out what he’d done.

“The house of Black is prepared to fund and supply the wolfsbane potion for any werewolf who doesn’t join the fight under Voldemort.”

Murmurs broke out across the table. Remus stared. Sirius stared back. Thirteen years of broken promises and mistrust stretched out between them. This time, Remus didn’t look away.

“It would be unethical for us to require someone to fight just to receive medical attention,” Dumbledore cautioned.

“We aren’t asking them to. We will give it to anyone who can prove they aren’t fighting for Voldemort.”

“That would change our strategy,” Shaklebolt mused. “Remus, you wouldn’t need to go undercover necessarily. Just be an ambassador. Figure out the method that they would refer for delivery and then answer any questions they might have.”

“We would build trust through our actions,” Bill mused. “I can’t imagine most of them want to fight so much as to have basic human rights.”

“That would be correct.” Sirius had no idea how Remus was feeling and he didn’t like it.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “I trust you and Remus will be able to get this set up?”

“Is there a brewer in the Order I should contact or shall I reach out to potion masters?”

“Wolfsbane is easy enough to spot if it’s gone wrong. There’s nothing illegal about supplying people with legal potions,” Remus looked more and more incredulous. “I’m not sure we have to keep this hidden at all.”

“Potion masters it is,” Sirius said happily. “Even better, we could probably use this to push Lycanthropy legislation later.”

That caught Remus’s attention, his anger waning to make room for shock.

“In that case, I believe we know why we need to get done before our next meeting. I’ll let you all know the date and time of the next meeting.”

Sirius shifted, brushing against Harry’s arm. Harry took a deep breath and looked marginally less like to jump out of his chair.

Folks began to file out of the room, chatting and looking at the newly cleaned house.

Dumbledore left his seat and made his way to Sirius. Andy and Ted hadn’t moved. Remus hovered by the doorway.

“Sirius, I simply must insist that Harry is returned to his aunt's house by tomorrow.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Harry sat up, scooting to the edge of his chair. He didn't say anything and Dumbledore didn't acknowledge him.

“Then I must insist on inspecting his new residence.”

“We are limiting the number of people who know the location,” Sirius said. “If there is ever a need, we will tell you then but as it stands now there’s no reason for you to know.”

“I’ve been protecting Harry for a long time, Sirius,” Dumbledore folded his hands together. “I would like to be able to continue to do so.”

“Perhaps we could focus on how you’re going to keep him safe in the upcoming school year,” Andy said. “It seems to have been a challenge in past years.”

“I think only almost dying once a year is pretty good,” Harry mumbled. Andy ignored him.

“Surely you see that you alone can’t protect him?”

“I don’t see that, actually,” Sirius fought the urge to cross his arms.

“The Wizengamot can revoke guardianship,” Dumbledore warned, “if there is a proven lack of care toward the ward in question.”

“Is that a threat?” Sirius didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. He couldn't let the cold creeping down his spine show.

“I only want what’s best for Harry.”

“What’s best is that I live with Sirius. The Durselys didn’t take care of me.”

Dumbledore didn’t look at Harry. “Petunia is your lasting living blood relative on your mother’s side. Your mother’s protection -”

“My mother wanted Sirius to take care of me.” Harry’s voice was loud, Sirius shifted, his arm brushing against him.

“Harry is living with me,” Sirius said. “There is nothing else to discuss.”

“If you are so worried about what Voldemort is going to do to me, why don’t we do something about him now?” Harry asked loudly.

Dumbledore ignored him. “That makes me so sad to hear, Sirius. I’d hoped you’d make a better choice.”

Ted helped Andy up from the table. Sirius and Harry stood as well.

“If there’s nothing else, Headmaster, we will see you in the Wizengamot tomorrow,” Andy turned toward the door, waiting expectantly for him. Dumbledore turned without comment and let himself be escorted to the door.

“Why isn’t he looking at me?” Harry asked once Dumbledore had cleared the front door.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, half listening. “I’m more concerned about the threats.”

“Dumbledore just wants what’s best for Harry,” Remus said.

Sirius and Harry both jumped, looking at him. He gave a thin smile. “Wolfsbane, Sirius? For everyone?”

Sirius felt fourteen and invincible. “I promised, didn’t I? In case you didn’t notice, that includes you Moony. And anyone else you know who is already paying their own way.”

“Do you realise how expensive that is?”

“Yes,” Sirius handed him scrolls that Burnuk had prepared. “I can fund it for the next ten years before I should start looking to generate funds, provided that our Lycanthropy estimates are accurate. Luckily, Burnuk has good financial instincts so we’ve started funding it now off of an investment portfolio.”

Remus skimmed the parchments, silent.

“All I need to know is if there is a potions master you would prefer.”

“A brewing business,” Remus corrected, looking up. “This will be more than one person can handle.”

“Andy made a short list,” Sirius handed that over as well. “If there’s someone you think should be on there, we can add them.”

Harry stopped trying to peak at the scrolls and wandered to the doorway, “Is the house safe now?”

“Don’t open anything,” Sirius said. “Unless it’s in my old room. If it looks old, don’t touch it. If it looks like food don’t eat it. If something feels wrong, it probably is - call Kreacher or come and find me.”

“So homey,” Harry said with a grin before tip-toeing down the hall.

“I don’t recognize this name,” Remus still sounded off so Sirius did what he’d always done. He leaned in, bumping his shoulder against his and pointing to their plans. Remus would thaw or explode and then they could talk it out. He would fix this. He always fixed it.

—

Harry walked slowly and carefully along the wall. He didn’t think the portrait would start screaming from footsteps but old habits died hard.

Mrs. Weasley was speaking, her voice coming from the kitchen. “I don’t like it, Arthur.”

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley’s voice was softer and Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying. Caught between wanting to listen and wanting to ask if Ron was available later for quidditch, Harry kept his steps soft and stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood in the middle of the room, leaning towards each other. They didn’t see Harry. “It’s not our place.”

“And it’s his?”

Kreacher was grumbling at the stove, arms crossed, and staring at the people in his kitchen. “Master Harry.”

Arthur and Molly turned toward the doorway. Harry took his chance. “Hi, Kreacher. Mrs. Weasley, is Ron home? I wanted to know if he wanted to come over.”

The colour left her face and she looked helplessly to Mr. Weasley.

“I’ll ask, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, eventually.

Harry shuffled his feet, trying to find something to say. He’d never had to try to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before. They’d always, just, talked.

“I best be going, then,” Mrs. Weasley said. She moved toward Harry, a smile that looked pained crossing her face as she wished him goodbye.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry said, not sure what he was going to say but wanting to say it anyway.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said. “I need to get back to work.”

He followed his wife, leaving Harry in the doorway.

“Did that feel weird to you?” Harry asked aloud.

“Wizards in Kreacher’s kitchen,” Kreacher threw his arms up in the air, waving a wooden spoon. “Kreacher’s kitchen is not for guests.”

“Sorry, Kreacher,” Harry hadn’t considered that before. “I’ll knock next time.”

“Master will be knocking?” Kreacher banged his spoon against a pot. “Poor Kreacher.”

Harry didn’t have a response to that so he retreated back down the dark hallway.

—

Harry was sitting on the table in the library, his legs swinging. The rocking was making the table shift rhythmically and Hemione had the fleeting thought that she was trying to read on a ship. “Then he threatened Sirius! I think. Sort of.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that the Wizengamot could revoke guardianship if there was a lack of care.”

A chill ran through Hermione. “He’s planning to move against you both in the Wizengamot.”

“What?”

“If Sirius doesn’t listen to him he’s going to tell the Wizengamot that he’s not taking proper care of you.”

“He can’t do that!” Harry pushed himself off the table and looked desperately at Hermione. “He’s my legal guardian. He’s loads better than the Dursleys.”

“He can’t prove it either,” Hermione. “You are clothed, fed, educated, healed, and have mind healing appointments. Your room is decorated. You are demonstrably happier and healthier. As heir to House Potter, you’ve started to care for your accounts. There’s no cause for Dumbledore to have you removed.”

“He’s done a worse job,” Harry said hotly.

“Andy’s made a list,” Hermione said. “If Dumbledore moves against Sirius she’ll move against him.”

“Already?”

“She started making it before we got you out.”

“Against Dumbledore?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why? Shouldn’t she have been worrying about Voldemort?”

“Dumbledore is powerful, wants control, and is overly involved in your life. She found that concerning.”

Harry kicked at a chair, processing this.

“Are you comfortable with telling people about what your Aunt and Uncle did?”

Harry puffed up like a cat.

“That’s a no then.”

“Will I have to?” He sounded horrified.

“No, of course not. It might just be the easiest way forward.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Wizengamot are mostly from pureblood, old families with anti-muggle prejudices. If it comes out that Dumbledore placed an heir to an old family into a muggle, magic-hating family they will punish him for that. Not to mention that he’s currently going up against the minister and doesn’t hold any political power currently.”

“Wouldn’t that just make them hate muggles more?”

“But it would stop Dumbledore.”

“Who hasn’t done anything yet.”

“That’s debatable.”

It was strange, the dangers Dumbledore had allowed to happen in his school. Even more so the insistence of keeping Harry at the Dursleys. There had to be a reason. What could only be stopped by sacrificial protections?

A row of shelves lit up. Hermione ignored it. It would keep.

That wasn’t what was bothering her. It was something else. What had Dumbledore done?

She absently pulled a piece of parchment toward herself. She numbered it as she went along. There was someone - who Dumbledore thought was Voldemort - trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. Dumbledore removes it from Gringotts and stores it in Hogwarts protected by challenges that a trio of first-year students can get through. Well, that wasn’t quite right, was it? That Harry can get through. Ron and Hermione are left behind. Harry must face the end by himself. An end he already is familiar with thanks to his wanderings over the Christmas holidays.

Why design a labyrinth of challenges as a means to hide and protect the stone? Each challenge was beatable. Snape, if he was truly working for Dumbledore, would have first-hand experience of how powerful and smart Voldemort was. Did he know what the logic puzzle was for when he designed it? Did McGonagall? Surely there were better ways to protect the stone and still make it accessible to Dumbledore. A Fidelius Charm? Can you treat the stone like a house?

Second year. The basilisk. If she was in charge of protecting the students, what would she have done? Address everyone? Protect the muggle-borns in a meaningful way? Call in the first petrification to the Ministry? There are so few things that can petrify someone. Even less at a school for children. The only answers were so incredibly dangerous that it seemed to be intentionally choosing to under respond and not a case of simple neglect.

Dementors weren’t Dumbledore’s fault. That was Ministry arrogance. Sirius hadn’t been his fault either. What had Dumbledore done that year? Hired Remus. Why? Objectively he was one of their best teachers ever, blowing away other DADA teachers easily. Which was odd, considering Quirrell and Lockheart. On the other hand, Quirrell wasn’t terrible, besides the whole Voldemort possession, and Lockheart was supposed to be good. But why Remus? Why then? The same year as Sirius breaking out? Coincidence?

“I think the Weasleys are here,” Harry said. “It’s quidditch time.”

“Have fun,” Hermione said absently. She was this close to finding the house elves' original name. She could feel it.

—

“You bloody knob of a -” Ron’s voice carried over the grounds.

Harry kept his eye on the three-person chase happening in the sky less to laugh at Ron pursuing Fred and George and more to avoid looking at Ginny. Not looking didn’t stop the bubble of words and he found himself continuing to spill the thoughts spinning around his head. “Hermione says that he’s going to try to take me away from Sirius. I just want him to leave me alone.”

“Sirius will stop him.” Ginny gazed up at the sky as well.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how bad it was.”

“I thought the Durseleys weren’t that bad?”

Harry fought the instinct to hide. To run. To hop on his broom and never look back.

“Anyway, does it matter?” Ginny asked, serious enough to match Harry’s mood that he wasn’t upset about her asking.

“What do you mean?” Surely she could see that Dumbledore should care, that he should feel sorry, that he -

“He hasn’t cared, so you shouldn’t plan your next moves like he’s going to,” Ginny ran her hand down her broomstick.

“But -”

“Harry,” Ginny looked him in the eye, “he’s never cared.”

First year, Harry faced down a madman in Hogwarts. No one else was going to stop him. Why was the stone at Hogwarts at all? There were children there.

Second year, Ginny was possessed and taken into a chamber. It shouldn’t have gotten to that point.

Third year, there were dementors on the grounds. Snape had put together what was happening. Dumbledore hadn’t. Or had he? He had given Hermione permission to use the time-turner. Shouldn’t have he wanted to keep them in the hospital wing?

Fourth year.

“What does he want?” Harry grabbed at the grass around him, pulling it up in handfuls. “Why does he say he cares and then he does things like this?”

“Control,” Ginny said.

Harry looked at her, lost.

“I’ve thought a lot about my first year,” Ginny said. “There were students petrified, Harry. There are very few things that can cause that. All of them are very, very bad. Maybe the first one isn’t cause to ask for help but once the second happens? The third? That’s when you call in the Ministry or warders or Aurors. You don’t let your students stay in danger. If Dumbledore cared more about us than he cared about keeping control he would have called for help.

“He’s trying to control everything now too,” Ginny said, looking out at the yard. “You said he wants you to back him up. He wants the public to see that you are a team. One that he’s leading.”

“We need his help,” Harry said, ready to argue. “He’s the only one Voldemort is scared of.”

“Says who?” Ginny’s voice was flat. “Voldemort hasn’t. Sure, Dumbledore is a powerful duelist and Voldemort has yielded a few times, but scared? No.”

Harry ripped up more grass. “What do you think I should do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I would help turn the public against him. He shouldn’t be in charge of a school. He shouldn’t be responsible for protecting children,” Ginny said.

“I don’t want to lie,” Harry said angrily. “Voldemort did come back. No one seems to think that’s important.”

“I know, Harry, I know. It’s so important. You don’t need to lie. You should tell the truth. Tell them the whole truth. Tell them what the Durselys were like. Tell them what Dumbledore is like. You don’t have to start anything but if the press or a friend asks, why should you lie? To protect a man who has done nothing to protect you?”

“You don’t like him.”

“No, I don’t. I know that Voldemort is evil. I know Dumbledore is against him. Why does that automatically make him good? If we look at what he’s actually done, is even good at doing that?”

Harry thought about this, the closer he tried to look at Dumbledore’s actions the harder it was to think. He felt kind of floaty, like his brain was a long way away from his eyes.

“Harry,” Ginny said. Harry looked at her. “Someone other than you should have been able to find me. Someone other than you should have saved me. Someone other than Hermione should have been able to put together the fact that it was a basilisk.”

Harry couldn’t disagree with that but couldn’t find it in him to be angry. He just felt tired.

“I just want to be normal.” The confession felt like he was admitting defeat.

“Well,” Ginny said after a long pause. “Considering your face I don’t think that was ever on the table.”

“Hey!” Harry shoved at her shoulder until Ginny toppled over into the grass, laughing.

“I think you are normal,” Ginny said, catching her breath. “Most of everything that’s ever happened to you hasn’t been your fault. It’s also normal to wish it hadn’t happened.”

“I’m never going to be normal,” Harry grumbled.

“Probably not,” Ginny said. “On the bright side, you could probably get a lot more free things than you are currently getting.”

“Like what?”

Ginny led him on an imagined ride of product testing and grateful company marketing teams.

“Where did you even come up with this?” Harry’s ribs ached from laughter. What did he need a hair growth potion for anyway? He had too much as it was.

“Fred and George,” Ginny said. “They’re dead useful for trivia.”

“Huh,” Harry laid back on the grass. Ron still hadn’t caught whichever twin had his keeper gloves.

Ginny fell back as well.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry said softly.

“Any time,” She patted his arm, missing and hitting the space between his bicep and his ribs. “Just give me a cut of the free products.”

—

“That was a productive meeting,” Mrs. Tonks said, neatly cutting her fish.

“If you say so,” Tonks munched on a french fry.

“How was it productive?” Harry was glaring at his plate. Hermione recognized that stare as it had been previously caused by either Snape or Malfoy. “We don’t know what Voldemort’s doing, Dumbledore is ignoring me, nobody else seems to care that Voldemort’s back, and we didn’t make any plans.”

“Except for the Werewolf thing,” Sirius cut in happily.

“That is a significant step forward.” Ted scooped up a piece of fried batter and popped it into his mouth.

“Fine, the werewolf thing is good,” Harry crossed his arms and glared at the table. “The rest of the meeting was useless. We didn’t even talk about Voldemort.”

“Normal,” Sirius declared. “The Order is usually more reactive than proactive. If Voldemort moves, we will counter it. If he doesn’t, we will be ready.”

“Voldemort has already moved,” Harry picked up a french fry and put it down. “He killed Cedric.”

“And then disappeared,” Mrs. Tonks said with disapproval. “Just enough to make a statement, not enough to plunge the country back into war.”

“How is that not enough?” Harry pushed his seat back from the table and began to pace.

Hermione flicked her eyes toward the adults, no one seemed upset with Harry. She slowly took a bite of fish and looked back toward Harry.

“It’s group psychology,” Ted said. “You see it all across cultures and times. People stick with what they know. Right now, they know peace.”

Harry ignored this and carried on. “Dumbledore’s ignoring me -”

“He’s not listening to us either, mate. We know you like it here. The Weasleys know you like it here. The Wizengamot will listen too.”

“Well, yes, no, I wasn’t -” Tonks’s interjection had knocked Harry off his groove. “He won’t look at me.”

“What?” Sirius was paying attention now.

“Dumbledore,” Harry said. “He won’t look at me, he won’t talk to me, and if I said something, he ignored it.”

Sirius and Mrs. Tonks exchanged glances.

“He’s pretending you don’t exist?” Tonks asked, confused.

Harry shrugged helplessly. Hermione saw her opportunity and took advantage. “Your french fries are getting cold, Harry.”

He flopped back into his seat and picked up his fork moodily. “You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t,” Mrs. Tonks said. “I noticed it too, I had thought Dumbledore was ashamed.”

“You don’t think that’s it?” Sirius asked Harry.

Harry shook his head, chewing on his dinner.

“I don’t know what it’s about,” Sirius looked to Mrs. Tonks again who shook her head, “but we’ll keep watching for it Harry.”

“Speaking of Dumbledore,” Ted said, “what’s our plan?”

“The Wizengamot won’t be a problem,” Mrs. Tonks said confidently. She looked toward Harry and Hermione. “It will take a couple of days if Dumbledore opens a full hearing for it and it will very well turn into a circus, but it won’t amount to anything bad happening.”

“You’re sure?” Harry gripped a french fry, nearly crushing it.

“Very,” Andy said. “You have centuries upon centuries of legislature on your side. Besides, he’s not attacking you, he’s attacking House Black which has centuries and centuries of wins on its side as well.”

This seemed to settle Harry a bit.

“It’s the media that will be the problem,” Sirius said softly. “Our lawyers are standing by. As minors you should already be kept out of the news.”

Hermione couldn’t help the snort.

“Hence the lawyers,” Sirius said with a humourless smile. “It’ll take some time to blow over, but as long as we aren’t doing anything scandalous it will mainly focus on Dumbledore.”

“Doesn’t he know what will happen?” Harry asked.

“It’s going to be a knockdown,” Tonks said. “Mom versus Dumbledore. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Mom’s always flown under the radar.”

“I don’t know if breaking from the family and running away with me can count as flying under the radar,” Ted teased, grinning at his wife. To Hermione’s shock, a hint of a blush was blooming on Mrs. Tonks’s cheeks.

“Fine then,” Tonks seemed to think this was normal. “Mom hasn’t flown under the radar. Dumbledore’s just misidentified her as not a threat.”

“I wonder what Lucius is thinking right now?” Sirius said with a grin.

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“He’s married to my sister,” Mrs. Tonks said. “He’s also politically savvy enough to know what’s coming.”

“He’s probably giggling himself to sleep, the sleazy slimeball,” Tonks said. “As Mad-Eye says, the enemy of my enemy is also my enemy.”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE,” Harry banged on the table. Hermione jumped and then got swept up into the laughter. It was one of the nicer dinners she’d had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Charlie and Bill were both home, Hermione realised with a jolt. The two brothers were sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back in their seats, laughing uproariously at something the twins had said.

“Hi Hermione,” Fred and George said in chorus.

“Hello!” Hermione said. “Are Ron and Harry here?”

“Ron went upstairs with Harry to show him something,” Bill said. “I think he was going to change into quidditch clothes after.”

“I’ll wait for them down here then,” Hermione peered around them into the kitchen. “Is Ginny here?”

“At Luna’s, unfortunately,” Charlie kicked out the seat next to him. “Have a seat.”

“We were just telling Charlie about Bowtruckle Run,” George said. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“It is a bit unbelievable,” Hermione admitted. “I didn’t know you were going to be home, Charlie.”

“It was kind of last minute,” Charlie didn’t look excited at the prospect but still put a grin on his face. “Mum liked the surprise I think.”

“Hasn’t even gone in about your earring yet,” Bill tugged at the dragon fang dangling from Charlie’s ear. Charlie elbowed him in the side.

“Hermione, maybe you can provide an accurate description of the place,” Charlie said. “Does it really have eyeballs in the walls?”

Hermione’s gut instinct was to say no but she saw the twin’s faces. Polite grins, like they knew what was coming. Then she remembered the wallpaper.

“On the second floor,” she gave a shiver. “It’s creepy. They’re always watching. I think the weirdest part is how it matches the decor.”

“You’re not joking,” Bill said, leaning forward.

Hermione shook her head with a grin.

Fred and Geroge looked pleasantly surprised.

“Do you think Sirius would let us turn the big staircase into a slide?” George suddenly asked, “We just found out about muggle water parks.”

“He’d probably help.”

“Have you been to one?” Fred asked excitedly.

“I haven’t been to a big one or anything, but I’ve been on a water slide,” Hermione said and was promptly inundated by questions.

“We could charm the water,” George argued. “It wouldn’t make a mess.”

“Like their library,” Hermione chimed in excitedly. “I think it’s ward-based.”

“The library?” Bill asked.

“At Bowtruckle Run! It’s amazing and beautiful and gives you exactly what you need. There’s a section of books with wood covers that live in a little forest. I’ve only ever been able to find it at dusk. There’s a little pond and a river. The water doesn’t start anywhere and disappears. I can never figure out where it goes.”

Bill swore under his breath, “For the record, that is some complex magic. Complex enough, Hermione, that you should probably be careful who you’re telling it to.”

“Sorry,” Hermione felt her face flush.

“Not a big deal,” Bill said. “It’s not like any of us are going to do anything sinister now that we know about it.”

“You’ve been basically living there,” George offered a change of topic which Hermione did her best to accept with grace.

“I’ve been researching House Elves.”

Fred groaned, “Not this again.”

“I wanted to know where they come from and how the oaths binding them to families work.”

“I can explain that, if you want,” Bill offered.

“Where they come from?”

“How the oaths work.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, “no I understand how they work, I meant more of how the oaths started. Or evolved. Why are they necessary in the first place?”

“So they can keep their master’s secrets,” Charlie offered but he looked uncomfortable saying it. Good.

“When did that become necessary? Why is that standard? What creature evolves where it benefits the species that they can be ordered to do anything?”

Charlie was leaning into the table face grim.

“The Hogwarts library doesn’t have a lot,” Hermione continued. “Everyone thought I was crazy, for thinking it was wrong and there was nothing to prove that I was right. That it couldn’t have always been this way and even if it had, it was wrong. The Black Library? I think it has everything. Including records of the fact that house-elves weren’t always bound to their families. They didn’t always serve. They didn’t always obey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you heard of Hobs?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, “they died out a long time ago. They used to occupy people’s houses and protect them in exchange for - oh dear Merlin.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip.

“Occupy their houses?” George looked confused.

“They were quite violent,” Charlie murmured, looking shell-shocked. “What went wrong?”

“Hey, the Goblins can be quite violent as well and I wouldn’t describe them as being wrong,” Bill butt in, looking uncomfortable.

“They should have been able to defend themselves,” Charlie ignored his brother.

“Not if they were bound,” Hermione looked down at the goosebumps running up her arms.

“You’re saying Hobs are house elves,” Fred said.

“They used to be,” Hermione said. “As far as I can tell something big happened. Before, some families were lucky enough to have Hobs that were benevolent. Afterwards, people had house-elves that served the family line.”

“When did it happen?” Charlie asked angrily.

“I don’t know,” some of the frustration of the past month bleeding out in Hermione’s huff. “It wasn’t like anyone was writing down a timeline of the Hobs. They were so common! Why write down something that everyone knew?”

“I wonder if the Goblins have records,” Bill said. “At some point house elves would have started being listed as property.”

Hermione scowled.

“I’m not saying it’s right,” Bill added on.

“What sources have you tried?”

“I’ve got two Hogwarts A History, they mention house-elves by name but the dates conflict. There are descriptions of house-elves in Merlin’s times but they match the description of Hobs, not the house-elves of today. That was written more recently, the last three hundred years or so. I don’t trust any of the authors to care or be unbiased. There are a couple of old bestiaries, I don’t think they were published, I think they were someone’s personal records. Hobs are mentioned briefly but they also list house-elves as separate entities. The rest of it is word analysis. Sources written or translated from Merlin’s time don’t contain the words house elf. They use the word Hob. Today’s sources are certain that Hobs and house elves are two different things but also seem certain that house elves have always existed.”

“So you’re not sure,” George said, unimpressed. “Every Care of Magical Creatures text book I’ve had has listed Hobs and house elves as two different things. Are you saying that they are all wrong?”

“I’m saying,” Hermione said, glaring at George, “that there is a complete lack of information about where house-elves come from. No one knows when the first house elf appeared. Or what their natural habitat looks like. Or where wizard-house elf bonds came from. If a source exists, I haven’t been able to find it.”

The group digested this in silence.

“So, what now?” Bill asked.

“The wizarding world is not prepared to accept the fact that house-elves are sentient beings that deserve and have rights comparable to us,” Hermione said with another dark glare. “My last school year is proof enough.”

“Proof of what?” Ron and Harry came clomping down the stairs.

“That it is easier to accept slave labour than to recognize the cruelty of one’s own actions.”

“Not this again,” Ron groaned. “Hermione, house elves like the work. They get upset if they aren’t allowed to do it.”

“Why?” Hermione nearly screeched. “Is it the wizarding oaths of loyalty forced upon them? The fact they will get punished if they don’t do their chores? Does it matter? We shouldn’t treat someone like that. They have rights.”

“They don’t want to be paid,” Ron said, crossing his arms.

“They don’t want to be abused either!” Hermione crossed her arms. “I don’t get why that doesn’t bother anyone. No one wanted to talk to me about this last year, everyone would rather say it’s just the way things are and not think about it!”

“I can ask around at the reserve,” Charlie said, stepping in. “See if anyone there knows how it happened.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Hermione said, ignoring a sputtering Ron. “That means a lot. I didn’t even think to look for non-British sources.”

“Are house elves only a British thing?” George asked as he stood from the table.

“Sort of,” Bill said, standing as well. “Wherever there’s been a large British presence there seems to be some house elves.”

“That’s a surprise,” Hermione said drily, standing as well to follow the group outside.

“Are you going to play?” Charlie asked, surprised.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said. “I don’t know how to fly.”

“Didn’t you have a class at Hogwarts?” Charlie asked.

“I only got off the ground once,” Hermione said with a blush.

“Do you want to learn?” Charlie asked. “It’s a good skill to have. Bill and I have taught the rest of everyone here.”

“I don’t like heights,” Hermione said. That wasn’t strictly true but hopefully Charlie would leave it at that.

“Does the broom at least listen to you?” Charlie asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Can we change that, at least?” Charlie said. “You don’t have to actually take off.”

Hermione hesitated, normally she would get out of anything Quidditch-related or flying-related as soon it was brought up. Harry and Ron had offered and been turned down many, many times. They’d stopped asking at this point. However, it would be nice to know that she could fly if she needed to and she wouldn’t need to actually go up high. Hermione met Charlie’s very, very blue eyes and crooked grin and found herself agreeing.

“Charlie,” Ron called. “Come on!”

“I’m going to sit this one out,” Charlie said. “Hermione needs to know how to fly.”

“Good luck with that!” Ron scoffed.

Well, that decided it, didn’t it? She was going to have to learn how to fly.

Charlie summoned his broom with his hand out, like a Jedi. “What they don’t tell you is that flying is just wandless magic.”

“What?” Hermione exclaimed. No one had told her this.

“Just like a wand focuses and concentrates your magic, so does a broom,” Charlie let his broom fall to the ground. “Brooms, just like wands, can only be made out of specific woods. Different woods have different properties.”

This. Was. Fascinating.

Charlie put his hand out over the broom, “Up!”

The broom snapped up into his hand.

“All you need to do is know it’s going to work,” Charlie said. “You don’t even have to say up, though it helps focus your intent.”

“What does your magic feel like when you do it?”

“I can feel it gathering,” Charlie said, thinking about it. “Like it does before I cast a spell. Then it flows through my hands.”

Before Hermione had a wand, before she knew she was a witch, before she’d gotten her letter, Hermione had cast wandless magic all the time. Professor McGonagall had called it accidental magic. Once Hermione had learned that it was illegal, she’d stopped immediately. It hadn’t changed the fact that her “accidental magic” had been on purpose, without the characteristic burst of emotions that was typical of accidental magic. She’d done that too, of course. All magical children did. They were children after all, they were going to lose control every now and then. The purposeful and frequent levitation of books off of shelves did not count.

She hadn’t done it in a long time now, nearly 5 years, but the rush of magic gathering in her navel and spilling into her arms brought back familiar and happy memories.

“Up!” Hermione commanded. The broom smacked into her palm. She fumbled and dropped it.

“You got it!” Charlie said laughing. “I knew you’d be able to do it. You’re too good at magic to not be able to.”

“I did drop it,” Hermione said, blushing.

“That’s more of an athletic problem,” Charlie said. “A non-issue as long as you were truthful about not wanting to play quidditch.”

Hermione paled, “No thank you.”

Charlie’s laugh made her stomach drop, it was terrible and wonderful all at once. “Then you’re good. Are you sure you don’t want to try flying? I could fly double with you, that’s what we did for Percy and George.”

Hermione looked up to where the others were zooming around on brooms and hesitated.

“I won’t go fast,” Charlie said. “I won’t go too high either. I just think everyone should go up on a broom at least once. You never know when knowing how to fly will come in handy.”

This was a bad idea.

“Sure,” she heard herself saying. “If you promise not to go too high.”

Damn his blue eyes. Oh God, this was going to be so awkward, what was she thinking, Ron was going to see, the Twins were going to see, equally bad for different reasons and she was never going to hear the end of this. Charlie didn’t actually want to do this, he was just being nice.

“Ready?” Charlie was straddling his broom.

Hermione’s face must have shown her panic. Luckily for her, he took it as her supposed fear of heights.

“It’s going to be ok, Hermione, I won’t let you fall,” Charlie wasn’t holding the broom, it was already floating and he was sitting on it. He drifted lower to the ground. “We do this at the reserve sometimes.”

“Really?” She edged closer to the broom.

“Except it is usually two of us my size and we don’t fit very well,” Charlie looked her over. “You’re small enough that it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Where do I - ?” Hermione awkwardly gestured to herself.

“You can be in front of me, which might be better if you’re actually scared of falling. You could be the one to steer if you're in front. If that’s too close to me or you don’t want to have to lean over the broomstick you could get on behind me.”

“I want to be able to see,” Hermione said. She would get carsick if she couldn’t see.

“In front you go then,” Charlie said. “I won’t let the broom move.”

That might be the oddest part of all of this. The broom might as well be a stone wall. Hermione had been expecting it to bob, like driftwood in the ocean, and the fact that it didn't make her feel even more unsteady than if it had been moving.

“Here you go,” Charlie gently tugged her back until she was sitting right in front of him. “Ready?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Where do I -?”

Thankfully, Charlie didn’t seem fazed by her endless questions about things that seemed to come naturally to everyone else, “Here.”

“It’s like a mountain bike,” Hermione said.

“Sort of,” Charlie said. “The angle is similar, at least on this kind of broom. Have you been mountain biking?”

“My parents like outdoorsy things,” Hermione said. “I went biking once with them, I didn’t like it.”

“Why not?” Charlie nudged the broom up a bit and Hermione tensed. Nothing bad happened. They didn’t drop out of the sky.

“I didn’t like going so fast, I felt out of control.”

He hummed his understanding, “Do you want to go any higher?”

She looked around, they were level with the lowest branches of the trees nearby. Falling from this height would be survivable. “No, thank you.”

“Do you want to take a loop? We could go around the pitch?”

“Can we go slow?”

“Sure,” Charlie said. “What other outdoorsy things have you done with your parents?”

“We go skiing sometimes, lots of hiking, kayaking on the river,” Hermione made a conscious effort to relax her hands. They wouldn’t let go at first.

“Deep breath,” Charlie prompted

She took a deep breath and went back to holding it. It was keeping her calm.

“I feel like we are going to drop out of the sky,” Hermione admitted after a minute of silence. “It feels like it shouldn’t work.”

“You just have to trust the broom,” Charlie said. “The more nervous you are the harder it is to fly.”

“Lovely,” Hermione muttered, adjusting her grip again.

They were barely moving, drifting gently through the air.

“Hermione!” Ginny called, giving them lots of room as she swooped slowly around them. “You’re in the air!”

“Technically,” Hermione agreed.

“Charlie’s a good teacher,” Ginny reassured her hurriedly, seeing her expression. “He won’t let you fall.”

Harry buzzed past, far away enough that Hermione wasn’t expecting the wind from his path to sweep her hair back. She flinched, Charlie taking a hand off the broom to steady her.

“Nope,” Hermione said, pulling his hand back to the broomstick. “You’re gonna fall and then I’m gonna fall.”

“We aren’t going to fall,” Charlie said, “I’ll show you.”

Thankfully, Charlie’s descent was slow enough that Hermione couldn’t feel it in her stomach. They stopped, about two feet from the ground.

“Ready?” Charlie asked. He sat upright, no hands on the broom. The broom didn’t waver, as solid and unmoving as the ground.

Hermione stared at her hands. There was a greater distance between their bodies now, she could sit up without overthinking it. “You’re not going to move?”

“No,” Charlie said. “Not until you tell me to.”

Hermione sat up, carefully. The broom didn’t move. Charlie gave her room and she looked around them cautiously, “It’s a lot of balancing, isn’t it?”

“Core and legs,” Charlie agreed. “That’s what will keep you on a broom. Your arms are more there to steer and to keep you from pitching off the front. They should be the least sore at the end of the day if you're only going flying.”

Ginny and Harry spiralled around each other, neatly avoiding each other as they crisscrossed in the sky.

“We aren’t going to fall?” A daring impulse rising up in her.

“I won’t let us,” Charlie promised.

“Ok,” Hermione said.

“Ok?” Charlie leaned forward and put his arms back around her as he positioned his hands on the broom stick “Are you sure?”

“If you go now,” Hermione swore as the broom ascended. Logically she knew Charlie wouldn’t go that fast if he was trying to convince her to like flying but it felt like they were hurtling through the air.

Charlie steered them in a loop, moving faster and faster.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope,” Hermione began to chant.

“Breathe, Hermione,” He ordered, one hand leaving the broom to loop around her waist. “We’re fine.”

“Fancy seeing you up here,” Fred flew into the space next to them, keeping pace with them.

“Nope,” Hermione said again. “I don’t like this. I was right. This was bad.”

“We’ll finish the loop and then go down,” Charlie said, amused. “Are you sure you don’t want to try steering?”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Hermione said, one hand white-knuckling on the broom and the other ending up digging into Charlie’s arm.

Charlie laughed again and steered them back toward where they’d come from. They were moving faster than Hermione had ever moved on a broom before.

“Ready?” Charlie asked.

Hermione swore again as she recognized the tone from Fred and George. Charlie tilted the broom down and Hermione gave up on holding onto the broom and latched both hands onto Charlie.

Charlie was still laughing, the jerk, “You can get off if you want.”

“I don’t think I can move,” She was shaking, she could feel it.

“Here we go,” Charlie stood up, swinging his leg over the broom and hauling her off with him.

She sunk to the ground, never before had she so appreciated the solidness of the ground. Her legs felt like they didn’t have any blood in them.

“Oh you really didn’t like that did you?”

“No,” Hermione said, clutching at the grass. “Brooms shouldn’t work. I am not meant to fly.”

“Hermione!” Ginny called down. “How was it?”

Hermione shook her head and Ginny cackled. The smile she gave her took the sting out of it.

“Is it the height?” Ginny swung down, hanging from her knees off of her broom. Her hair swept the ground, tangling in the grass. Hermione reached to tap the broom. It didn’t move.

“I don’t mind heights,” Hermione said, grateful her voice wasn’t shaking. “It’s- I- It’s unnatural, brooms. It doesn’t make sense that they just stay there, in the air. It looks like it should fall.”

“You were floating up in the air when I came home,” Harry said, amused. “Why was that different?”

“That was my spell, I was making myself float. I don’t make brooms work.”

“Hermione! You flew!” Ron touched down and pushed back off the ground again, toes skimming the ground.

“Barely,” Ginny shot another grin over at her. “I’m not sure it counts.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Ron asked. “Do you want to go again?”

“No thanks, Ron,” Hermione said. She wasn’t ready to stand yet, much less get off the ground again.

“Please, Hermione?” Ron said. “We’ve only been trying to get you on a broom since second year.”

“I don’t want to, Ron.”

“Come on, Hermione. I won’t let you fall.”

“I’m done with flying Ron,” Hermione said. “Besides it’s not that I’m worried about you letting me fall, I don’t trust the broom.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said, grinning. “Come on then.”

“Ron,” Hermione shook her head again, conscious of everyone watching them. “I don’t want to fly.”

“Hermione, I’ve been trying to get you to fly for years,” Ron nudged his broom closer to her. Hermione pushed to her feet.

“Not today, Ron.”

“You flew with Charlie,” Ron said, ears starting to flush.

“And I didn’t like it. I knew I wouldn’t and I didn’t. I don’t want to try it again.”

“So you only went up because of Charlie,” Ron said, sneering. “The prophet was right, wasn’t it? You do have a thing for older guys.”

All hell broke loose. Hermione’s stomach dropped to her feet. Ginny lunged for Ron. Harry was closer and swung, hitting Ron in the nose. Ron toppled off his broom landing at the feet of Fred and George who had swung themselves to the ground, beet red with anger.

Hermione remained frozen, cheeks heating while her mind stalled.

“What the hell?” Ron demanded, his hand coming away bloody.

“Say it again,” Harry’s voice was low and angry.

Ginny was trying to twist out of Bill’s grip whose face was set to a grim blankness masquerading as calm.

“Hermione?” Charlie came toward her. Hermione’s heart stuttered, dropping to her toes and she dropped her gaze to study the grass. If everyone would stop looking at her, if everyone would stop yelling, if she could move, she could leave and if she could leave then everyone would stop looking at her and maybe Ron wouldn’t say whatever he was about to say.

“I said,” Ron said pushing to his feet, “that the prophet was -”

Harry tackled him and they fell to the ground, a tangle of limbs and fists. Fred and George took a step back to give Harry room to roll on top of Ron.

“Hermione?” Charlie was standing in front of her and that was pity in his eyes and oh god he read the prophet too, didn’t he?

“I didn’t cheat on Harry,” is what came spilling out of her mouth. Mrs. Tonks said that she should try and control her reactions to other people’s behaviour and she was failing miserably. “We weren’t dating and Victor asked me. I didn’t, I wouldn’t, Mrs. Weasley thought -”

“So you’re picking her then?” Ron was on his feet now, covered in grass stains.

“What do you mean picking her?” Harry was breathing hard, cradling his knuckles in the other hand.

“You want to be her friend,” Ron spat. “Of course.”

“What do you mean?” Harry threw his hands up. “Of course, I’m going to- to- to say something when you call Hermione a -”

“But I didn’t,” Ron yelled. “It’s just what the prophet said. If she didn’t want to fly, why did she let Charlie take her?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Ronald I swear to the Bloody Baron that if you do not shut up and apologise right now,” Ginny was struggling to remove her shoes that were stuck to the ground, Bill safely pocketing Ginny’s wand that he’d wrestled out of her hand.

George had looped around the mess to Hermione. “Do you want to go inside?”

“I didn’t,” Hermione tried to find her words. “I wouldn’t.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” George said firmly. “We were there Hermione. Ron’s talking rubbish.”

“You always side with her!” Ron exploded.

Except that wasn’t true, was it? Hermione found her words.

“Because you’ve been such a good friend?” Ron and Harry pivoted to look at her. “You blow up at any inconvenience, you blame Harry and I for any time we have something you can’t afford, you’re jealous, you abandon us at your convenience and then pretend nothing happened. I spent an entire semester begging you to help me, to help Harry, to believe us. You insult me every chance you get. You’ve been horrible to us, Ron. You’ve been terrible to me. Even if you’d spotted I was a girl before the week of the ball, I would have said no!”

George kept pace beside Hermione as she banged the door open to the kitchen, she didn’t know what he said to his mother but she didn’t stop to find out.

“Hermione!” Charlie was right behind her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s not your fault,” she fumbled for the floo powder. Oh God, she was going to cry. “I shouldn’t have gone flying.”

“That’s not the problem here,” George said darkly.

Ginny must have gotten free because the flesh-hitting-flesh sound of her slap connecting with Ron’s face was clear even in the living room. Mrs. Weasley was now moving toward the door, calling for her children.

“I knew he wouldn’t like it,” Hermione found the floo powder and continued to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

“Hermione,” Harry came through the door, his broom slung over his shoulder. “I’m coming too.”

Hermione threw the floo powder into the Floo, called for her parents' house as her voice broke, and then tumbled into the green flames.

She landed on the rug in front of her parent’s fireplace, crying and covered in soot. Luckily, her parents were still at work.

She stayed on the rug, suddenly exhausted, tears dripping down her cheeks to her ears.

Her fireplace flared green and Harry stepped out, sans broom. “I told Sirius where I was.”

Harry stayed until she no longer needed to hold her breath to stop crying.

Harry stayed while she called her parents to ask if he could stay for dinner.

Harry took his time as he looked through her parent’s movie collection, carefully selecting three choices before giving her the final choice.

Harry got her laughing as they popped popcorn on the stove and the ball of embarrassment and anger buried in her gut shrank.

It wasn’t all right, what Ron had said. It wasn’t okay that Skeeter had set all of Wizarding Britain on her. It wasn’t appropriate for Mrs. Weasley to treat her the way she did.

Tomorrow was going to be awkward, they were all going to have to go tutoring and Merlin knew Mrs. Tonks was going to want to talk about this. Right now, with Harry intently watching the movie and working his way through the bowl of popcorn and her parents talking in the kitchen as the sounds of pots hitting the stove filtered in above the movie music, it felt like it was going to be okay despite all of that.

Chapter Text

“And then Sirius said that he’d let us know if Dumbledore did anything today, but I can’t stop worrying that something bad’s going to happen.”

Edward finished writing a second after Harry finished speaking. “It sounds like you’ve had an eventful week.”

“I don’t think it’s going to slow down at all,” Harry couldn’t stop his foot from bouncing.

“Alright,” Edward clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “Let’s break this down into more manageable pieces. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you have multiple stressors happening all at once: your and Ron’s relationship, Hermione and Ron’s relationship, Mrs. Weasley’s treatment of Hermione last year, Dumbledore's agenda, the Wizengamot, and dealing with the public’s opinion on all of this.”

“Sounds right,” Harry said glumly.

“That’s only six things.”

Harry looked up incredulously.

“How many players does quidditch strategy account for.”

“Seven.”

“Total?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen. Six is less than fourteen. You can absolutely manage this. Now that we know it’s manageable we need to pick our strategies. What one do you want to start with?”

“What?” Harry asked bewildered.

“Ron, Hermione and Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Dumbledore, the Wizengamot, or the public’s opinion?” Edward ticked them off on his fingers.

“Public opinion,” even Harry didn’t know if it was a question or a statement.

“Right,” Edward leaned back and got out parchment and a quill. “Major worries.”

“It’s that -” they don’t believe me, died in his throat unsaid. That wasn’t really the problem, was it? It would be nice to be believed but all he wanted was to be left alone. What really bothered him was the lies. “I want the papers to tell the truth.”

“As a minor, House Black is responsible for your public reputation. There are clear slander and libel laws surrounding minors and noble houses. I believe that House Black has a solicitor on standby to deal with the papers.”

Harry nodded. They’d done quick work recently, his name hadn’t been in a headline once.

“Do you have any concerns with how Sirius or the solicitor has been handling this?”

Harry shook his head.

“Do you have any other concerns about public opinion?”

“School,” tumbled out before Harry could think about it. “No one will talk to me when something bad happens.”

“Tell me more,” Edward said.

Words spilled out of Harry, thoughts and feelings he hadn’t realised he’d had. “I don’t know what to do differently,” He concluded miserably.

“Let’s make a plan,” Edward said, a gleam in his reminding Harry vaguely of Oliver Wood before a practice.

The session went on in a similar fashion. It was exhausting and hard work, and reflective, and painful. It also flooded Harry with overwhelming relief every time he saw the growing list of plans that Edward was curating.

“This is our strategy,” Edward said, tapping his wand on the parchment and handing the original to Harry while keeping the copy. “I want you to focus on the plan. If you start worrying about something that we’ve planned for -” he shook the list at Harry - “go to the list. Go over the plan. Let it go. If it won’t leave yer brain, write it down. We’ll go over it next time.”

Harry nodded, drained and feeling a little shocked but in a good way.

“You good to be alone right now, Harry?”

“Hermione’s coming over.”

“Good,” Edward rose to his feet, somehow graceful despite all his bulk. “I will see you soon.”

--

“No one’s done this for a long time,” Andy said, contemplating the Wizengamot around them.

“Debate safety regulations?” Sirius looked doubtfully around them. The room was fuller than he expected.

“Broke away to form a third side in any meaningful way. It’s been even longer since the House of Black has done anything interesting.”

Sirius looked around at the members who had already taken their seats. They were all glancing at them, gossiping no doubt.

“Is that Mrs. Longbottom?” Sirius asked when he saw a familiar vulture hat. “I didn’t think that hat would survive that long.”

“Yes,” Andy said, without looking over. “With her grandson Neville. He’s in Harry’s year.”

Frank and Alice’s boy.

“What do you know about him?”

“Well,” Andy said drily, “according to Augusta he’s nothing like Frank.”

“He looks exactly like him,” Sirius said. “I’d put money on the fact he’ll hit seventh year and fill out, just like Frank.”

“Much to Alice’s delight, I’m sure.”

“And the quidditch team’s.”

Andy laughed, softly.

“What else does Augusta have to say?” Sirius wondered.

“Here they come,” Andy still wasn’t looking.

“How do you do that?” Andy always knew what was going to happen before it did.

“Mr. Black,” Augusta said. “Welcome to the Wizengamot. Have you met my grandson Neville?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom,” Sirius inclined his head but didn’t get up. “It’s nice to meet you, Neville. I’ve heard you’re friends with my godson.”

Neville opened his mouth to respond but Augusta cut him off with a scoff. “School acquaintances would be more accurate.”

Sirius kept his face carefully blank except for a mild smile. “Just as well, Harry can finally have friends over this summer so perhaps we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Augusta’s expression reminded Sirius of his mother, not a lot, not for long, but enough. Neville seemed to shrink in on himself, staring at his shoes.

“I’ve heard you are a natural at herbology Neville,” Andy said. Neville lit up.

“Thank you, Mrs. Tonk,” Neville said. “I’ve just bought a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, I’ve been looking for ages. It’s really quite -”

“Not now, Neville,” Augusta said with a sigh and smile that said what can you do? Sirius took a deep breath and hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“I would love to hear more about your Mimbulus Mimbletonia Neville,” Andy said the way only she could. “Augusta, you and Neville must join us for tea after. We are meeting Harry after the session.”

Sirius turned to Neville, “Your mother loved herbology, it’s no surprise to see her son taking after her.”

“Really?” Neville asked. “I didn’t know that. Did she-?”

“Come along, Neville,” Augusta said, already walking toward her seat. “It’s about to begin.”

Sirius and Andy shared dark looks.

“I wouldn’t force Harry into hanging out with anyone he doesn’t want to but we should see if he’d like to invite Neville over.”

“Duelling,” Sirius said. “I doubt Augusta is having him trained the way she was treating him. The son of Alice and Frank Longbottom? He’s going to be a target.”

Andy paled. “I didn’t think of that.”

Sirius lounged back in his chair. There were people watching closely. This was an early session in the season. They typically started with less divisive topics early in the season, safety, governmental structures and policies for noncontroversial departments, and international relationships with stable allies. It’s the first time the Black family will be voting and it won’t give much away about their future agenda.

As expected, the lectures and reports on candle melting points and cauldron bottom thickness were mind-numbingly boring. Sirius stood by his initial instinct that this was a perfect entry-level topic for the House of Black to have opinions on, he just wished that it was at all interesting. Unlike most of the issues brought to the floor, there was only really one side to the debates. There was a lot of data to show at what point these things became safe and at what point too much caution would impact their use. Much of it was common sense. There were a lot of people ready to speak. All of whom cared very much about all the little details.

“That’s a Weasley,” Andy murmured.

Sirius refocused on the speakers. A well-dressed red-headed young man with glasses was speaking, reading off a report about imported cauldrons and their inconsistency in bottom thicknesses.

“I thought we’d met all of the siblings who were in the country? That’s certainly not Charlie.”

“Percy,” Andy said, studying him. “He certainly knows what he’s talking about.”

“Hmmm,” Sirius said. The boy didn’t have any speaking skills. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He spoke well and was clear and loud enough for everyone to hear. He made eye contact with the Chief Warlock and a few others regularly. He didn’t seem to be aware that the rest of the Wizengamot wasn’t listening to him. He didn’t move from the podium and didn’t look around at the rest of the audience. His report was dry and factual. He cited laws and statutes and by-laws pompously. Sirius’s gut reflex was to throw a dung bomb and run. “He’s young to be speaking? Isn’t he?”

“Very,” Andy was seeing something that he wasn’t, judging by the piercing scan she was giving him. “Look at Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore wasn’t pretending to pay attention. No. He was following the speech with a slightly narrowed gaze, making eye contact even though Percy was judiciously avoiding acknowledging that side of the room. “That’s interesting.”

“He knows enough to be scared,” Andy mused. “Not enough to play the game with any sort of finesse.”

“He could be terrified with no options,” Sirius offered. He’d been there and fumbled the entire situation.

“Or is he just nervous?” Andy mused. Her posture was still perfect after three hours. Sirius had no idea how she was doing it.

“I will ask the Wizengamot to now show their support of my proposal to regulate -” This was the point where Percy should finish his sentence and let the Wizengamot move on. Instead, he summarised everything he’d just said. Sirius tuned him out and cast a look around him. Everyone looked how he felt: bored.

At Andy’s nudge, Sirius razed his wand and let his magic glow, the silver of House Black lighting up their seats. Slowly but surely most of the Wizengamot lit up as well, a good showing of house colours and family magics.

Thank goodness it was over. No matter how tea ends up going it couldn’t be worse than this.

--

Sirius, when given the choice, preferred to pretend that his childhood only consisted of his time at Hogwarts.

When not given the choice he focused on other people. James. Andy. Cissy. Reggie.

When forced to confront his childhood he would focus on the events his parents hosted and dragged him to. The endless tutoring. The constant tension in the house.

When the dementors lingered he’d remember the rest. The stinging hexes and no dinners. The constant criticism. The disappointment, the apathy, the hatred, the lack of privacy, the bruises, the magically enforced behaviour. Sirius was born a disappointment and would always be a disappointment. Anything he did would be met with derision and condensation. When he didn’t submit, when he pushed back by any means necessary to carve out a space to simply exist as he was, that’s when they started to hurt him. Never enough to do anything about, what could he do? He was underage , not until his sixteenth birthday.

There was something of his mother in Augusta Longbottom and his instinct was to hex first and ask questions later. Harry was picking up on it as well, slowly and surely angling himself away from the Longbottom matriarch and pulling Neville along the table with him.

Andy was taking on the herculean effort of conversing with Augusta. Ted was technically involved in the conversation as well but Augusta was talking over all of them, only allowing Andy to comment here and there as her stories trudged along.

Sirius was learning a lot of things from Augusta. Neville didn't get good grades. Neville couldn’t cast (almost was a squib, did you know?). Neville used his father’s wand and his mother’s book bag. Neville was in training to be Head of House much to his uncle’s displeasure and Augusta’s scepticism. Frank was both put on a pedestal and not talked about in any meaningful way. Sirius was seriously considering assault when Harry leaned over and asked if he and Neville could go get ice cream.

“We’ll come with you,” Sirius decided and motioned for Ted to stand as well. “It’s just down the street.”

They left Augusta and Andy behind as the women waved them off, deep in discussion.

“Can Neville come to my party?” Harry asked quietly, looking unsure.

“Of course,” Sirius said. “That would be good for both of you I think.”

Too quickly the ice cream was selected, bought, and eaten. Neville was swept up into Augusta’s wake. Sirius’s hand twitched toward his wand.

“He can come to tutoring too? Right?” Harry asked. “I didn’t bring it up, but can he? He shouldn’t be stuck at home the whole time.”

Sirius glanced at Andy who was too much of a lady to shrug in public. “Sure, kiddo. We can work something out.”

“Good,” Harry said. “He shouldn’t be alone.”

The knowing expression was altogether too much for Sirius and he cast about for something else to talk about. “Do you want to see if a snake would be happy even if you went to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said.

“What’s this now?” Andy said.

“Harry can speak to snakes,” Sirius made sure to keep his voice low. It wasn’t a secret but there was no need to cause another media storm.

Harry was watching Ted and Andy nervously.

“That’s a rare talent,” Andy said. “I wonder if there are any books from the library we should be utilising. Is this why there was a sudden increase in snake-related jewellery the other day?”

Harry’s shoulders came down and he snorted. “Sirius thought it was funny and I kind of like some of them.”

“They are nice,” Andy agreed. “After all they came from the Black vaults. I’m assuming that this isn’t a secret?”

“The whole school knows,” Harry said. “I don’t know if it made the papers, I was a second year.”

“They thought he was the Heir of Slytherin,” Sirius added helpfully.

“Fools,” Andy scoffed. “Do none of them know their genealogy?”

Harry laughed again, back to himself.

“I was thinking of the Magical Menagerie,” Sirius said, offering Andy his arm. Harry took off down the street, leading their group as he fell into a discussion with Ted.

“They aren’t staring as much,” Andy noted.

“It could be worse,” Sirius agreed. “I think only two mothers pulled their children away from me.”

“So back to normal then,” Harry called over his shoulder with a laugh.

Sirius clutched at his chest, “Betrayed! By my own godson.”

“Mum!”

“Nymphadora,” Andy smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a late lunch, heard you were in the area,” Tonk skipped to a stop near Harry, using his shoulder for balance as one of the soles of her chunky boots caught on the cobblestone. Ted caught her with skills that spoke to years of practice.

“We’ve already eaten, darling,” Andy said, “but you are more than welcome to join us.”

“We’re going to look at snakes,” Harry explained.

“Niccccccce,” Tonks said, her tongue forked and hissing.

Harry giggled, he was laughing more and more these days. Sirius felt something in him relax a little, he must be doing something right if Harry was laughing more. He’d always been giggling as a baby.

Harry and Tonks had started walking again. Harry said something that Sirius couldn’t hear and Tonks threw her head back to laugh. Harry seemed a little offended and as Tonks was waving her hands around to explain something, she nearly hit a passerby in the face. This set Harry off again while Tonks hastily apologised.

“I didn’t let myself picture this,” Andy admitted, her eyes on her daughter. “Not before you were arrested and certainly not once you were imprisoned.”

“Walking together in Diagon?” Sirius kept his voice light. They hadn’t talked about it.

“Having a family again,” Andy said, softly. “Tonks having cousins that wouldn’t sooner spit at her. I couldn’t give her that.”

“Dementors feed on positive emotions,” Sirius said, just as softly. “Hope was one of the first things to go.”

Andy tightened her hand on his arm.

“Hatred isn’t something dementors feed on. Anger. Sadness. They kept me sane. I am so very glad that they aren’t my reality,” He turned to Andy. “I could have done it. Could have survived on hatred and grief. This is much better.”

“We are Blacks,” Andy agreed. “We endure.”

Traditionally, that statement had honoured the long and twisted history of the Black family. Maybe they could make it mean more than that now. Something that wouldn’t have sent Sirius cringing away from any and all conversations about their families as a student.

---

Magical Menagerie had an entire wall of various kinds of snakes.

“Nothing poisonous,” Harry was telling Tonks. “I don’t want to be in charge of a dangerous snake.”

“How anyone thought you were the Heir of Slytherin is beyond me,” Tonks leaned close to the glass of an enclosure.

“He doesn’t like your hair,” Harry said quietly.

Tonks looked at him in surprise before turning back to the tank and screwing up her face. Her hair shortened, shrinking back into her skull. The colours shifted until it was a mottled pattern of browns and beiges.

“He says you tried,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Hey!” Tonks said. “I don’t want to look like I have a snake on my head.”

“Could you do that?” Harry asked.

Tonks considered this.

“Not here,” Andy ordered. “There’s no need to cause a panicked report of a Medusa walking down Diagon Alley.”

“Good call, mum,” Tonks left her hair as is. “So, which one do you like?”

Harry looked over at Sirius hesitantly and then glanced around the shop.

“Inscrutabilarium,” Sirius flicked his wand and felt the magic settle around them.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“Your mum invented it during school,” Sirius said. “People will be able to hear us speaking but they won’t understand it.”

“Mum invented it?” Harry asked. “By herself?”

“She invented all sorts of things,” Sirius said. “There’s a reason that she left you so many notebooks.”

Harry lit up and then looked back at the snakes. “They can’t hear me?”

“Nope,” Sirius stuck his hands in his robe pockets. “Run wild kiddo.”

It was strange, watching Harry’s face - James’s face - move in familiar ways and a cold, scraping hiss come out. The snakes in the takes took notice immediately, looking over, moving toward the glass that separated everyone.

“Fascinating,” Andy murmured. “I’ve never met a parseltongue before.”

“That owned up to it,” Sirius said. “Harry was ostracised his second year for it after Draco Mafloy set a snake on him in a duel refereed by Snape.”

Andy sighed, the most she was willing to huff in public. “We’ll address it. We need a family meeting soon, we need to regroup.”

Some of the snakes were backing off, going back to whatever they were doing before. A few were hissing back and Harry was looking between them trying to keep up with what they were saying.

“This one is pretty,” Tonks touched a finger to a tank, “reminds me of a sunset.”

“I like this one,” Harry declared, pointing to a tank with a snake curled up in a branch.

“What is it?” Andy asked.

“Common Ball Python,” Harry said, reading the tank. “He’s really sassy. He thinks my hair is ridiculous.”

“A man of good taste!” Tonks crowed, coming over to look. “Is he okay if you are gone for months at a time?”

Harry and the snake entered into what looked like negotiations. Harry waved Sirius over. The snake looked him over. Sirius tried not to feel intimidated.

“He thinks he’d like the greenhouses the best as long as they are good for him,” Harry said seriously. “Would he be able to come in the house?”

Sirius looked at the snake. “Yes.”

“Will he get to hunt?”

“Yes,” they could get live rats easily enough.

“If I’m not there and he’s lonely can he hang out with you?”

This was the strangest business deal Sirius had ever held including that one time he had to acquire dragon dung for a prank. “Sure.”

The snake nodded. Actually nodded.

“I want him,” Harry said. “Can we take him home?”

Sirius dropped the privacy spell and waved the shopkeeper over.

“Can I help you, Mr. Black?” The man asked.

“We’d like to buy this snake and anything we would need to care for it.”

“Are you sure Mr. Black? It is one of our most common snakes.”

“We’re sure,” Sirius said firmly.

The shopkeeper went to the cage and pulled the snake out.

“Have you owned a snake before?” The shopkeeper asked.

“No,” Harry said when Sirius looked at him.

“Will you need supplies?”

“Yes.”

As soon as they were out of the shop Harry was pulling open the straps to the basket and letting the snake wind up his arm. The snake settled in across Harry’s shoulders, tongue flicking out every so often.

Harry was beaming. “He didn’t like how much the shop smelled like cats.”

“No cat then,” Sirius said, nodding. It would have been bad if he hadn’t liked the smell of dogs.

Harry laughed as the snake hissed something and they started to walk. Just a wizard, his cousin, his second cousin, his godson, and his snake. Family.

“We’ve got to get back,” Andy said. “The session is going to start soon.”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens,” Sirius promised before Harry could ask. Harry surprised him with a hug. “Be good for Ted.”

Harry snorted and shoved him off gently. “Do I have a bedtime as well?”

“In summer?” Sirius asked, scandalised. “Who do you take me for?”

--

“I recognize Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Sirius watched patterns form and spin apart on the floor as Dumbledore’s robes scattered light. He’d chosen a deep blue with reflective beads sewn in, a relatively tame choice for the man. Dumbledore conjured a podium in the centre of the floor, parchment fluttered into the laps of every member. A quiet hush filled the room. Even if you didn’t like him, Dumbledore had the power and style to command a room.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Dumbledore had situated the podium toward him but he didn’t stay behind it. Instead, he began to pace the floor slowly, making the rounds to look at every one. “I would like to move to amend the language Coven Act of 1700.”

A murmur went through the room. That was an old Act. Sirius wasn’t even sure what it was.

“All in favour of hearing the motion.” Wands across the room lit up. Half in support of Dumbledor’s agenda. Half curious about the act. Sirius raised his wand as well. There wasn’t any harm in hearing what he wanted to say.

Andy was skimming the parchment, a slight furrow to her brows. Sirius had the misfortune of looking over at Lucius at the same time he looked up. Lucius only raised his eyebrows, lifting his scroll minutely.

What are you going to do?

Sirius looked over Andy’s shoulder, tuning out Dumbledore’s opening platitudes. There was a helpful summary at the top. Unhelpfully, it was in the original language.

… to protect and uplift the bonds most sacred…

… secure our futures and our legacies…

… hereby recognize the necessity of Covens and Circles…

A chill went through Sirius. Covens and circles. Dumbledore had found the original Act protecting family magic. What language could possibly need to be amended? Why would it need to be amended?

“The Coven Act was written in 1699 as a way to protect the wizarding community in a time of great upheaval.”

Sirius immediately tuned out the lecture. Not only did he not need to know, but it was his general policy to listen to the recognized speaker as little as possible. There was no guarantee what they said was accurate, their main purpose in speaking was getting the audience to agree.

Andy pointed to a line in the second to last paragraph on the scroll. It held several proposed amendments ranging from critiques of the punctuation to clauses conflicting with subsequent rules. Her rounded, painted nail tapped and Sirius read the line.

Define the term witch or wizard as a witch or wizard who is seventeen years or older.

Well, that has wide-reaching and catastrophic implications.

Covens, as they work commonly today, are a family affair. Sirius, as well as every other pureblood child and many half-bloods, were inducted at birth. Family magic exists to protect the weakest. Children are weak. They don’t have control over their magic. They don’t know enough to use their magic to protect themselves. Family magic keeps them safe, powers wards and runes, and lets the adults around them keep them safe.

Defining witches and wizards as adults would only make it legal for adults to join covens and circles, making it illegal for families to do birth rites.

It would make it illegal for Harry to become a Marauder.

It would make it illegal for Harry, as head of House Potter, to maintain and use his family magic.

Sirius sat back in his seat and looked around. Lucius had put the scrolls to the side and was lounging back in his seat, watching Dumbledore. Mr. Parkinson was frowning down at his scroll. Flint, Murk, Rookwood, and Baddock weren’t pretending to read or pay attention. Macmillan was watching Dumbledore pace, face resting on his fist.

Disconcerting, Sirius made eye contact with more people than he was expecting. They were all watching him. Waiting to see what he was going to do.

He wasn’t sure he liked that.

Dumbledore turned, still talking, still waving his wand around to illustrate his point with transfigured images, and looked up over the seated masses.

Sirius met Dumbledore’s look. His shields were as nearly as strong as they were before the dementors and were getting stronger by the day. He hadn’t done this much meditation since he’d had a tutor for it as a child.

Dumbledore didn’t push on his mental shields, though he could have tried. He didn’t need to. He knew that look. It said, fall into line. It said, I expect this of you. It said, this is your last chance.

Last chance before what? Sirius was a grown man. Harry was legally his. He had a home, a family, and a bank account that Dumbledore couldn’t touch. What should he have to fear?

When the Chief Warlock called for a vote, Sirius held his wand up for the Nays. He felt the chamber’s magic flair over him as it took record of the outcome. The measure had failed. He lowered his wand to speculative looks from across the room.

“The gauntlet’s been thrown,” Andy murmured as Sirius offered a hand to help her to her feet.

Sirius did his best to float down the stairs, escorting his cousin, while looking like he wasn’t aware that Dumbledore was staring at a hole in the side of his head.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Sirius let the bitterness slip into his voice before pulling a politician’s smile onto his face. “Mr. Malfoy.”

“Mr. Black, Mrs. Tonks.”

“Mr. Malfoy, how is my sister?” Andy took the bold path forward.

“She is well,” Mr. Malfoy didn’t show any surprise at the questions, no doubt as aware as they were as all the eyes and ears trained on them. He recognized this moment for what it was. “Eager, I am sure, for my arrival home.”

“We won’t keep you,” on principal, Sirius refused to be polite to Lucius but managed to not be downright rude during such a critical moment.

Lucius nodded his goodbye and continued on.

“And now the vultures land,” Andy murmured, quiet enough for it to only be for him.

Sirius smiled pleasantly at every person making eye contact with him, groaning internally. They weren’t going to be able to go home for a while. “Lead on.”

For the first time since Phineas Nigellus Black banned Quidditch, House Black did something interesting.

Chapter Text

“So,” Sirius’s mind healer leaned forward a tad, pushing their glasses up and looking down at their notes, “last time we talked a lot about the impact Azkaban and the war had on you and your worries about it affecting your ability to be Harry’s guardian. I asked you to keep track of your mood swings, when they happened, and why you thought they might be happening. How do you think that went?”

“Do you think a bad person can be a good person?” Sirius shook his head and amended his question. “Or a good parent?”

“Are you asking about yourself?” Edwina didn’t even blink at the change in topic.

Yes. No. Sirius pushed the phantom chill away. “Harry survived. When Voldemort cast the killing curse. Lily made sure he survived.”

Edwina adjusted their blouse and tilted their head for Sirius to continue.

The haunted, free-falling without a broom feeling came back over him. “It could have gone so wrong. So, so wrong. If what she’d done failed, she could have destroyed the wizarding world as we know it. Voldemort would have been a side note.”

“Do you think Lily is a bad parent?”

“No,” Sirius said, absolutely sure of this fact. “She was the best mum.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“I am not the best person to make that judgement.” Sirius couldn’t sit any longer and fled to the window with quick, short strides.

“What do you mean?”

“I nearly murdered someone for fun, using another person as the weapon, when I was sixteen. I thought it was a joke. Still think it’s funny. Well, maybe not funny. Well deserved? Just to the victim. Not to Remus. That I regret. He didn’t deserve that. I learned dark hexes at my father’s knee. Learned how to poison a drink from my mother.”

Sirius cast about for the words to describe the roiling rage trapped in his skin. How his magic sang when he proved himself the best, by any means possible. How he didn’t care what other people said was right or wrong, it had only ever mattered that the people he cared about were taken care of.

“I am not a nice man,” Sirius settled on finally. “I could justify most things if it meant the people I cared about came out the other side of it.”

Silence lingered.

“Or if the people I don’t care for suffered because of it.”

Because that’s what it had been, hadn’t it? He hadn’t meant for Snape to figure it out, had guarded Remus’s secret for too long to even consider telling someone on purpose much less say it out loud accidentally. But once Snape had figured it out and abandoned all sense? Sirius didn’t try to stop it. Snape had deserved it. He’d do it differently if he could. Figure out a way to equally hurt Snape without involving Remus. But he’d still hurt him. Still watched with a smile.

Edwina took a short note on the parchment they were holding and considered Sirius again. This didn’t feel like a silence he needed to fill.

“I -” Sirius struggled with the warring feelings inside of him. “I’m not sure I would have been able to do what she did to keep him safe. At the same time, I think I could do way, way worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I fought in the last war,” Sirius felt the magic roiling under his skin settle into an alertness that was becoming more common with each day he was out of Azkaban. “Front lines.”

“SIRIUS!” Jame’s voice echoed in the alley. Sirius turned in the charmed darkness, hopelessly turned about. A hex spiralled past his head and he dropped to the floor, curses spilling off his lips.

“Sirius,” Jame’s breathless weight stumbled over him, ending up sprawled over him on the ground, wand raised, shield flickering up around them. Sirius felt James flinch at the words falling off his tongue but didn’t protest. If they were caught, he would swear up and down that Sirius used legal hexes only. No one would bother checking.

Abruptly the darkness ended, silence ringing louder than a bell. Sirius and James pushed cautiously to their feet, James maintaining his shield with violent determination. Sirius stalked over to the body on the ground.

“I don’t recognize him,” he looked toward James.

“I don’t know how you could,” James examined the smear on the wall. “It’s not like you left his face.”

“You recognize the wand?”

James shook his head. “We should get out of here.”

Sirius pocketed the guy’s wand and grabbed James’s hand, spinning with him on his heel, disappearing with a pop.

“I did a lot of vicious things,” Sirius said, carefully considering his word choices. “I stand by them. I’d do them again, to keep my family safe.”

“It’s easy, comforting even, to sort actions into good and bad. Humans have been doing it for as long as we’ve existed. Rarely are actions ever so simple.

“I doubt what Lily did to protect Harry was legal or, frankly, sane,” Edwina didn’t look too concerned about this. Sirius felt something in him relax. “I’m not going to declare her actions right or wrong. Merely say that we expect parents to do anything to protect their children.”

“It worked,” Sirius offered. “Harry is alive.”

Edwina nodded. “That is something I would categorize as good. However, the method might have been very bad. Both things can be true. You are allowed to be happy and relieved that Harry is alive. You are also allowed to be horrified at the methods that allow him to be so. You can admire Lily for her dedication and intelligence. You can fear her methods. You could agree with all of this or your feelings on the matter could be wildly different. All of the feelings you are having are valid and can coexist.”

“I am not a good person,” Sirius said. “Not like Lily and James were.”

His thoughts were tangled. There was something he wanted to say, something pressing on his lungs and curling around his heart but Sirius didn’t know the words to wrestle the feeling into existence.

“You don’t have to be the same as Lily and James to do well raising Harry.”

That wasn’t what was bothering him. He frowned and returned to his seat. “Harry could turn out like me.”

“Like what?”

“I -”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked, looking unsure and excited all at the same time.

“It won’t hurt much more than the hex you wanted to use,” Sirius said dismissively. “The only difference is that they won’t know how to undo it on their own.”

“Sirius,” Remus cautioned.

“They deserve it,” Sirius said. “You know they do.”

“I don’t care that I’m not a good person,” Sirius finally ended up saying. It wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough to take the pressure off his lungs. “I like that I know I will survive. I like that I am vicious and loyal and people know that I’m -” a Black stalled out on his tongue. “They know how I was raised. What I could do.”

“But not what family you came from?”

Sirius shrugged, suddenly exhausted and confused and a fake sort of calm. Edwina made a couple of notes on their parchment.

A growing anxiety was building in the silence and Sirius wished suddenly that he was on a broom, soaring and racing, pushing faster and faster away.

“I tried to murder someone,” Sirius said. “Or I set it up once I realized I couldn’t salvage the situation. I was sixteen. If I had been somewhere with normal people, somewhere with adults who cared, I would have been expelled. Hell, I would have been arrested.”

“What happened instead?”

“Nothing.” My best friend didn’t think it was a big deal, nothing ended up happening. My - moony pulled away. It wasn’t the same.

“The adults understood what had happened?”

“I think they thought it was a good thing. Something to hold over us. Something to hold over my friend.”

Edwina sighed, making a few more notes, then pushed up their glasses and gave Sirius a piercing look. “I find myself at a crossroads as your mind healer. As the patient, you get a say in treatment. I feel it is important to explain my thinking.”

Sirius sat up and gave her his full attention.

“Under normal circumstances,” Edwina said, “I would say that you are maladjusted to society. There are instincts and ingrained responses in you that are a direct result of trauma that impedes your ability to engage in some aspects of society and community in meaningful ways. I would recommend that we work through your childhood trauma, investigate your relationship with societal rules and expectations, and work on healthy coping skills.”

None of this was surprising to Sirius.

“On the other hand, Mr. Black,” Edwina continued with no hesitation, “you aren’t in normal circumstances. There is a war coming. You have positioned yourself, out of necessity, to be in the middle of it. Your societal norms, in the rings of pureblood society that you travel, are different. Being a good person, by the measures that we talked about earlier, would not necessarily set you up for success.”

“Might even set me up for failure,” Sirius felt the phantom imprint of what his magic felt like in that desperate rush to form before it was too late. It wasn’t healthy, knowing what it felt like to almost die. To know what it feels like to do whatever it takes.

Edwina nodded slowly. “I think I can best serve you by helping you learn the tools to know yourself, identify your goals, and implement strategies to get there. I’ve noticed that you have trouble naming your emotions, if you are responsible for another human being you need to be your best. Starting with personal emotional awareness, in my opinion, would be the biggest impact for the least amount of galleons.”

“Where do we begin?”

“Let’s start with that journal I asked you to keep. How did that go for you?”

--

Sirius held the thick envelope in his hands and hesitated. The rest of the invitations had gone out. His uncle’s cottage, recently cleaned to an inch of its’ life by the combined forces of Kreacher and Andy, was secure enough to host Harry and public enough to host their guests. Everything was ready. Except for this.

Remus Lupin

It was odd, that after everything and all the years between then and now that his handwriting hadn’t changed. The way he looped his r into the e was the same as it had been since he was in school, passing notes under desks.

Remus hadn’t reached out since the Order meeting. Remus hadn’t reached out when Sirius’s name had been cleared. Remus hadn’t done a lot of things.

Sirius looked at the owl in front of him and sighed. He was going to send the invitation either way. It wouldn’t do to keep her waiting.

“Here you go, darling,” the owl waited until the letter was secure and then launched herself into the air.

He wanted Remus there. Even if it was awkward. Even if it was weird. Even if they were going to have to get used to unspoken ghosts sitting next to them.

What would James want? He rubbed the star-shaped scar on his chest. A warning and a reminder from Lily’s family magic. What would Lily want?

Sirius couldn’t decide on Lily’s reaction. Remus, the best friend of her husband and uncle to her son, had left Harry under the care of her sister. Remus was one of the few people who would have known about how horrible of a person Petunia was. There was no reason to believe that Lily would have wanted Harry to go to her.

On the other hand, Dumbledore had made the decision. Had assured everyone that Harry was safe. Did that cancel out Lily’s wishes?

Why hadn’t he checked? Why hadn’t he wanted to know, to be sure, that Harry was ok? Had it been too painful to see James’s face staring back at him? To see Lily’s eyes. To be reminded that his best friends were dead and one a traitor?

He could always ask, he supposed, could wait and see how he is. He should probably ask Harry how he felt about it.

He rubbed the star again. Attempting to be emotionally aware was exhausting.

--

“Alright,” Sirius said, glaring at the two trunks as though they had personally offended him. “There is a non-zero chance that Lily wrote letters for your birthdays.”

Harry had gone straight to where he’d gotten his mum’s first-year diary and carefully tucked years two and three under his arm. Lily had started by writing down her assignments and short observations about Hogwarts and her friends. It devolved into chaotic scribbling about all sorts of things. He wanted to read through all of them, to know what his mother had been thinking when she’d gone to school. Maybe he’d take the fifth-year one with him to Hogwarts and read it day by day.

“We could try point me?” Harry offered.

“I’m not sure that spell is supposed to work how you use it,” Sirius said, shaking his head but pulling out his wand anyway.

“Just because you didn’t think to do it and lost doesn’t mean that it’s not a great spell,” Harry said. The look on Sirius’s face the first time he’d won a duel was a memory he’d treasure for the rest of his life. “Besides, it helped me win the tournament.”

“Uh-huh,” Sirius’s wand spun on his palm and pointed to the side of the room filled with boxes and notebooks. “I’m worried if I cast Accio the room will collapse.”

“We’ve got time, right?”

“Yup.”

Harry wondered if this is how Dudley felt on Christmas, everything he touched was something new and exciting. The to-take-home pile grew to the point where Sirius conjured a bag and started to shrink everything so it would fit. There were boxes wrapped for Christmases gone by, letters with dates, letters without dates, and notebooks. There were notebooks upon notebooks upon notebooks.

“I think Lily coped with everything by writing,” Sirius said. “If you weren’t in her arms, she was holding a quill.”

“Not a pen?” Harry looked back down at the very muggle-lined notebooks.

“Said quills made her feel like a witch,” Sirius shrugged and continued carefully sorting through packages. “Had to come up with charms for the paper so the ink wouldn’t bleed through.”

“Here!” Harry said. “I think.”

Sirius helped pull the box forward. It was labeled “Birthday Box” in a messy scrawl. “That’s your dad’s writing.”

“Neat,” Harry was tugging it open. There was a jumble of packages.

“Why don’t we take all of this back with us?” Sirius asked. “Anything for future birthdays can live at Bowtruckle Run.”

“Wicked,” Harry agreed happily. There was enough to go through until it was time to go to Hogwarts again.

“We can come back as soon as you want,” Sirius said, pushing himself up through the top of the trunk. His voice got louder when his hand appeared. Harry took it and used it to help pull himself out. “I was thinking that since you should start coming to all the Gringotts meetings about the Potter accounts we could just plan on stopping here after.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Harry. Do you want to go to lunch?” He laughed at whatever expression “I’m kidding. We can go home so you can open everything that isn’t for this birthday or beyond.”

Harry nearly tripped in his haste to exit the vault. Sirius’s laughter followed him all the way to the cart.

Chapter Text

Sirius watched Harry glide over the lawn. All the party guests had left and now they were waiting for Harry. Harry had gone back up on his broom, quiet and avoiding eye contact. Hermione had disappeared back to the library, her parents sitting with Andy drinking tea. Ron had gone home, awkward and anxious, his brother Bill keeping a hand on his shoulder through the floo.

He’d appreciated the older brother’s vigilance today, keeping an eye on his brother among the many kids wanting Harry’s attention. Harry had seemed a bit bewildered by it all but had quickly been talked into a lively quidditch match. Between that and the chess matches over tea that ended in a showdown between Neville and Ron for first and second, as well as Angelina and George for third, Bill had only needed to step in twice to catch Ron's temper before it could slip out of his control. Harry had sat with Oliver Wood, who, true to all the stories he’d heard, given Harry feedback play-by-play on his snitch-finding strategy. Harry had grinned through the whole thing, finding time to heckle both Ron and Angelina as they played.

Dinner had been a smaller affair, only Blacks, Weasleys, and Grangers,- Remus politely turning down the invite with a smile - back at Bowtruckle Run. Harry had slowly grown more and more withdrawn, knee bouncing and eyes caught on the window. It was going to happen soon. Sirius could feel the awareness, the feeling of something watching.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He turned to see Ron, followed by Bill, walking toward them.

“Forget something, Ron?”

“No,” he said, awkward and scanning the sky. “Just needed to be here.”

Bill’s serious face stopped Sirius from making a joke to break the tension. His shrug didn’t clear anything up.

More footsteps. Hermione this time.

“Do you feel it too?” She asked Ron. “Like you’ve forgotten something? Or you’re late for class?”

Bill’s eyes flicked from Hermione to Ron to the sky, to scan for Harry.

“It’s starting,” Sirius announced.

“What is?”

“The Potter Family magic,” Ron declared. “It’s come to claim Harry.”

“It’s going to claim him?” Hermione didn’t question Ron’s knowledge. Only sought to clarify. “I thought Harry was going to claim the magic, not the other way around.”

“It’s been waiting for him,” Ron scanned the sky. “It’s been waiting fourteen years.”

Harry, barely a speck in the distance, shot up from low over the trees, spiralling toward them. Body hugging the broom, he hurtled through the distance, eating up the air and swishing to a stop faster than Sirius thought should be possible.

“Harry,” Sirius greeted, raising his eyebrows.

“We need to go to Gringotts.”

“Alright,” Sirius said. Harry was already loping toward the house, broom slung over his shoulder. Ron and Hermione followed closely behind.

“Shall we?” Bill asked wryly, skipping a step to keep up.

“To the Potter vaults we shall,” Sirius quickened his pace, the magic, the awareness had shifted from eyes on the back of his neck to a friend at his shoulder. Something to run alongside with.

“Normally I wouldn’t invite myself along to these things,” Bill said as he took the floo powder from Sirius, “but I feel like I need to stay with Ron.”

“So long as Harry’s fine with it,” Sirius said, already stepping into green flames.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had hit a roadblock on the other side, staring around themselves uncertain at the Goblins staring back at them. The bank was mostly empty, just a few Goblins behind the long counter. There weren’t any witches or wizards.

“The Potter vaults, please,” Sirius said. Harry pulled the key from his pocket. “There’s family magic afoot.”

“You stole that from Doyle,” Hermione accused.

“Don’t blame me,” Sirius said. “That is entirely Moony’s fault.”

He’d never appreciated the size of the carts before and was suitably impressed when all five of them and a goblin who seemed to know Bill fit comfortably in the cart.

They emptied out onto the platform for Harry’s vault, Hermione on one side of him and Ron on the other. Sirius and Bill stood further back, sharing a glance before watching the goblin open the vault door.

Harry was moving before the door finished swinging open, Ron half a step behind them, Hermione going in last with her wand out and illuminated.

Sirius waited a heartbeat and then cautiously went to the vault door.

“It takes an exceptionally potent brand of family magic to announce itself like this,” Bill said conversationally from a healthy distance behind him. “Is Harry ready for it?”

“No,” Sirius said. “We were planning on doing it the normal way, at my family’s ritual circle on the grounds. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Do we need to intervene?”

“No,” Sirius said, absolutely certain. “James set this all up. Harry’s safe.”

Bill nodded, coming closer to the vault door and peering in. “Are we?”

“It will let us know,” Sirius decided, swinging a leg into the vault and waiting for something bad to happen. “I formally invite you in, as my guest and Ron’s adult.”

Bill drew a dagger from a pocket and pricked his thumb, offering blood to the vault door. The goblin behind him grumbled but didn’t stop them.

“Unnecessary, probably,” Sirius said.

“But still polite,” Bill said, mirroring Sirius’s position carefully.

“Harry!”

Both men bolted toward Hermione’s voice.

Sirius followed the same path as last time, rushing to the simple wooden table at the centre of the vault, Bill following closely behind.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood huddled not around the table but around a shelf.

“It’s ok,” Ron was saying. “It’s not broken, you’re not the first to knock it over by the looks of things either.”

Harry was cradling three scuffed silver candle stick holders. Hermione was holding several new ritual-grade candlesticks.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Sirius asked.

“I almost knocked them over,” Harry said, voice trembling and near tears.

“There’s the effects of family magic again,” Sirius said. “You’re okay, kiddo.”

“We need to put them on the table,” Harry said, pushing past the tidal wave of emotion he was fighting off. “It’s important.”

“Of course,” Sirius backed away a bit, careful of the shelves all around them. Harry manoeuvred past and carefully arranged the candlesticks. Hermione settled the candles into place and the scene hit him like a hippogriff.

“Sirius?” Bill asked, wand out.

Sirius breathed through the ice in his lungs and blinked tears out of his eyes, “I’m ok.”

“Sirius?” Harry asked again, Sirius shook his head, trying to keep track of time. Harry had set them up the same way Mrs. Potter always had on holidays.

“I’m good, just a memory. Those are your grandparents’ candlestick holders, your dad dented one via quaffle.”

“Why did he have a quaffle in the dining room?” Hermione asked.

“Kitchen,” Sirius corrected, “and that’s what his mother wanted to know as well.”

“She kept the dent?” Harry asked.

“Silver doesn’t take magic well,” Bill said. “It's why potion knives are silver.”

“What do I do next?” Harry asked.

“It looks like you are about ready to light them.”

Harry had his wand in hand in a blink. It was his new one, Sirius noticed with surprise, not the Holly and Phoenix still holstered in his jeans pocket. A flame bright and yellow appeared at the tip and Harry carefully lit each candle going clockwise.

Everyone held very, very still.

Harry reached for the book at the centre of the table. Hermione broke first and came to stand at his left. Ron shuffled in closer to the right.

Harry took a deep breath and opened the front cover. Bill sucked in a startled breath as the pages began to flip, faster and faster, opening the old leather tome to the ribbon bookmark.

Silence. Harry and Hermione’s eyes ran across the page and Ron mouthed along, reading under his breath.

“Dad made it easier,” Harry said. “He wasn’t sure if I was going to need this but if I did and I was little he wanted to make it easy.”

Hermione was holding onto Harry’s left arm, Ron now had a hand on his right shoulder. Bill had backed away, standing in the opening of the shelves. Sirius took a breath and centred himself on the other side of the table.

Harry took a deep breath. The hairs on Sirius’s arms rose.

“I, Harry James Potter, come to claim the Potter family magic, by blood and by birth.”

The room erupted into a blinding, brilliant, green light.

---

Harry was floating in an ocean.

It swirled around him, gently brushing up against him even as he floated over roaring waves.

Magic wasn’t a person. It wasn’t good, it wasn’t evil, it didn’t think. It was, however, mouldable and humans were very good at shaping it.

The Potter family magic had been shaped by more generations than Harry could count, more than could be remembered. Every single Potter since before they called themselves Potter had touched the Family Magic. They’d left echos, impressions, hopes, and intentions.

In the same way that portraits weren’t people, family magic wasn’t memories. This fact didn't matter. It was enough. It was more than enough.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

He could feel Ron and Hermione holding onto him. Knew that Sirius was standing in front of him. He could feel the magic his father had shaped, the way that it sang and twined playfully with the Evan’s family magic. He could feel his grandparents, his great grandparents, great aunts and uncles, relatives that didn’t have titles they were so old. He could feel the warmth, the love, the instinct to protect and welcome.

It settled over him, filled him up and then swirled around him for good measure.

Harry wasn’t alone anymore. He would never be again.

---

Tears were dripping down his face and Sirius didn’t bother to wipe them away. The green light of the candles had faded. Harry was staring into middle distance, supported by Ron and Hermione.

“Did it work?” Hermione asked finally. “Is he ok?”

“Yeah,” his voice was hoarse. “It worked. I can feel it.”

“Feel what?” Ron asked.

James had been here. Had worked with the family’s record book and moulded the family magic into something new for Harry. His magic had soaked into the stones and the table, and orchestrated the awakening of the Potter magic. His magic was the most recent echo in this space, a powerful, intentional one. Sirius could feel it, brushing up against his own family magic, making itself known.

James had done the same when they were duelling, so attuned with Sirius and his own magic that he didn’t even need to turn his head to judge how far away he was. His magic kept track for him.

It wasn’t James now. Sirius knew that. Knew that objectively, he was just as safe as he was before, just as James-less as he was yesterday and the day before that. His body didn’t care. With the first gentle pressure of James’s echo checking in, something within him relaxed for the first time since 1981. James had him. It was going to be okay.

“The family magic,” Sirius said. “It’s awake.”

“There’s so much,” Harry said without blinking. “There’s so many of us.”

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione said.

“Welcome back, mate,” Ron said, patting his shoulder. “How is it?”

“Good,” Harry said with a grin. “Like the mirror but a million times better.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Ron said emphatically.

Bill came back over to the table. “Anything else we need to do, Harry?”

“The houses,” Harry said looking at Sirius. “Dad left instructions but said you’d know how too.”

“Tonight?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raising.

“No,” Harry said. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Tomorrow then.”

Harry took a step and wobbled, “Woah.”

“Hang on,” Ron said, hiking Harry’s arm over his shoulder and locking his own under Harry's far arm. “Let’s get you to the cart.”

Harry started to giggle. “You’re so tall now.”

Bill snorted. “Come on then, before the postritual need for a nap hits.”

---

Harry woke up warm and sleepy, in a room that felt like home. He could feel his wands, resting carelessly on his nightstand, bright sparks of warmth in a room that buzzed with magic. That was new. He didn’t bother to open his eyes, instead, he shifted and stretched into his pillow. Smooth, soft sheets rubbed against his bare arms and torso and Harry didn’t fight the sleepiness that rose back up with a viciousness.

Maybe he should be panicking about the fact he could now feel magic without trying, clearer than it ever had been. He reached out again, finding a snitch sleeping on his shelf with no issue and his Monster Book of Monsters resting innocently next to it. How could he panic when this magic felt as natural as breathing? It had known him his entire life, he knew. It’d just been sleeping, waiting for him to wake it back up again.

Curious, Harry poked at his new magical awareness itself. It responded instantly, warming him from the inside out as though he’d just drank spiced hot chocolate or butterbeer. Soothed, Harry sank back into sleep. His magic would still be here when he woke.

Chapter Text

Dear Ms. Granger,

Unfortunately, our collection does not contain a book on the origins of House Elves. We suggest checking banking records that are publicly available at

Dear Ms. Granger,

Thank you for your letter. Unfortunately, I have not spent time studying either race with the diligence necessary to answer your questions. As House Elves have qualified as property since before the statute of secrecy, I recommend checking the bill of sales during the annual auctions held at

Dear Ms. Granger,

It is our professional opinion that Hobs died out centuries ago due to natural environmental fluctuation.

Dear Ms. Granger,

House Elves have not been studied in any significant way, therefore our collections do not contain

--

“Dress robes, casual robes, and student robes,” Mrs. Tonks said pointing to each set of robes.

Jean cast a critical eye over each set. “The basic silhouette is the same.”

“It will remain so until Hermione is of age, where it would be appropriate for her to take more risks with her fashion choices,” Mrs. Tonks directed their attention to the sleeves. “In casual children’s robes, the sleeves will almost always have a simple shape. There might be details at the shoulder or the wrist, variation in length, and a wide range in colours, but they will be close to the arms and stay out of the way. Hermione is verging on the age where she could get away with some more sleeve options without coming across as wearing formal clothes.”

Hermione turned her eyes to the gathers and pleats of the sleeve of the formal robes Mrs. Tonks had picked out. They were more elaborate than anything she’d seen anyone her age wearing outside of the yule ball.

“At the same time, Hermione has the advantage of being muggle-born.”

Advantage.

It didn’t usually feel like an advantage.

“By comparing the rules of dressing, by working with both sets of trends, Hermione has the power to curate something that is solely hers. That works in both worlds.”

“My yule ball dress,” Hermione said, suddenly understanding. She’d stood out. Was one of the only girls wearing a muggle dress. She was the only one in the spotlight, whose mother had responded to a desperate letter for help with something that felt older, a dress that felt transformative.

“You took the full skirts and the colour that dress robes would have and used a muggle silhouette. You were every bit of both of your worlds.”

“I suppose we’ve only done the muggle side of your shopping,” Hermione turned to her mother, hopeful and anxious all at once. “Do you have any recommendations, Andromeda?”

Andy's smile was a true one, an unpracticed reaction. “I could show you a few of my favourite spots. Tonks didn’t favour the shops I had hoped so I not only have an excellent knowledge of more feminine shops but also punk.”

--

“I want to see how this looks in person,” Her dad said frowning.

Hermione looked up from her spot on the couch to see her dad holding a potions textbook. “What?”

“The colour change. I want to see how it works. It sounds like it’s just a chemical change”

“Which potion?”

“Pepperup.”

“I’ve brewed that before,” Hermione said. “We had to brew it during potions last year.”

After a half-hour of attempting and failing to describe the colour change - Hermione had never taken chemistry and her father wasn’t familiar with potions - they drafted a shopping list.

“You’re sure?” Hermione asked, eyeing her father critically. “We’ll have to go to Bowtruckle Run to brew.”

“I’m sure,” her father faced off against their fireplace like they were about to go to battle.

Hermione used a match to light the candles her parents kept in their hearth in the summer. Her father watched, still anxious, as she threw in a pinch of powder and stepped into the flames.

“Diagon Alley!”

Hermione stepped neatly out into the public floo at one of the apothecaries. Sirius had shown her and Harry a few tricks to keep their balance when they stepped out of a floo. She’d been getting better and better ever since.

Her father nearly tripped but caught himself before he could fall. He shook himself and went to rub the soot on his hands onto his trousers.

“I’ve got it,” Hermione relished the fact that there was too much magic in the Alley to track who was using it.

Her father nearly hid the flinch as she pointed her wand at him. Progress.

Hands clean, they exited the shop. Ignoring her father’s wide-eyed stares and well-hidden fear, it felt like a normal grocery trip. They worked efficiently, following the list they’d written and moving through the shop from front to back. Once her father got over the innate magicalness of the shop, he started a running commentary on quality, not that he had any idea of what he was looking for.

Potion ingredients acquired they made their way back to the public floo, lightly debating the merits of implementing no-vehicle zones in London to match the near chaos of the pedestrians in Diagon.

Kreacher popped in and then out immediately when he saw who was coming through the floo. Sirius would find them eventually, Hermione knew, the wards would tell him who was on the property.

The brewing room was a cheerful ground-level room between the kitchen and the greenhouses. The room was bare stone, artfully cut and arranged while still stain and magic-resistant. Sunlight poured in from the arched windows.

As the potion began to bubble, her dad got quieter, watching her practised motions mix and chop and pour.

“Do you like potions?”

Hermione looked up in surprise. They didn’t usually talk about school outside of her grades. When she was home for the summer she was folded back into the muggle world, complete with muggle topics of conversation.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I don’t like the Professor - even if he is a brilliant potions master - but I like to brew.”

“What is your favourite class?”

“I don’t know if I could possibly decide.”

Hermione had just finished explaining the possible merits of NEWT level arithmancy when the potion began to shoot up steam at an alarming rate.

“Dad, Dad! Watch now,” she ordered. “It’s going to change now.”

Her father peered into the caldron and watched as green turned abruptly blue. “That’s not a chemical change.”

“It’s almost like it’s magic,” Hermione said with a grin.

His laughter would be something she’d remember for a long time.

--

Hermione was sitting in on the boy’s tutoring session. She was taking notes, brewing a potion, and asking questions when necessary.

She hadn’t asked a question in 30 minutes.

Harry and Ron were eyeing her fearfully.

Hermione took another note on her parchment. It would be interesting to know if the lunar cycle could be used to speed up the time needed to steep the quills. It would be really, truly fascinating to know.

It wasn’t the point of this lesson.

Mrs. Tonks had asked embarrassing, terrible questions about what other friends Hermione had and what class was like. She was gentle and no-nonsense about it. She’d then given Hermione a chapter to read out of an etiquette book.

It was sexist and annoying and needed to be reorganized into a flow chart which Hermione took upon herself to do.

It was also a very, very clear set of rules. Hermione was good at rules.

So Hermione didn’t raise her hand to ask about everything she wanted to know. Instead, she wrote down her thoughts and questions. Hermione kept track of how often Ron and Harry answered a question and took her fair share of answering but no more. She let the silence after the teacher asked a question stretch, even when it was awkward. She took notice of the eye contact the tutor gave her as acknowledgement, not permission to answer the question.

It was different. Hermione still had a lot of questions. She wasn’t sure she liked supporting a system that emphasized ornamental behaviour in women. But Harry and Ron had started asking questions. Had started making connections. Had started to do their own work. That was something Hermione could support.

So she waited until the end. Took her questions up to the tutor and politely asked if it was a good time to ask some related questions. Asked her questions. Got her answers. Like always the information swirled around her brain, slotting into space, opening doors and options that hadn’t been there before. It was enough to think about through her uniform fitting, something Mrs. Tonks had insisted on.

“How’d it go,” Mrs. Tonks asked.

“Well,” Hermione said. “I will be interested to see how it works in a larger class.”

Mrs. Tonks smiled, pleased. “I knew you’d be good at this. We will continue to cover general etiquette. I want to take you to a Wizengamot session. You’ll sit in the gallery - I don’t want to put a target on your back - so you can see how it plays out in politics. Then we will cover how to break the rules to serve a specific purpose.”

“I -” Hermione paused and tried to find the words she wanted. “With my friends.”

“Time with your friends,” Mrs. Tonks said, “should be a space for you to be you. All of you.”

Hermione nodded sharply.

“If they are not,” Mrs. Tonks said, “that’s worth thinking about.”

Hermione nodded again. What if she didn’t want to think about it?

--

There was a restlessness among the Order members that was setting Sirius on edge. They shifted, eyeing Sirius out the side of their eyes, tracking every move that Dumbledore made. This was different from the stares Sirius was used to getting, first as the escaped madman and then as the head of house Black.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “This has gone on long enough. Harry must return to his Aunt and Uncle’s.”

That explained the stares - a plan that they were all in on. One they expected him not to like. One they expected Dumbledore to succeed in. Sirius settled into the tension in the room, taking up space no one wanted to give him.

“So long as I am alive,” Sirius said, dangerously calm, the fake sort of calm that always led to detention or a good non-magical fistfight, “Harry will never set foot in so much as the neighbourhood.”

“Then he must -”

“Harry,” Sirius said, wondering how many times this argument had to happen, “is a fifteen-year-old boy, who has had a horrifically bad year, after many horrifically bad years. He doesn’t need to do anything other than heal and rest.”

Vance glared at him. Bill crossed his arms, leaning away from the table, a frown on his face. Arthur and Molly were quiet, solemn looks on their faces.

“Voldemort must be stopped,” Dumbledore said, looking solemnly around the room, many people nodded. Sirius took the break in eye contact to once again wish Andy was also at the meeting. Instead, it was just him and Tonks who was sitting down the table to his left. It was an awkward angle that left him feeling more alone than if he’d been here on his own against the Order.

“Harry isn’t going to be the person to do it,” Sirius wasn’t understanding Dumbledore’s angle. “He’s fifteen.”

“He needs to be prepared,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort has targeted Harry repeatedly. If the ministry continues to ignore Voldemort's return, there very well could be a war. Harry needs to be ready.”

“What do you suggest?” Sirius asked at the same time Tonks said, “Strange, that.”

“What’s strange?” Moody asked, turning toward her with interest.

“Harry being targeted by Voldemort. Why does he have so much interest in a child?”

Moody’s eyebrows furrowed, the scars on his face pulling awkwardly around his magical eye.

“It is,” Dumbledore said, “which is why Harry needs to be here, preparing.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Sirius said.

“Preparing for what?” Tonks asked.

“There’s a war coming,” Moody leaned forward to look down the table at Tonks. “Voldmort’s already shown us that Harry will be a target.”

“He needs to be safe, he’s only a boy,” Molly burst out, unable to contain herself. “Strong wards - surely that’s all the preparation he needs.”

“A boy who’s killed Voldemort once.”

“Did he?” Sirius asked. “None of us were there. How do we know?”

Everyone looked to Dumbledore.

“Harry hears it,” Dumbledore said gently, “when dementors are near.”

“That’s private information,” Sirius’s voice cut harshly over the gasps. “You had no right to share it.”

“This isn’t a surprise to you,” Minerva said, horrified.

“We are getting off track,” Shaklebolt stepped in. “We need to decide: how do we keep Potter safe?”

“Hogwarts,” Sirius said, staring down Dumbledore. “He’s never been safe at Hogwarts. Every year it's something.”

“With Voldemort back,” Remus spoke for the first time, studiously avoiding eye contact with Sirius, “it’s not a guarantee his summers are safe either.”

Remus knew. He had to know what it was like for Harry in that Gods forsaken house. He should have recognized the signs - he’d grown up with Sirius for Merlin’s sake. He had to know that Sirius was a better option than Harry staying at the Dursleys. That anyone would be better than the Dursleys.

“Harry’s aunt and uncle's house have a protection that no other place will have. Harry must return to their house every summer in order to renew that protection.” Remus continued to avoid eye contact.

Protection that no other place will have?

“What protection?” Bill asked, sounding curious. “Is it familia based?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, nodding.

“There are some pretty rigid requirements for those protections to stay in place,” Bill said. “I wouldn’t be confident that the protection provided by Harry’s aunt and uncle would be strong or consistent.”

“They are the strongest protections we can offer,” Dumbledore said. Several members were nodding along again. “Harry must be allowed to use them.”

“It is simply not an option,” Sirius said again. No one reacted to him. A chill started to crawl up his spine.

Harry was safe, he reminded himself. There was no way for Dumbledore to remove him from Bowtruckle Run - there wasn’t a way for anyone to remove Harry from Bowtruckle Run. Harry had to leave willingly, otherwise, the wards wouldn’t let them leave. That’s assuming that whoever was trying to get Harry out of the house was able to get on the grounds in the first place.

Tonks tilted her chair back until she was balanced on two legs and caught his eye. She took a deep breath, her whole chest moving up and down as she let the breath out slowly.

He took the hint and shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the cold. Dumbledore was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“It’s obvious that we are not going to agree,” Sirius said, trying to pull off Regulus's cold tone. “Perhaps we should move on to other topics.”

Dumbledore’s gaze turned cold and hard. “Very well.”

--

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Remus hissed as he pulled him into the kitchen.

“Stubborn?” Sirius said, “I’m being stubborn?”

“I get it,” Remus said, pacing away and back again. Short, quick strides. “You missed so much of Harry’s life. Of your own life. But Sirius, you have to understand, you can't buy back that time.”

Sirius’s stomach dropped to his feet. “What?”

“One birthday party,” Remus said, gesturing the same way he always did when he was beyond frustrated, “a manor, brand new clothes, none of that is going to change the fact that you weren’t there.”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius’s voice sounded far away even to him.

“You can help him in other ways, Sirius,” Remus said. “You could help Dumbledore keep him safe.”

“He is safe,” Sirius said. “With me.”

“You walked into his house and kidnapped him, Sirius! You didn’t have any right to do that. Did you even think about what you were doing? Removing him from those protections? Or did you charge in without thinking like you always do?”

Sirius tugged at his hair, buying time as he fought down the impulse to yell. To fall into the same arguments that they always had. This was different. This one was about Harry.

“I’m Harry’s Godfather,” Sirius said, pushing his hair back again. “I had every right, especially since Harry wanted to leave.”

“He’s 15!”

“I was 15!”

“He’s not you! He’s not James!” Remus looked furious. “You are letting your past get in the way of Harry’s future! Of his safety!”

“Have you even bothered to ask? To come and see? You know Petunia, too, do you think that he was safe there?”

“Petunia isn’t Walburga, Sirius,” Remus scolded. “People grow up.”

“Not if they don’t have enough food,” Sirius muttered. His magic was gathering under his skin, pulsing and alive. Look, it said. Look and see. “What did you mean, about the protections on Petunia’s house? Earlier, I mean?”

“Dumbledore helped use Lily’s sacrifice and tied it to the Dursley’s house. Harry needs to be there for that protection.”

“Why does it have to be that one?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Do you think any of your actions of late have proven that you can be trusted? You aren’t communicating with the Order, you’ve taken Harry without a plan, you’ve disrupted Dumbledore’s plans in the Wizengamot, and you haven’t seemed to grasp that throwing money at a child isn’t the same thing as parenting. James wouldn’t like any of this!”

“James is dead,” Sirius, rubbed at the scar on his chest, the outline of it raised enough that he could feel it through his robes.

Remus softened. “I know it’s hard, Sirius.”

“I climbed over his body on the stairs,” Sirius said. If this was the way it was going to be, he wasn’t going to be the only one who had to carry this memory. “He didn’t have a wand. Fell backwards from where he was standing in front of the stairs and cracked his head open. Lily was crumpled in front of the crib. The roof was blown open, there was dark residue blasted into the floor. Harry was awake. He stopped crying when he saw me, blood pouring down his face.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Remus’s voice broke.

“I cleaned him up,” Sirius said, “once I realized Lily wasn’t going to wake up. I got him out of there. I was going to come home, Remus. I was going to find you. Then Hagrid was there and I figured, might as well go find the traitor. I thought ‘Dumbledore is the safest person for Harry to be with.’”

“Exactly,” Remus said. “That’s what I’ve been -”

“Dumbledore left Harry at that house,” Sirius cut him off, “before I had a trial. Before there was time to forget that I didn’t have a trial. Before the wills weren’t read. Before I could testify under magical oaths that I did not hurt my Godson. That my magic would have struck me dead before I could.

“Dumbledore has had custody of Harry, every school year since he was eleven. Dumbledore is the one who has allowed Harry to end up facing off against Voldemort, baskilisks, and dementors, year after year. Dumbledore is the one who didn’t fight against the cup spitting out Harry’s name. Do not tell me that Harry is safe with Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore is the only one who understands why Voldemort is targeting Harry,” Remus said, stubbornly.

“Then he should have explained it to James. He should explain it to me. Hell, he should explain it to Harry if it’s that damned important.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No,” Sirius said wearily, slumping back against the kitchen counter, “I reckon it’s not.”

Remus looked caught off guard by this admission.

“You don’t trust me,” Sirius said softly. “You haven’t since I goaded Snape into going down that tunnel. You didn’t during the war. You don’t now. It’s my fault - I know I fucked up. I never apologized either. It bothered you more than you let on and I should have known that. It never should have happened.”

“Sirius -”

“I’ll give you that apology, not tonight, it deserves its own space and time separate from this mess.”

“I trust you,” Remus said, mouth drawn down.

“You don’t,” Sirius said. “Otherwise you would have remembered - you would trust - that the godfather oaths I swore to Lily and James held true. You’d trust that I wouldn’t have done any of this if it wasn’t in Harry’s best interest.”

“Whether or not I trust you is beside the point. You need to work together with Dumbledore. What do you think is going to happen? The war that’s coming won’t magically happen? That Voldemort isn’t going to target you? That you can just step up and lead the war against Voldemort? Dumbledore is the only one who can unite us and win this war. Dumbledore is the one that Voldemort is scared of.”

“Then he can do that without Harry,” Sirius said softly. “I’ll support the war efforts. I’ll support Dumbledore. I’ll support the Order. But not at Harry’s expense.”

Remus studied Sirius’s face for a long, tense, moment. Then he turned and stormed out of the kitchen.

He could still feel other people in the house, the wards were still brushing up against his awareness, letting him know he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t be bothered. Without saying goodbye, Sirius spun on his heel and disapparated. He’d deal with the rest tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Andy grabbed his arm, holding on tight. Sirius scanned the room, but nothing stood out. What was she reacting to?

Andy took a measured breath. The sound echoed in his head, dinner parties flashed across the back of his mind. His mother’s voice in his ear, his father’s emptiness, the stiff collars of dress robes.

Dumbledore stood, moving toward the floor.

Sirius was moving before he could think it through, Andy’s nails dug into his arm before he could catch up, polished nails digging into his wand arm.

“What?” He kept his voice low. “Andy? Andy, what's wrong?”

“You will stay calm,” Andy was leaning into his space, such a breach of her normal posture that Sirius started running through the people who could be dead or needed to be. “I didn’t think this was going to happen today. Augusta warned me right before the session, I was going to tell you after.”

“Andy, what’s going on?”

“Stay calm,” Andy’s commanding tone sounded every inch of a girl raised in a dark pureblooded family.

Sirius braced for whatever was going to happen, fighting off the instinct to duck, to slip into Padfoot and run.

“This is unprecedented, headmaster,” the Chief Warlock said, frowning.

“These are unprecedented times.”

When Sirius was sixteen he’d mostly tried to kill Snape. It wasn’t well thought out. In fact, it hadn’t been planned at all. It had just happened, a thought that turned into an idea that was suddenly in motion once the opportunity presented itself. It hurt so many more people than just Snape. It had twisted and turned until Sirius was more focused on how he’d hurt his best friends instead of the fact he tried to kill a human being.

Dumbledore had encouraged that narrative. He’d encouraged the shame Sirius had felt and emphasised the role of his family in his choices. He’d only mentioned Snape in the abstract, calling the whole thing an unfortunate incident.

Sirius had believed him. If he’d had any misgivings at the fact that he’d just tried to kill someone, it was pushed aside for the idea that it was just an unfortunate choice.

Dumbledore had used the same tone as now.

The Chief shuffled the papers he was holding and looked over at Dumbledore. “It, of course, is your right to do so, as I am sure you are well aware, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore inclined his head.

“If you follow this path, I feel obliged to remind you that the law requires this to be public, all of it.”

“I am familiar with the law.”

“Given the nature of this request, it will be a special session in front of the entire Wizengamot.”

“I understand, Chief Warlock.”

“Then, with the assurance that you have considered the negative impact of this motion against the potential impact of non-action,” Dumbledore nodded again, “I see no legal reason to deny this motion.”

Sirius looked around one last time, whatever coming was big. The Chief Warlock hardly ever checked with the filer of a motion before they moved to read it, even more rare was for them to caution a politician with as much experience as Dumbeldore. No one seemed to know what was coming, everyone was leaning forward in anticipation

The Chief Warlock shuffled his papers one more time, sighed, and then straightened up to face the waiting masses. “House Dumbledore moves to petition the members of council, the council will hear it.”

Andy’s chin came up, hand came off his arm, and gave him a glare that had him lounging back in his seat, the way he practised a million times until he could do it in sleep, the opposite of the perfect posture his mother expected but confident and arrogant enough for her to overlook it in the right settings. Andy turned her head and radiated an icy perfection that Sirius hadn’t missed but was still impressed by all the same.

Sirius braced for impact.

Dumbeldore did not disappoint.

“House Dumbledore petitions the members of the Wizengamot for custody and guardianship of Harry Potter, heir to House Potter.”

A dull roar rose in the court, or maybe it was just in his ears. He remained frozen in place, as though Andy had petrified him in place. Heads whipped toward their seats, calculating looks scanning over him.

Sirius’s magic bubbled up, ready to fight, ready to run. Sirius flexed his fingers, as much movement as he could manage, as much as he would allow himself, and met their stares head on.

Don’t let them see, don’t let them see, don’t flinch, don’t let them see -

“I second the petition,” Elphias Doge’s wand rose up, lighting up in his house colors.

If looks could kill, Andy would have taken out half the members, daring any others to give the petition the third vote it would need to take it to a full session.

“I third the petition,” Emmeline Vance’s wand came up as well.

The gavel started Sirius enough that he shifted, sitting up and leaning onto an arm, leaning into Andy. He nearly bit through his check when he returned his attention to the floor to meet Dumbledore’s gaze. Rage, ice cold, filled him. How dare he. How dare he try to take Harry, to override his oaths, to ignore James and Lily’s wishes. Sirius pictured ice forming a shield over his skin, settling in his bones. He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t flinch. He would do what he needed to do and then go home to Harry.

“House Dumbledore’s petition will be heard tomorrow, in the first available time slot before lunch. Members of the Wizengamot will be notified of the special session no later than 5 pm today. Full attendance is required.”

The gavel banged again.

The dull murmurs rose rapidly to shouts. Sirius ignored them and turned to Andy, hoping she had a plan.

Andy looked to him and waited. As subtle as possible, he broke the ice that encased his leg to the chair and offered her his arm. She took it. Together they started toward the stairs.

Later, Sirius would look at photos taken outside the doors to the wizagamont and realise how bad he looked. How glassy his eyes were. How stiff his posture was. Others might mistake it for anger or haughtiness, but he knew it for what it was. Knew how close he was to losing it. To losing everything. The only reason he got through the walk to the apparition point was because of Andy.

Andy who radiated anger, beauty, and poise. Andy who nodded at tentative allies, family friends, and reporters alike. Andy who was systematically tracking the room while also managing to look like she wasn’t dragging Sirius out the door as fast as possible. Andy who had the audacity to stop and greet Malfoy of all bloody people.

“Lucius” Andy greeted. Lucius inclined his head. “May I ask a favor?”

“Of course, Andromeda.”

“Will you pass an invitation on to my sister?” An intricately folded envelope appeared in Andy’s hand.

“I’ll give her your best,” Lucius agreed. “Of course this goes without saying, but House Black has House Malfoy’s full support.”

“Thank you,” Andy said. Sirius inclined his head.

“What are you doing?” Sirius murmured as they walked away. Andy ignored him and greeted Ms. Zabini instead.

Andy ignored Sirius’s gaze of confusion. He let it go and let her lead him where she wanted to go which turned out to be a lot off different people. Avery, Brown, Longbottom, Goyle, Macmillan, Greengrass, Flint, Fawley, Crabbe, Carrow, Bulstrode, Abbot, Parkinson, Sayre, Tripe, and Yaxley were all visited and given a folded envelope.

“What are you doing?” Even to his own ears his voice felt flat.

“Tea,” Andy said. “Tomorrow.”

“Tea.”

“Tea,” Andy repeated.

Sirius followed incredously, doing his best to look like he knew what was going on and also leading, not getting dragged along by Andy.

Andy who was speaking to Cornelius, asking, of course, about his wife and passing off yet another folded envelope when Sirius caught a glint of vibrant red out of the corner of his eye.

Dumbeldore strode to the doors, followed by reporters and flanked by a group of Wizengamot members, Doge and Vance at his sides. His eyes caught on Andy chatting to Cornelius and then focused there.

Dumbledore looked at Andy and Sirius knew that he hadn’t ever not known what she was. He’d just hadn’t considered her a player until now

Was he expecting her to run from a scandal? Andromeda Tonks?

Say what you’d like about Andy’s scandalous wedding but it hadn’t been the result of Andy fleeing. That wedding had been a victory parade, the result of years of planning and sneaking followed by one epic night of battle. Andy had come away alive, unharmed, and with everything she’d ever wanted. That wasn’t fleeing. It was a triumph.

She hadn’t been involved in pureblood circles since her wedding because she hadn’t been welcome. She knew that if she was going to reenter society she’d need to be untouchable. A pureblood heiress that ran away with a muggleborn? A target for every joke, every hex, and every gossip. Without the Black name behind her that challenge was insurmountable. With the Black name behind her? She had armour. Scandal didn’t scare Andy. She thrived on it.

A flash of a camera went off, Sirius instinctively looked toward the source. Rita. Dear Merlin, they needed to leave.

Andy, bless her, led him toward the doors, chatting all the while.

“Right, Sirius?” Andy would never be so undignified to be caught elbowing him in public.

“That’s right,” Sirius agreed.

“Marvellous!” Cornelius said.

“Never agree to something without knowing what it is,” Andy scolded when they were out of earshot.

“You’ve never steered me wrong,” Sirius murmured right back.

Another camera flash. “Mr. Black! Care to comment on the petition of Dumbledore?”

“This is an unfounded attack on House Black and House Potter,” Andy said, oozing disdain. It was a talent.

“What is your next move?”

“We will do our utmost to protect the interests of House Black and House Potter,” Andy said calmly, continuing to move Sirius toward the apparition point. “Good day.”

Sirius let himself be pulled into the spin of apparition. The last thing he heard was “Mr. Black! What does Mr. Potter want?”

--

DUMBLEDORE FILES PETITION FOR GUARDIANSHIP OF POTTER

Sirius threw down the newspaper in disgust. What a way to start the morning.

“There aren't any Defence textbooks listed,” Harry said, frowning at a thick letter in his hands. “No dress robes though, thank Merlin.”

“What is that?” This really wasn’t a good morning.

“Hogwarts letter,” Harry turned back to breakfast. “When can we go shopping? I bet Hermione’s going today.”

“Harry,” dread was swirling up his throat.

Harry looked up and a steely sort of resolve came over his face. “I want to go back to Hogwarts.”

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s my home!”

“It’s headmaster has filed a petition to remove you from my custody.”

“He’s never done anything to me!”

“Just stood by and let bad things happen!”

“Bad things always happen!”

“No shouting at the table,” Andy said sharply.

“I’m going back,” Harry said stubbornly. “You can’t keep me locked up here.”

He could, is the thing. It was possible to keep a rebellious Gryffindor teenager locked up. It wasn’t pleasant. Wasn’t necessarily legal. But it was possible. It also wasn’t an option, Sirius would quite rather die than emulate Walburga in any sense of his parenting style. However, it was not safe for Harry to go back. He couldn’t even picture what that looked like.

“How do we make it safe?” Sirius asked the room tiredly, the fight going out of him. Ted, Andy, and Harry all looked at him in surprise. “We aren’t saying you can’t go back at all, Harry. But it’s our job to keep you safe. Let’s see if we can figure something out.”

“Adult check-ins,” Andy said without hesitation. “Harry needs a way to contact an adult that is uninterfereably secure. He also needs to use it.”

“I’d use it!”

“You aren’t used to having an adult or anyone to help. Would you remember to ask for help?”

Harry threw himself into a chair with a sigh.

“We could check in,” Sirius offered. “Regularly.”

“What about in an emergency?” Andy said sharply before Harry could leave the table. He slumped back in his seat.

“You could write to Hermione too!” Harry threw his hands up in the air. “She’d tell you if I was lying.”

“What if Voldemort shows up?”

“Again?”

“That’s a reason to think we need a plan for that,” Sirius said, laughing without any joy behind it. “How can we get you out of Hogwarts if we needed to?”

“Elves,” everyone jumped as Tonks came through the doorway without a clatter. “Isn’t Dobby how this whole thing started?”

“Not Dobby,” Harry said with a shiver, “his help is dangerous.”

“Not properly worded, it wouldn't be,” Andy said with a frown. “Can you call him here?”

“But -” Sirius started to say.

“Dobby!”

The house elf appeared with a crack, standing on a chair next to Harry. He almost came up to Harry’s shoulder.

“- the wards,” Sirius finished weakly.

“Harry Potter!” Dobby flung himself at Harry. Harry caught him on reflex and then found himself in a hug. “Dobby has been so worried about Harry Potter. Dobby helped Hermione Granger keep Harry Potter safe!”

“I’m ok, Dobby,” Harry said. “Thank you for helping Hermione. You helped a lot.”

Dobby started to sniffle and then disentangled himself from Harry to wipe at his eyes.

“Most places aren’t warded against elves,” Tonks said, serving herself breakfast.

“How do you ward against elves?” Sirius asked, visions of Voldemort kidnapping Harry via house elf flashing into his mind.

“Other elves,” Tonks said, between bites.

“Kreacher!” Sirius said.

Kreacher popped into existence scowling at Dobby. “Trai-”

“Dobby is Harry’s guest,” Andy said coolly.

Kreacher’s mouth snpaped shut.

“Can you ward the house against house elves?” Sirius asked.

“Kreacher can,” Kreacher said slowly.

“What would you need to do it well?” Harry asked when the silence stretched on.

“Kreacher will need milk and bread,” Kreacher said. “Warmed on the hearth.”

“You need us to do it?” Tonks said interestedly.

“Yes,” Kreacher said. “Kreacher can not.”

“Can it be the bread in the kitchen?” Harry said, standing.

“Yes,” Kreacher said.

“Dobby can help,” Dobby offered.

“Actually, Dobby,” Siruis said quickly, taking in Kreacher’s murderous face, “We had a proposition for you.”

Dobby tilted his head, waiting.

“Harry wants to go back to Hogwarts,” Sirius said, glad to see Dobby's face wrinkle at that proclamation. “We are trying to figure out a safe way to do that.”

“What is Sirius Black asking?”

“If there was an emergency,” Sirius said. “Would you answer Harry's call and bring him back here?”

“Dobby would.”

“Would you swear to House Potter?”

“Dobby would not. Dobby is a free elf.”

An impasse, one he had already reached with Hermione. In order to guarantee house-elf loyalty, they needed to swear to a house. Harry’s safety could not be compromised.

“Dobby shouldn’t have to swear,” Harry said, coming back into the room with a glass of milk and a loaf of bread. “Where should I put this Kreacher?”

Kreacher said nothing but waited for Harry at the door before he led them from the room.

“Well, Tonks?” Sirius asked. “Any suggestions?”

“Have you asked Dobby?” She didn’t look up from the paper she was reading with a frown.

“Dobby? Any suggestions?”

“Dobby could have milk and bread too,” Dobby said. “Dobby couldn’t be made to betray his family if they were giving milk and bread, sir.”

“Kreacher is doing even though he is sworn,” Sirius said.

Dobby shrugged. “It is being how milk and bread works, sir.”

“If I were to leave milk and bread,” Sirius said, “magic couldn’t be used to make you give up Harry’s secrets.”

“Harry Potter would need to be leaving the milk and bread sir.”

“Andy?”

Andy considered Dobby. “We will check with Kreacher. Then we can decide.”

Kreacher was as uncooperative as he could be when he was ordered to answer truthfully but did confirm that milk and bread, so long as Harry continued to offer it, would magically protect Dobby.

“We can go to the Potter estate,” Sirius decided. “You can leave bread and milk there, for the first one.”

“Harry Potter can be leaving bread and milk at Hogwarts too.”

“So I can go back?”

“We need an adult at Hogwarts.”

“Hagrid,” Harry immediately suggested.

“One who doesn’t trust Dumbledore.”

“Snaaaaaa -” Harry stuttered and then made a face. “Does Snape trust Dumbledore?”

“Do you trust Snape?” And y asked, amused.

“This isn’t fair! Dumbledore hired all of them, of course they trust him!”

“Ted,” Andy said calmly, “has been elected to the school board.”

“He has?” Sirius asked. “When? How? Why didn’t I know?”

“We weren’t sure it would work,” Andy said. “Except the spot has been open so long that everyone forgot it was an option to fill in the election.”

“There are school board elections?” Harry asked. “People want to do it enough that they have to compete?”

“How did you manage that?”

“Ted is good at things like this,” Andy said, brushing the question off. Sirius had the sense she was lying but couldn't pin down why he thought that. It wasn’t a concern either way, Andy would tell him if he needed to know. “He’s also accepted the position of staff evaluator.”

Sirius was slightly more concerned. “How’d you get Malfoy to agree to that?”

“Ted presented his evaluation rubric,” Andy said. “Many of the teachers will not score well.”

“Which will give Malfoy a reason to recommend new staff members,” Sirius said.

“So now I can go back?”

“That leaves occlumency, your custody, your physical safety, and whether or not you would actually tell us if you needed something.”

“I’d tell you!”

Sirius considered this. “I believe you, Harry. I don’t think you’d lie.”

Harry’s shoulders came down a bit.

“Would you remember to ask for help?” Andy asked again. “It’s not fair to put your safety on Hermione.”

“You could visit,” Harry offered. “For Hogsmeade.”

“And quidditch games,” Sirius said, nodding.

They sat and considered this for a moment. Sirius caught Andy’s eye. She managed to give off the impression of a shrug without moving at all. She didn’t like it but it was Sirius’s call.

“I reserve the right to pull you out of school,” Sirius said. He didn’t wait for Harry to say whatever he was about to say. “I mean it, Harry. Dementors, Voldemort, Dumbledore overstepping, politics, something else insane. Your safety comes first. To a higher standard than you’re used to.”

Harry didn’t look happy but he nodded.

“With that sorted,” Andy said. “What’s everyone’s plan for today?”

- -

Sirius had been in trouble enough times to know when the opposing party knew something he didn’t. He did not like way the Order was looking at him. Did not like the way the Chief was looking at him. He especially did not like that wizards he knew to be death eaters were looking concerned for him.

They were early, but it didn’t feel like it. The court room was packed, a quiet, grim murmur buzzing with tension eating away at Sirius’s patience. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable in his deep red formal robes, and glanced at Andy.

She was wearing elaborate jet black robes and simple, shining, silver jewelry. Sirius didn’t know what the jewelry signified or who it had belonged to, just that Andy had pulled it from the vaults the past afternoon, quiet and thoughtful in a way she usually wasn’t.

Her gaze was locked across the room and Sirius flinched when he met the unwavering gaze of Narcissa Malfoy. Bone chilling dread weighed down his lungs as he looked more closely around the room and realized every pureblood spouse was in attendance, whether they had married into another pureblood house or not.

“Why are they here?” Sirius hissed. He’d been expecting Dumbledore to try an drag his name through the mud, to bring up every bad thing he’d ever done. Apparently, he’d misread the situation as most of the people here had witnessed most of those moments. They wouldn’t bother coming to court to rehash that part of the past.

“Dumbledore is not only going up against you,” Andy said, voice too calm. “He’s going up against House Black.”

That didn’t clarify matters at all, and frankly, Sirius was too scared to ask her to elaborate. Not that they had time. The Chief Warlock was raising his gavel and all eyes were on them.

--

As one might expect from a house that supported Voldemort, abused its heir and spare on a regular basis, and created not only a man who would marry his own cousin, but a cousin who was Walburga Black, life with in that house was survivable at best. His extended family hadn’t fared that much better. Considering the near constant abuse at home, Sirius had thought he’d done a pretty good job hiding what was going on. He’d had to, right? Other wise why hadn’t anyone said anything?

Now, listening to Dumbledore’s calm voice detailing the 5th consecutive year of abuse he’d suffered, Sirius was starting to wonder who hadn’t noticed.

“Who did he talk to?” Sirius asked, under his breath. “None of us told anyone the details.”

Sure, based on his appearance and hospital wing records at the beginning of each year someone could have put together that he was missing too many meals and being hexed too often, but that wouldn’t have given anyone the specifics.

Dumbledore wouldn’t have known that all he would have needed to do to eat was obey his mother, to go out and hex a muggle. Wouldn’t know that once, after a two weeks of nothing but bread and porridge he’d broke and gone muggle hunting with his father.

They wouldn’t know that he and Reg learned curses or how those lesson had been taught, taking turns hurting each other until they were numb to each other’s screams long before they’d mastered any curses.

They wouldn’t know how careless with his own life, not to mention others, that summer after his fourth year.

He wouldn’t be learning, in front of a full court, that it was his brother who’d found him dying on his floor after challenging the wards locking him in his room three too many times and revived him, against their mother’s orders.

By the time they’d gotten to his “prank” - if Dumbledore had spilled the truth about everything else the least he could do was tell the truth about this too! He hadn’t blurted out Moony’s secret. Snape figured it out on his own and he took advantage - everything sounded as though it was coming from underwater.

Sirius had completely tuned out by the time they broke for lunch, the gasps of the crowd no longer setting him on edge, the accusing and pitying stares no longer registering. He was cold and tired. He wanted to go home.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius said, watching Andy furiously smoking a pipe on the roof they’d manage to find the entrance to. “What’s his endgame? Horrifying everyone into agreeing with him?”

“Humiliation?” Lucius Malfoy’s voice asked.

“He must know he’s not going to win,” Cissy said, standing by the doorway, staring at her sister. “He may just being to stop the political coup you are engineering.”

“Cousin,” Sirius said. Cissy inclined her head, the picture of cool perfection.

Andy merely inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs, and thrust the pipe out at her sister. Cissy crossed the roof and took it, letting out a smooth stream of smoke as she stared out at the city around them.

“This is war,” Andy said. “You are a Black.”

Cissy didn’t agree but she also stayed where she was.

“He’s going to pull me into it next,” Andy said. “He’s going to pull you in as well. Perhaps you both.”

“Then it will be war with House Malfoy as well,” Lucius’s voice was anger, cold and firm, reminiscent of iron in left out in snow.

“I’m going to take him down,” Andy declared. “Him and his house. Nothing will be left.”

“Have you heard what he’s allowed to happen to our children? A basilisk, Andy. Dementors.”

“Your husband’s involvement notwithstanding.”

“Not now Sirius,” Andy snapped. “The philosopher’s stone, a Cerberus, a unicorn hunter, Fudge!”

“This will not convince me,” Cissy warned. “You are the traitor, not me. I have nothing to atone for.”

“Harry,” Andy said, “is a Black. He is ours.”

“Draco is as well.”

Both women stared at each other. Cissy handed the pipe back to Andy. Andy turned to Sirius.

“Draco is a Black.”

“He will not swear, he will not take the mark, he will not kneel to a madman,” Sirius said. He’d hesitated over their names that day in Gringotts for a reason, he wouldn’t help them fund a war but until they forsake the family magic for that monster they were still family. “Nor will you.”

Cissy’s lips pressed into a thin line but she nodded. Lucius didn’t say anything, watching with quiet, careful eyes.

“It’s time,” Andy announced and turned back toward the doors.

--

Andy didn’t often remind Sirius of Bella. Once one got over the shock of family resemblance their differences were too vast to ignore. Except when she was trapped, as it turned out.

Sirius had watched with distant interest as Andy skipped straight past the panicked, trapped feeling he’d gotten stuck in and lept straight into rage.

If he hadn’t known better, hadn’t lived with the sounds of Bella’s laughing screams echoing down the halls of Azkaban, he would have thought it was Bella’s cruel stare next to him.

He’d never learned what had happened to Andy when she’d left her parents house for the final time. The first time he’d asked her about it, she got a hollow, haunted look in her eyes. He’d tried to avoid the topic after that.

The answer, he learned along with the rest of the Wizengamot, was Andy was a hell of a duelist. She’d made it to the foyer, preparing to simply slip out the door and never return, when Bella stopped her, calling out to their parents.

“She wasn’t even supposed to be home,” Andy whispered to him, eyes locked on Dumbledore who managed to monologue while under her glare. “She wasn’t living there anymore. I still don’t know how she found out.”

Her parents, much like his own, didn’t see anything wrong with a hex or two or ten to keep their children in line. When they came into the room they’d started to cast, forcing Andy back up the stairs. Bella, already deep in Voldemort’s clutches, had cackled madly and joined the fray.

“She declared that a blood-traitor sister was no sister at all,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “At this point Mrs. Tonks cast the unforgivable curse imperius and used her mother as a human shield.”

“Smart,” Sirius offered.

Andy retreated to the upstairs hall where her mother broke out of the curse. As she was busy duelling her mother, father, and Bella she didn’t notice Narcissa opening up her bedroom door and stepping into the hall. She was swiftly stunned.

“She hesitated,” Andy said. “You don’t see him mentioning that.”

Andy had woken up to her sisters arguing about whether Bella should wake her up with the cruciatus curse, her parents furious and shouting over the top of them, still confused as to what was going on. Andy took her chance. She’d hit Bella with the cruciatus curse she was debating cursing her with, disarmed Narcissa, and hexed her parents unconscious before fleeing out a nearby window in Narcissa’s room.

“Clearly,” Dumbledore finished solemnly, “if there had been admissible witnesses at the time, Mrs. Tonks and Mrs. Malfoy would not be considered suitable guardians as they would both be facing Azkaban.”

“Are there any witnesses?” Sirius asked.

Andy frowned and continued to glare. Across the council room Cissy was sitting perfectly upright, glaring as well. Lucius’s look of anger could not compare to Andy’s glare but was passably intimidating as well.

“Who are your witnesses, Headmaster?” The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot leaned forward in his seat. “How did you come to this information?”

“I must insist they remain anonymous, Chief Warlock. Their safety would be at risk.”

“From the Blacks?” he asked incredulously. “From Sirius Black or Andromeda Tonks?”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything, instead meeting the Chief’s gaze as he waited for an answer.

“Very well,” the Chief said. “We will dismiss for lunch and then reconvene for final remarks before the council has the floor.”

--

“Should there not be laws against this kind of thing?”

“Of course there should be,” Andy said, not looking up from the menu.

“Is this how the government always works?” Sirius looked fearfully around the room.

“Don’t be silly, it’s only tea.”

“With every pure-blood wife and daughter ever,” Sirius muttered. Everyone was politely staring at him and tittering. He didn’t like it.

Tea pots started appearing on the tables, followed by towers of sandwiches and individual bowls of soup.

“Good choice, Andromeda,” Madam Longbottom said. “I am simply famished after that farce.”

“Not that we doubt your victory, darling,” Mrs. Avery said. “Mr. Black, are you staying for tea?”

“Sirius is only staying briefly,” Andy said, saving him trying to figure out his role. “He has errands to run before we resume.”

“Is your sister joining us?”

“Indeed,” Narcissa walked confidently around the table and kissed her sister on both cheeks before inclining her head at Sirius. “Cousin.”

“Narcissa,” Sirius said, conscious of the many, many eyes on him. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you.”

“Have my chair,” Sirius quickly took his cue, jumping up to pull out his chair for Cissy.

“Do take a sandwich on the way out, Sirius.”

“He was just like this in school,'' one of the women said fondly as he rushed from the room, sandwich in one hand and a tea cake crammed in his mouth. The voice was familiar but Sirius couldn’t place it. “Always rushing about.”

“He’s surprised me,” he heard another lady say, younger this time. “I would have expected him to run wild, away from anything to do with the House.”

Sirius ended up back at Bowtruckle Run, distracted and instinctively searching out Harry. Ron was at his divination tutoring - he still hadn’t apologised but Harry and Ron seemed to be at an understanding. Hermione and Ron had become icily polite to each other.

Hermione was reading a book in the library, one Andy had given her, a stack next to her ranging from history to magical beasts.

“He’s in his room,” she said without looking up. “He just finished his charms.”

Sirius took off, jumping over the river that had been out for a while now, favoring the cartography section. The family magic was getting stronger, able to power stronger and stronger magical acts around the house. It was a strong sign that he was doing this right, at least.

The wallpaper was more lively now. As keepers of the family magic, the strange creatures revealed themselves, faces blinking into view around the eyeballs that tracked guests down the hallway. They whispered to him, not in words, but in impressions carried by the wards. It was a really clever piece of charm work.

Harry was indeed in his room, lounging in his window seat practicing charm work. His books were dancing off of his bookshelves, reminiscent of synchronised swimming.

“You’re improving,” Sirius said, impressed. He was promptly swamped with books, fluttering around him like butterflies.

“Just wait until we duel again,” Harry said, pleased. “I have some ideas.”

“I’m so excited,” Sirius said with an eye roll. He couldn’t think of what to say next.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. The books started back the the shelves, one by one.

“It was a rough day,” Sirius said after a pause. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. I have to go back soon.”

“Is it going to make the papers?” Harry asked. Sirius hated that’s how Harry instinctively measured bad days.

“Yes,” Sirius said, sitting down when Harry moved his feet. “Might even spawn a biography if I’m lucky.”

“How long do you have?” Harry asked. “Until you have to go back?”

“An hour,” Sirius flipped the pocket watch around and neatly flung it back into its pocket.

“You can stay up here,” Harry offered. “I’m practicing colour charms next. You could go back with blue hair.”

It wasn’t what Sirius was picturing when he’d come home but as it turns out, cuddling up with his godson in the shape of Padfoot watching practice charms was a soothing way to spend lunch. Even if his leg hair was now purple. Who else was going to know?

--

Sirius was nearly asleep when the realisation hit like a bolt of lightning. He was out of bed and pulling on a leather jacket before his brain caught up with his rage.

Phineas Nigellus Black.

Sirius stopped only to check in on Harry, listening carefully outside his door before quietly peeking in. Harry was sound asleep, sprawling out in bed, pillows kicked to the floor. He closed the door again and put his hand on the plaque. It burned under his hand as the wards responded. He’d know if Harry left the room while he was gone. With a crack, Sirius apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place.

The house was silent, the portraits still asleep. Sirius stormed up the stairs, searching the frames. Throwing his hands in the air, Sirius stormed back down the stairs, up to the curtains, and ripped them back.

His mother’s portrait sucked in a breath and Sirius didn’t bother controlling his magic as he spoke over her. “Phineas Nigellus Black has betrayed our house.”

The lights flickered on and off, flames casting shadows along the walls.

“Release me,” his mother’s painting demanded. “Release me, I will bring him to you.”

His magic surged out and yanked at the warding, following the same paths as before. Walburga rushed from her frame, wand out. Sirius rushed alongside her as she dodged through portraits. They burst into an abandoned bedroom and Sirius’s anger was quickly tempered by fear as he watched his mother reach through the empty frame and drag a man back.

“TRAITOR TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK!”

“What?!” The man sputtered. Sirius couldn’t see his face.

“TRAITOR!”

“Release me! Walburga Black what in Merlin’s name has gotten into you?”

“Traitor to the House of Black,” Sirius decided to roll with it. “Tell me right now why I shouldn’t burn your portrait?”

“Young Sirius Black,” Phineas managed to look unpleasant while being held at wand point by his mother. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You sold my childhood to Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “You endangered my ward and the heir to House black. You exposed House Black’s secrets.”

Phineas didn’t say anything. Walburga's wand flashed. Phineas yelped.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Sirius decided.

Chapter Text

HOUSE BLACK: ABUSE, SCANDAL, AND THE DARK ARTS

Albus Dumbledore has filed a petition for custody of the Boy Who Lived using an uncommon and ancient law, intended to protect Heads of House and keepers of family magic when they are orphaned at a young age or are shown to be in unsafe custody.

This petition comes after a dramatic start to the summer when Sirius Black was found innocent of his accused crimes and reaffirmed his right to custody. No one knows when he took Harry Potter or from whom.

“He lived with muggles,” a former Hogwarts student reports. “He didn’t know how to be a wizard.”

One can only imagine what Black is teaching the saviour of the wizarding world or how he removed him from his muggle home after hearing the testimony this past afternoon: unforgivables, starvation, and attempted murder were all common practices in the Black household. Lessons Sirius Black embraced when he tried to lead esteemed potions master Professor Severus Snape to his death via werewolf while he was still in school.

After breaking out of Azkaban using his illegal animagus form, Black went on the run. At some point he came into contact with Harry Potter, removing him from his home. Potter has been in Black’s custody ever since. Dumbledore has asked himself what many of us are now questioning ourselves: Can we stand by and let the Boy-Who-Lived remain in Black’s custody? Can we take that risk? Or, if we remain actionless, do we run the risk of another Dark Lord in the making?

Story continued on page 9 →

--

“You want me to talk to a reporter?” Harry asked.

Sirius made an effort to not sigh dramatically. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he was unprepared for this kind of life. However, if that’s what he was taking away from this talk he was purposefully missing the point. “I want you to think about what you are ok with the public knowing about your thoughts and feelings. I want you to think about what you want House Potter to publicly support.”

“By talking to the press,” Harry said shortly.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” Sirius said, with a wave of his arm. “But they are going to try and talk to you. It’s good to practice beforehand.”

“I think that they are all being bloody barmy and should leave me alone.”

“Then you say no comment or you ignore them. If they publish anything that breaches that, then we can sue them.”

“That doesn’t get my point across.”

“Your point that they are being stupid?”

“Yes.”

“That’s more of a thing you communicate with your eyes.”

Harry sighed heavily, leaned back, and crossed his arms.

“Just like that,” Sirius said. “I would just do that. It’s way harder to take out of context. If they take a picture, you can glare at all of Britain.”

“Why can’t they leave me alone?” Harry groaned. “I’m not interesting.”

“More interesting than their lives,” Sirius said. “They’ll also want to know about me and Voldemort.”

Harry sighed again. Sirius wanted to as well. He wasn’t getting it.

--

“I don’t want to talk to the press.”

Hermione chose not to respond. Harry had been repeating the same points for several hours now. He just didn’t seem to get that he wasn’t going to get a choice in the matter. The next time he left the house, they were going to try to talk to him.

“Why not?” Ginny plunked down next to them with her broom. “It could help Sirius.”

“What?” Harry asked. Hermione went back to the auction records she was staring at.

“If you answer a few questions about what life was like at the Dursleys or release a statement about what life is like with Sirius, the Wizengamot will know the kind of garbage Dumbledore is trying to feed them.”

“Sirius didn’t say anything about that,” Harry said, knocked out of his bad mood and now unsure.

“Sirius didn’t want to put you in the middle,” Hermione said, turning the page. “That doesn’t mean you can’t use your brain. You are the heir to House Potter, head of the Potter family magic. You have power now Harry. If you use it correctly you could end this whole thing before it begins.”

“How?”

Hermione sighed and put her records aside. “If you come out with a statement about how well Sirius is treating you, how he’s preparing you to be head of House, how he’s making sure you get tutoring and quidditch and everything else, you’ll win over the purebloods who don’t like Dumbledore, the purebloods who like old traditions, and all the people who just want you to be happy.”

“How do I do that?” Harry looked ready to jump up and find a reporter.

“Talk to Mrs. Tonks,” Hermione pulled the records back toward her. “She’s probably already got a plan.”

“Give’em hell Potter!” Ginny called after Harry.

--

“Are you sure this is wise?” Sirius asked, again.

“Yes,” Andy snapped her small mirror shut and it floated off, back into her bag.

“Andy,” Sirius said.

“Sirius,” Andy said. “He can’t stay wrapped up here forever. At the very least he’d try to break out, you said so yourself.”

That was true. Sirius had said so himself. Just a bit ago. In exasperation. Over Harry charging in ready to speak to the press in order to save Sirius.

“This isn’t his fight,” Sirius said. “We’re keeping him out of this because he is a kid. He shouldn’t have to fight this fight.”

“And how hard are you going to fight him to keep him out of it?”

Sirius deflated, slumping against the wall.

Andy stood and crossed the room to him. “If I could, I would wrap Harry up and store him away from the rest of the world. However, given his adventures at school and the fact I know he’s broken out of his residence by flying car, I think a controlled entrance to society is a much better option than the alternative.”

“What do I need to do?”

--

“What was it like?” Hermione asked, staring up at Harry’s bed’s canopy.

Harry grinned at his snake who was winding through his fingers. “It’s so, so - so, much.”

Hermione waited while he found his words.

“It was really dusty.”

Hermione huffed.

“There was a library,” Harry offered. “It felt like the Burrow.”

“The Potter Estate felt like the Burrow?”

“Like a family lived there,” Harry sat up, bouncing his wand off his knees. “There are portraits everywhere, and I bet - if we went during the day - it would be filled with sunlight. Lots of sunlight. There was a basket of knitting, ready to go and everything.”

Hermione pictured something filled with old, polished wood and lots of windows.

“We’ll go,” Harry promised. “Once the Wizengamot is done. I want you to see it.”

“Was it,” Hermione tried to sum up the feeling she wanted to know if Harry was feeling as well. “Did it feel like you wanted it to?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It felt like I fit in there.”

“Good,” Hermione said firmly. “And you found a hearth?”

The implications that house elves could be magically protected by a magically binding agreement via milk and bread were fascinating. Hermione found herself referring to muggle literature of all things, if house elves and hobs and brownies were all the same creature then -

“Hermione,” Harry said again.

“Sorry?”

“We found a hearth. Dobby is serving House Potter,” Harry wandered over to the window. “We’re ready to go tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” Hermione asked again. “This is going to be a lot. Not just politically.”

“I’m sure,” Harry had the tone he got when he wasn’t going to listen to anyone, no matter the logic. “You’re going?”

“With Tonks,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and continued to look out the window.

“I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”

--

Sirius was simultaneously amused beyond reason and so angry he had considered not coming. His body was dealing with this by deciding it was tired. In his body’s defence, it had been a long two days.

“I’m just not sure that this was the correct step, Albus,” Minverva’s Scottish accent was getting more severe the more Dumbledore sat serenely at the other head of the table. Sirius had arrived before anyone else and hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t needed to. As soon as Dumbledore had shown up, the Order had been clamouring with questions.

“You are accusing Sirius of severe crimes,” Shacklebolt cut in, casting an awkward but confident look down at him, “you are pulling Harry into the middle of a political storm.”

“Are you sure this was necessary?”

“Harry is the integral piece to winning this war,” Dumbledore said. “We must ensure his safety and his upbringing. At all costs.”

The crowd quieted. Sirius rested his head on his fist, head lolling to the side.

“It’s a bold move,” Moody said, “showing our discord to the enemy.”

A chiming came from the many folds of Dumbledore's robes. Minerva sounded dismayed when he pulled a small metal orb out, spinning furiously on the end of a chain.

“Alas,” he rose, tucking the orb back in his robes. “Hogwarts calls. I trust you to finish the agenda in my absence.”

Sirius watched the heads start to turn toward him.

“Sirius,” Minerva started out tentatively, “are you sure? Surely Albus can come to see Harry. Just to see that he’s safe?”

The questions started to flow.

“Could he live part-time at his aunt and uncles?” Diggle.

“Sirius, are you sure this is what you wanted to do?” Vance.

“Surely the boy could be brought before the Wizengamot?” Doge.

“Could the protections be replicated?” Moody was tracking the questions with his real eye, his fake eye fixed on something out of sight.

“Sirius you see why Dumbledore needs to see Harry? Regularly?” Minerva.

“He shouldn’t have taken him in the first place.” Podmore.

“We could do regular check-ins?” Hestia.

“We need to start preparing, Voldemort is not going to wait,” Moody’s eye whirled and landed on Sirius.

“Why do we need Harry for a war?”That was Bill, leaning back in his chair, studying the Order members.

“Sirius,” Minerva snapped. “There is no harm in allowing -”

Something in Sirius snapped back. Cold flooded his chest and he surged to his feet.

"MINERVA MCGONAGALL YOU HAVE FAILED MY GODSON!" Sirius roared.

She startled back in her chair, speechless.

"You've failed me," Sirius said, continuing. "You've failed every single student who's gone home to pain and starvation."

Silence.

“The Durselys starved him. Hurt him. Kept him in a cupboard,” Sirius felt the cold settle over him like a king’s mantle. Blank faces stared at him. Remus was here, Sirius realized with a dull pang. Avoiding eye contact. “You addressed his Hogwarts letter to him at the cupboard under the stairs.”

Minerva didn’t say anything, staring with her mouth slightly open.

“Did you know what my mother was doing?” Sirius asked tiredly, fingers tracing patterns in the hoarfrost on the table. More silence. “Did you know?”

“Sirius,” Minerva said, horrified.

“You knew what they were doing to Harry, you watched them, you said. You addressed his letters. You were his head of house. You didn’t do anything,” Sirius said. “Did you know what they were doing to me?”

“Dumbledore said -”

“He lied.”

A wide-eyed look.

“How many other students are you failing?” Sirius asked idly, looking down the table at Remus. He met his gaze. Sirius had no idea what he was thinking. “How many of us were failed?”

--

He was going to have to be on the floor for the next part of the petition. There was no way around it. The protocol was strictly described. Albus could have as much time as they needed to present their evidence against Sirius, the Wizengamot would have a day to go through documents, transcripts, and other materials as necessary, and then Sirius would be required to go on the floor to answer questions. He had to be on the floor. There was no getting around it.

“They can hear me just as well from the bench,” Sirius muttered. Andy tugged at his jewelled collar harder than necessary. “I know, I know.”

“You don’t have to sit,” Andy said. “You could stand for the whole thing.”

His chest loosened a bit. “I just might.”

Andy finished untangling the chains and looked at him critically. “A proper pureblood heir.”

“Oh bugger off,” Sirius said. “I should just show up in my jacket.”

She shot him a look that had him straightening up.

“Do you think this is the right call?” Sirius asked.

“They will be safe,” Andy said. “Tonks and Ted won’t leave their side.”

“Is that enough?”

“Between my husband and daughter, Dobby, and the portkeys Harry and Hermione will end up here at the first sign of trouble.”

Sirius breathed through the jitters rising over him and considered himself in the mirror. Green and gold. Potter and Evans. Green robes, gold jewellery, and … “Pearls?”

Andy looked over and considered the earring. “Pearls and diamonds.”

Sirius grabbed a different one and put it on. “I think I’m ready.”

Andy waited for him to offer his arm, a vision in black and silver. Lady Black proper. “Let’s be on our way.”

--

“Stop looking,” Andy said.

“I can’t,” Sirius hissed back.

“You’re bringing more attention to him.”

“He brought his snake.”

“What?” Andy was looking now too. “What is he thinking?”

“I’m not sure he is.”

Harry waved at both of them. Sirius waved back out of habit. Unukalhai, or Hai Hai, as everyone had been calling the mouthful of a snake’s name, scales caught the light where he was wrapped around Harry’s neck.

“Maybe no one will notice?” Andy offered. “He blends in rather well.”

The black and brown colouring did blend into Harry’s black robes. Unlike his school robes, his didn’t close and were edged in silver thread that glimmered under the light. His black shirt and grey trousers also had silver details. Harry finally had a comparable amount of jewellery to his peers, rings glimmered on his fingers and silver flashed at his ears. Hai Hai rested among Harry’s layered necklaces. Still, there was no denying Harry was wearing a snake.

“Cissy has noticed it.”

“Dear Merlin.”

“Huh,” Andy’s noise of surprise had Sirius looking toward the door.

“Arthur Weasley?”

“As well as Molly, William, and Ronald.”

“Dressed for the occasion.”

They weren’t wearing new robes but the old robes they were wearing were very, very nice. Each Weasley was shining with jewellery, even Ron.

“That’s Prewett family jewellery,” Andy said surprised.

“On who?”

“Molly and William. Ronald's rings might be as well.”

Ron took off, heading for Harry and Hermione. Sirius wasn’t the only one tracking his path. Hermione and Harry scooted down and Ron settled down on the other side of Harry. Then pet Hai Hai on the head. A murmur went through the seated body.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Sirius said.

“I suppose cats and toads make frequent appearances,” Andy said. “As well as that raven when we were young.”

“I suppose,” Sirius said, ignoring the eyes on him. He watched Molly, Arthur, and William take their seats.

“You did lean heavily into the snake thing,” Andy continued.

“He shouldn’t be ashamed of who he is,” Sirius burst out, trying to not feel like a petulant kid. “Just because Voldemort has taken over the talking to snake thing doesn’t mean Harry should feel ashamed.”

Andy smiled at him. Sirius tried not to pout.

The gavel banged. The doors swung closed. Sirius felt the magic in the air ripple as the wards settled into place.

--

“Why did you remove Mr. Potter from his residence?” Madame Bones asked.

“I have legal custody of Harry,” Sirius leaned against the back of the chair in front of him. He refused to sit down. “I deemed it was in his best interest to live with me. Harry agreed.”

“Why did you think it was in his best interest?”

“Harry was living with his aunt and uncle. While I hold no ill will against muggles, Petunia and Vernon remind me of my parents. They abused him and treated him worse than a house elf. They refused to teach him about magic.”

A murmur whipped through the room, bouncing from person to person. Despite Harry insisting, Sirius still felt gross announcing it in front of everyone.

“What have you done to ensure Harry’s wellbeing since he’s been in your custody?” Madam Longbottom asked, angry and commanding.

“Healers,” Sirius said slowly, trying to figure out why she was so mad, “tutors, new clothes, a healthy diet, education befitting an heir to an ancient house, and just generally letting him be himself in a safe environment.”

“How have you protected the Potter Family magic?” Lucius asked. Heads turned toward him, surprised.

“Harry is now the head of House Potter,” Sirius said. Even more surprised noises. “He holds the family magic.”

Dumbledore’s eyes blazed.

“Will you raise him with the traditions of his house?” Avery asked. The implied all of them went unsaid.

“As was his parent’s wishes,” Sirius inclined his head.

“As you are able,” Bill said, turning red at the stares but ignoring the way people were eyeing him, “please describe the wards you use to keep Harry safe.”

“I’m sure you could describe them better, Mr,” Something clicked as he studied Bill’s deep purple robes, a perfect match to Molly’s delicate shawl. “…. Weasley?”

“Prewett,” Bill said.

The members burst into chatter. Andy’s eyebrows were in her hairline. Ron looked like he wanted to wave and sink down into his seat all at once. Hermione’s eyes bounced between him and the Weasley-Prewetts. It was making him dizzy.

The gavel banged again. The court quieted.

“Try your best, Mr. Black.”

“Well,” Sirius said, “there are privacy wards, of course, and it’s unplottable. There’s what my grandpa always called war wards, those are always active to varying levels at our residence. The normal assortment of charms and hexes and then a large number of runes powered by the family magic.”

“I can attest to the strength of the protections,” Bill said. “Anyone would be hard-pressed to find something better.”

That was as bold as saying House Prewett was allying with House Black and House Potter.

The Chief Warlock didn’t bother to bang the gavel and just spoke over the murmurs. “The members will stay on task or I will assume the questioning has been concluded.”

“Why have you refused to allow anyone to see Harry?” Elphius Doge asked sharply.

“I haven’t,” Sirius said, as mildly as he could. “Harry routinely sees the Weasleys, the Tonks, the Grangers, and saw many of his friends for his birthday.”

Harry's look of casual calm was ruined by the snake climbing through his hair. He still met the eyes of the adults looking at him with an innocent smile. It got him several smiles back.

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Doge asked.

Sirius didn’t dignify that with a response and instead let his incredulity show on his face.

“How do you feel about Albus Dumbledore’s insistence that you are unfit to have custody of Harry?” Nott asked. He was always one to want to stir the pot.

“Concerned.”

“How so?”

“I have found him inappropriately and overly involved in Harry’s life. It is concerning to me that he is attempting to get custody now.”

More murmurs. Sirius prayed to Morgana for strength.

Much to his displeasure the questions continued for several more hours. What was House Black’s stance on blood magic? What was House Black’s stance on NEWTS? How much autonomy will Harry have over decisions for House Potter? How will Sirius respond if Harry chooses to oppose House Black politically? How does Walburga’s parenting impact Sirius’s?

It was as much of a trial as it was an expedition to figure out House Black’s position politically. Sirius could see the fault lines shifting with every question he answered.

Then, finally, “The session will resume in one hour to vote.”

Sirius hung his head, rolling out his neck. Time for lunch.

--

Harry focused on Hai Hai. He’d been making scathing remarks about the patterns various people had chosen to wear. Snakes could see things humans couldn’t, leading to a hilarious debate on wizarding fashion.

“He would be eaten, does not blend in at all.”

“It’s rather plain, except for the embroidery,” Harry hissed back.

“Bad.”

“Well, what about her?”

“Spots are good, blurs together. Not prey.”

Hai Hai, perhaps sensing the gravity of the situation, was quiet now, resting in the sleeve of Harry’s robe.

There was a tension now, nothing was stopping people from speaking at full volume but instead, they whispered. The low hisses overlapped and built, a worried murmur swelling until it faded into the background.

Ron shifted next to him, his blue robes trapped under Harry’s thigh. Ron hadn’t said anything but had stayed by Harry’s side the whole time, glaring back at people who stared too long.

“All those who find and maintain that Sirius Black is appropriately guarding and protecting Harry Potter’s wellbeing and education.”

Wands went up around the room. The entire section Harry had been calling the Slytherin Ones in his head lit up with family colours. Half the Order’s wands went up, including Bill and Arthur. Madame Longbottom, Madame Bones, and the group sitting around them all lit their wands as well.

“It’s all the old families,” Hermione whispered. “The ones who still follow old traditions.”

“And the ones who don’t socialize with Dumbledore,” Ron nodded toward a blonde man. “The Lovegoods aren’t fans.”

“The Wizengamot affirms Sirius Black’s custody of Harry Potter. The rest of the petition filed by Albus Dumbledore is dismissed.”

Shouts broke out.

“Let’s go,” Tonks said. “We want to beat the crowd.”

Quickly they made their way to the doors. Andy and Sirius had made similarly quick strides and joined them, politely acknowledging offered congratulations.

“It’s over?” Harry had to double-check. “We can go home.”

Sirius looped his arm around his shoulders. “We can go home.”

The doors opened and Harry ducked his head against the flash of camera bulbs. Together, they waded into the crowd. It was over. They could go home.

Something wriggled against Sirius’s arm. “Hai Hai, Harry? Really?”

A camera flashed. Andy was glaring at a reporter who was too close and too loud.

“He gets lonely!”

Hermione stumbled and Harry pulled her around until she was on the other side of Sirius. She neatly took his offered arm. Ron stood guard on the other side, his height helping him against the press of the crowd.

“Snakes have no business on the floor.”

“I wasn’t on the floor.”

“Harry.”

“What?” Harry asked, grinning.

Sirius shook his head with a laugh. “We’ll talk at home.”

He couldn’t hear the next shouted question over Harry’s laugh. It was kind of perfect.

Chapter Text

“I guess I am just confused why we are here,” Richard said, looking around the table. Hermione tried not to fidget. She’d explained multiple times how big a deal this was. Her mother seemed to understand but her father seemed to be refusing to listen.

“Harry would like to go to the press,” Sirius said. “Or at least, speak to them when they ask questions. Harry’s life often involves Hermione. Since she’s a minor, you get to make decisions on her behalf when it comes to the public sphere.”

“Why does he need to go to the press if you’ve already won custody?” Jean asked, quietly.

“Because it’s not over,” Mrs. Tonks said, twirling her tea around its cup. “Legally, yes, Sirius has custody and it’s not likely for him to lose it at this point. However, Harry is preparing to enter the world, politically and socially. There’s going to be a lot of forces at play here.”

“Like what?” Richard asked, frowning.

Hermione tried not to bristle, even though they’d had a succession of successful outings to Diagon Alley to get potion ingredients and snacks that Hermione had missed during the summer, her father still treated Wizarding politics as pretend. There wasn’t any effect on his life or his government, so surely it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Harry is considered the saviour of the wizarding world,” Sirius said with a scowl. “He’s from an ancient and mostly pureblooded house, a rich family, and is magically powerful. Putting aside the fame he gets from his schooling shenanigans, he’s recently made waves by being announced as the head of House Potter, keeper of its family magic, and securing an alliance with House Prewett, a House that hasn’t been playing politics. House Weasley has also joined the fray, presumably to support Harry.

“Harry’s politics are unique for such a powerful force, he’s choosing creature rights, muggle rights, and pro-government views on societal support. On the other hand, he’s supporting family magic, traditional rites, and blood magic.”

“He’s also being backed up by Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks said. “Who’s shown he’s playing this seriously.”

“I’m always Sirius,” Sirius agreed.

“You’re forming a new side, politically,” Jean said.

“Unintentionally,” Sirius allowed, “but yes. There’s going to be a lot of people who want Harry’s attention and support. The public is ravenous to learn more about Harry and his life.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore is against this,” Jean said, half a statement, half a question.

“Seems to be,” Sirius said. “He’s doing a damn good job of avoiding me.”

“Aren’t you jointly hosting meetings at one of your houses? If he’s moved for custody, why not cut him off?”

“I’m sure that he will move soon,” Sirius said. “Or find ways to schedule when I’m not there. But in the meantime, letting him use my house is serving two purposes. First, no one at those meetings can say I am not being reasonable. I have been perfectly reasonable the whole time and am now acting as a gracious winner. The second is I get to know what's going on at the meetings.”

“You’re allied too,” Harry said. “You both think Voldemort's back.”

Sirius made a face at the word allies but pointed to Harry, “Voldemort is another big reason to go to the press.”

“How so?” Jean took a biscuit. Richard was leaning back in his chair, thinking.

“He’s back,” Harry said. “A lot of people still don’t believe me.”

“Without the public believing Harry, they are at a disadvantage. We can’t pass wartime measures or even convince people to lock their doors,” Sirius said. “If we are going to start preparing for this war, we need the public on our side.”

“You think it will be a war?” Richard asked.

“He’ll try to make it one,” Sirius said. “I doubt we will be able to stop it from escalating to fighting. We have a chance to avoid what it was like last time.”

Hermione shivered and shifted her focus to the fire crackling merrily behind them. No matter the weather, Sirius gravitated toward rooms that had fires going. Kreacher had started to keep fires in most of the hearths and as a consequence, they now had to wander through the seemingly endless rooms of Bowtruckle Run to find where Sirius had settled for the day.

“Where do we come in?” Richard asked. Hermione winced at his tone.

“Hermione’s my friend,” Harry said, simply. “If they ask me about, well, anything really, Hermione was with me.”

“Hermione’s muggle-born,” Jean said, understanding immediately. “She’s going to be a political statement.”

“Unfortunately,” Mrs. Tonks said.

“I’m also going to be involved in politics,” Hermione took her chance, daring her parents to revoke their permission. “I want to be able to advocate for my positions.”

“Your safety,” Jean spoke over whatever her father was going to say, “is the most important thing for us. How do we keep you safe?”

Her father’s jaw clenched.

“We,” Jean said, looking over at him, “are going to need to talk about this, bug.”

Hermione nodded, biting the inside of her lip.

“Do you need us for the rest?” Harry asked, suddenly.

“Nah,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. “You kids are good to go.”

Hermione didn’t protest as Harry all but dragged her from the room.

---

“So Sirius is just showing up?” Ginny asked. “And Dumbledore’s not doing anything about it?”

“What could he do?” Ron asked. “It’s Sirius's house.”

“He could have someone else host,” Ginny said. “Our house has a lot of wards because of Bill.”

“Mum would never let that happen.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Besides very publicly breaking with Dumbledore?” Hermione asked, dryly.

“Well, that’s secondary,” Ron said, managing to avoid acknowledging Hermione at all while answering her question. Harry would have been impressed by this talent except he was so sick of it that he could barely resist the urge to pull out his own hair. “Mainly, she just wants to keep Fred and George as far away as possible.”

“I wonder if Dumbledore was expecting everyone else to get Sirius to listen,” Hermione was also not acknowledging Ron. She was much more snooty about it, though Harry supposed she had the right to be. “Sirius was really young during the last war, he probably just went where people told him.”

They all contemplated this for a moment.

“You get to go to Order meetings,” Ron said suddenly. “Right?”

“I guess,” Harry said. He’d never really thought of it that way. He was at the first meeting but it hadn’t felt like anyone was letting him go. Sirius explained why he needed to go over to his childhood home and Harry had asked if he could go along. Since then, he'd only chosen to go to a few. “They’re kind of boring though.”

“The war meetings to stop Voldemort are kind of boring?” Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. “They kind of just talk in circles. Until Voldemort does something it's a lot talking to different groups who don’t believe us or do believe us because they want Voldemort to be back.”

And arguing over Harry of course, but Harry was trying not to think about that now that the court case had been settled.

“It must be bloody nice to know what’s going on,” Ron said. “Mum doesn’t tell us anything.”

“There isn’t really anything going on,” Harry said slowly. “Dumbledore is ignoring Sirius, Sirius is showing up to every meeting to prove that he can, and the Order seems like they want to move on from me but can’t agree on how.”

“That’s it? That’s what they are doing to fight Voldemort?”

“It’s not like he’s done anything to stop,” Harry said, fighting off a shiver. “Dumbledore thinks he will try to start worming his way into the ministry to steal a weapon but we haven’t found any signs that he’s started to do that.”

“What do they think he’s doing?”

“Gathering support,” Ron said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, slowly. “How’d you know?”

Ron shrugged. “It’s what I would do.”

“So,” Ginny said, sounding upset, “we are at war but can’t do anything about it?”

Harry nodded glumly. “At least they believe me.”

“Do they?” Hermione asked. “Or do they believe Dumbledore?”

“Mum does,” Ron said. “That’s why she went to Aunt Muriel to claim the Prewett seat.”

Hermione was glaring at Harry in a way that Harry knew he was supposed to be doing something but he didn’t know what. Hermione huffed and turned to Ginny who understood.

“It was sort of crazy,” Ginny said. “We didn’t know it had happened until after Bill and Mum got back.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Mum came home, Bill flooed in, and they stormed back out,” Ginny said with a shrug. “They came back late.”

“Bill must have been accepted into the Prewett magic,” Ron said.

“He wasn’t before?” Harry asked. “Shouldn't both houses protect their children?”

“Our grandparents and our mum fell out and then mum and Aunt Muriel got into it,” Ron said. “The Weasley family magic was enough.”

“It must have been a big fight,” Hermione said. “Especially during the war.”

“What do you mean?” Ron spoke to Hermione directly for the first time since they had fought. The hairs on Harry’s arms rose and he shared a grim look with Ginny.

“Well,” Hermione had a faraway look, one that meant she was lost in thought six steps ahead of where everyone else was. “The war was starting, wasn’t it? By the time your mum had Bill. So whatever the fight was over must have been big, since your mum didn’t go back to get that extra layer of protection.”

“Watch what you say about my mum,” Ron said, face flushing.

“What?” Harry watched Hermione come back to earth. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You always do this,” Ron said, pushing up to his feet. “My mum would never put us in danger.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You just did!” Ron turned toward Harry and Ginny for help.

“I don’t think she meant it like that,” Ginny said shrugging.

Harry didn’t say anything, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re just saying that because you want to keep using his brooms!” Ron was getting louder.

“I can use brooms at our house,” Ginny said, flushing as well.

“YOU DON’T HAVE A BROOM!” Ron, in Harry’s opinion, looked equal parts angry and bewildered.

“I pick the lock on the shed all the time,” Ginny said with another shrug.

Ron threw his hands up in the air and stormed away.

“Is he going home?” Harry asked no one in particular.

Ginny shrugged again. “I don’t think he knows.”

Hermione burst into tears.

Harry sighed and slung an arm around her shoulders. Ginny patted her foot. They shared another look.

---

Dear Remus,

I want to apologize. This is the first apology letter I’ve written that wasn’t scribbled on a note and passed to Lily. If I asked Andy she’d probably tell me there’s a format to these things but that feels like I’m trying to hide so forgive me if this misses an essential apology part. I’ve never done this before.

I didn’t tell Snape that you were a werewolf. I would never, have never, and will never betray you like that. What I did do was suggest he follow you down the whomping willow if he wanted to prove his allegations. Allegations that he cornered me in the hallway with. I never thought he would actually through on following you. Surely, a bloke smart enough to figure out your furry little secret would be smart enough to stay away from a transformed werewolf.

I will admit that I found the whole incident amusing and would have happily let Snape wonder to his death. I think you know this already. I think this is why I owe you an apology. I would have used you as a murder weapon and didn’t see an issue with that. Not only would that have had devastating consequences for you personally, but it would have had devastating consequences for people with furry little problems everywhere.

I am sorry. I took you for granted. I was careless with your well-being. I shouldn’t have assumed Snape had common sense, given that he was already a soldier for a madman. I should have protected you.

I will not fail you again, Moony.

Sincerely,

Padfoot.

--

Dear Snape,

I cannot believe I’m writing this letter.

Dear Snape,

I want to apologize for the

Dear Profes

Dear Severus,

Dear Snape,

I don’t think that you’ll even read this

Dear Snape,

We were at war. It wasn’t persona

Dear Snape,

I want to apologize for the following actions:

- Taking every opportunity to humiliate you

- Making fun of your appearance

- Taking glee in your suffering

- Encouraging your death via werewolf while we were both still underage

My actions were immature and uncalled for. To express the depth of my regrets I would like to publicly apologize and offer restitution on behalf of House Black.

Sincerely,

Sirius Black

---

Dear Snape,

My therapist said that this needed to be a separate letter. It is a token of my sincere regrets that it is. That said, if I find out that you continue to treat Harry the way you have been, I will personally raise Lily Evans from the dead to make your life a living hell. Given that that task will take a lifetime based on previous scholars' attempts, I will settle for you never having a moment of peace again. The continent will not be far enough to escape me. You would never be able to stop looking over your shoulder. I regret my past actions and the pain they caused. I wouldn’t regret this.

Sincerely,

Sirius Black

---

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about her new robes. She was painfully aware of the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. Or underwear.

She was wearing underthings, of course, they were just comparable to the undergarments Hermione was used to seeing in a Jane Austen adaptation.

The robes themselves were luxurious, Mrs. Tonks insisted that they were perfectly appropriate for tea but Hermione wasn’t convinced. The embroidery and lace on the airy set of robes seemed much more than what was necessary to be presentable for tea.

They stepped through the doorway of the tea shop and Hermione mentally corrected the idea that it was just Mrs. Tonks and her getting tea together. This was a full-service afternoon tea. With what looked like every pureblood lady in the British wizarding world. Her shoulders went back, her fingers automatically brushed against her wand in a tell that she was still trying to break, and her chin came up and then levelled out. Natural. She wanted to look natural.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see witches looking at her, tracking the length of her robes, her hair, and the way she held her hands. Suddenly, she was very glad Mrs. Tonks had given no choice to her suggestion of robes today.

Hermione let her eyes skim over the room as she sat to Mrs. Tonks’s right at one of the many small round tables. Was that Pansy Parkinson in the corner?! She forced her eyes to move on. There were more girls from Hogwarts here, more than she was expecting. Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, older girls, girls she recognised from the corridors but didn’t know their names.

Thankfully, etiquette dictated that Hermione stay mostly silent as an underage guest at a tea party. It suited Hermione just fine. After the necessary introductions and small talk - Gryffindor, muggle-born, friends with Harry Potter, top of her class - she was left to her own thoughts as the gossip started up.

She could feel curious eyes on her as she reached for her teacup, carefully stirring in the crescent moons that etiquette class recommended.

Hermione took a small bite of her finger sandwich and considered the seating arrangements. Mrs. Tonks had a seat in the middle of the room. Mrs. Bulstrode was at the center as the hostess but it quickly became apparent that everyone had agreed to come because of Mrs. Tonk’s invitation. She was holding court, Hermione realized, amused. Witches turned toward her voice like sunflowers to the sun. Hermione had studied photos published in the Daily Prophet and from Mrs. Tonk’s private collections and looked for familiar colours now. House colours were generally worn by heads of House or the wives of heads of House during holidays or important political events. Jewellery with notable pasts could be used to convey any one of hundreds of messages.

Women had a second language in fashion over the top of it. A constant competition to have the latest fashions was left to the younger witches and those with an eye for fashion. Others would create a signature look, a silhouette or a set of accessories that became a constant. Not that the items themselves stayed the same - fashion was a signal of wealth and stability. If anyone wore jewellery twice it had to be for a sentimental reason or for an obvious political reason. Otherwise, speculation over the well-being of the witch’s house or her relationship to the head of the house would spread like wildfire.

Mrs. Tonks had given Hermione age-appropriate robes, conservative compared to a summer dress she’d wear out in muggle London, but much more extravagant with beautiful embroidery, complete with cutouts and trims of lace that made it feel much more youthful than the neckline would suggest.

The dress and lace were a pale, summer blue. The flowers embroidered into it were a dull silver that caught the light but didn’t shine, the way a spider web would in the morning light.

The silver, Hermione was sure, was a claiming. Look, Mrs. Tonks was saying, she is under the protection of House Black. A second statement lay under the first. House Black stands with muggle-borns. You move against them, you move against us.

The borrowed pearls Hermione couldn’t place but they were from the Black vault so they were certainly sending some sort of message.

More and more witches trickled in as tea time started in proper.

Mrs. Malfoy entered the room, gracefully ignoring the looks bouncing between her and her sister as she kissed Mrs. Tonks on the cheek and nodded politely to Hermione. She took a seat to their left.

That was a signal as bold as any that House Malfoy and House Black were, if not allies, family again. The rhythm of the chatter in the room picked up.

Neville’s grandmother took a seat at a table close to them, loudly greeting the ladies on either side of her. The doors closed behind her. Hermione wondered if that meant that everyone was here or if anyone arriving after this would be considered late.

Mrs. Bulstrode greeted everyone and started the conversation with an idle remark about Hogwarts letters coming out so early this year. “The supply list wasn’t even complete!”

“They still don’t have a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“Hadn’t you heard that the Board of Governors was fighting with Dumbledore? They wish to appoint someone.”

“The ministry is looking to get involved, there’s been too many bizarre accidents.”

“Which department?”

“The minister!”

“Well I heard that he was seen at Rubio’s last night, perhaps he’s gotten over his hatred of Italian.”

Gossip, Hermione thought, is such a diminutive name for something so tactical.

Marriages, affairs, babies, fights, acquisitions, and alliances were all discussed in rapid back and forth if you were paying attention. The minister of magic was being implicated in at least two affairs or possibly a bribery scandal. These witches were confident in their knowledge, understood the impact of their words, and took delight in the quick, sharpened words that flew across the room.

Hermione lost herself to the chatter, shifting a bit in her chair as time drifted on. Heavy trays of scones appeared, floating through the air to land on their tables. Jars of jam chased after the clotted cream. One of the older girls Hermione thought might be in Ravenclaw stifled a yawn behind a palm and then caught Hermione’s eye with a sympathetic grin. She raised up a ruby-colored pot of jam, a recommendation, and then went back to the conversation.

Hermione tried the jam - a lovely sweet berry that she didn’t recognize - and considered the jewellery in the room. As expected, she didn’t recognize any of it. Mrs. Tonks had started her lessons with jewellery that showed up during votes and balls, ones that signalled alliances and breaks from expectations. There wasn’t anything to necessitate that kind of messaging at tea.

“Of course,” someone said laughing, “I didn’t date a famous quidditch player in school.”

Hermione couldn’t fight the blush on her cheeks but she could focus on her reactions. She forced her hands to stay steady and tried to remember what she was doing before she had many eyes on her. She finished sipping her tea and carefully put her cup and saucer back down.

Mrs. Tonks wasn’t reacting, instead was whispering something to Mrs. Malfoy.

“Tell me, Hermione,” Mrs. Tonks glanced toward the lady that Hermione was desperately trying to place but continued her conversation with her sister, “was it true that you left young Mr. Potter for Mr. Krum.”

“When they catch you off guard, and they will,” Mrs. Tonks said, sorting through ribbons for an unknown project, “give them as little to work with as possible. This will work especially well for you now, while you are young and presumably nervous. Stay polite. Only answer what they are asking or find a way to deflect if you don’t want to answer.”

“No ma’am,” Hermione couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like but was pretty sure this wasn’t what it normally sounded like.

“Such a shame your name has been dragged through the mud,” another lady said pointedly.

“Which House Black has corrected,” Mrs. Tonks said mildly. “Something Hermione made quite easy. I can’t imagine the lengths we would have to go through to keep her affairs out of the papers if they had been true.”

The Ravenclaw girl snorted before she could catch herself and covered it up by sneezing - a real sneeze or a truly magnificent fake.

Madam Slewyn, the name snapped into place, a pureblood widow who was clinging to power even after her daughter reached her age of majority. Infamously cheated on her dying husband with a Frenchman.

“Well then,” the original witch asked, “I suppose the rumours about you and Mr. Krum are not true either.”

“I wouldn’t know, Ma’am,” Hermione said. That was true. She’d stopped reading the newspapers. “He did escort me to the Yule ball.”

This piece of information set off a flurry of side conversations that descended into a group debate over the merits of Hogwarts hosting a Yule ball every year, much to Hermione’s relief.

The cakes appeared in a shower of glittering sparks.

“Did you hear that the Gamps are considering moving to London?”

Hermione took a deep breath and settled back into her seat.

---

“Mrs. Longbottom was in a sentimental mood,” Andy said, as she entered the sitting room on the main floor.

“Tea went well then?” Sirius stood to kiss her cheek and then went back to his armchair.

“Hermione did wonderfully,” Andy brushed the question aside. “The Lestranges never would have apologized.”

“No,” Sirius said, bracing for the cold that was taking its sweet time. “I imagine they wouldn’t have.”

“Your parents wouldn’t have either,” Andy sunk into a chair across from him.

“They wouldn’t have seen why it was necessary,” Sirius said, “even if they didn’t agree with Bella.”

They sat in silence.

“I owe Alice my life,” Sirius said. “Several times over.”

“Then we keep Neville safe,” Andy said. Ice pricked over Sirius’s arms and he breathed through it.

“He needs to be trained.”

“He needs allies.”

“He needs friends.”

“We need to denounce Bella,” Andy said, “and remove her from the Black family magic.”

Sirius took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “It’s her birthright.”

He didn’t know why he was defending her. He agreed. If he saw her he’d try to kill her on survival instinct alone.

“She gave it up,” Andy said, “the moment she put a madman above family. She joined his circle. He killed Regulus. He tried to kill both of us.”

Something settled in Sirius’s chest and he felt hot, burning with anger he hadn’t felt in years. “So be it,” he said, magic settling around him. “We’ll do it tonight. Invite Mrs. Longbottom and Neville.”

---

“The Malfoys?” Harry asked, again.

“Cissy is Andy’s sister,” Sirius said, again, “and my cousin. She and Draco are part of the family magic. As are you. Which is why everyone will be here tonight. The more circle members present at a circle the easier the ritual.”

“Mr. Malfoy is a death eater,” Harry said flatly. “Malfoy is a terrible person.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, sitting back in his office chair. He watched as the fight in Harry seemed to hit a wall and his anger fizzed into confusion.

“Why can’t we kick them out then?”

“Draco is a terrible person,” Sirius said, opening the desk drawer and closing it again. “So was I. The family magic transcends personality traits.”

“You weren’t a terrible person,” Harry said, grumpy now. “But Mrs. Malfoy is married to a death eater. They want to kill Hermione.”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Unfortunately, the only way to kick out a member of the circle is if they betray the family. Something that Cissy and Draco haven’t done.”

“Draco’s hurt Hermione.”

“I’m not saying you have to like him, Harry, nor that we have to trust them with our safety and well-being. Just that they are not unloyal to the house.”

“So it’s ok then?”

“It could be advantageous,” Sirius muttered.

Harry fumed silently for a while. “You wouldn’t pick them over Hermione would you?”

“I have sworn to keep Hermione safe as I would my own daughter,” Sirius said. “I take her safety just as seriously as yours.”

“Then why would you invite them over?”

“We need them to complete the ritual, Harry. So we can apologize to the Longbottoms for Bellatrix’s actions and Neville can come over.”

“I don’t like it,” Harry said, finally, picking at the desk.

“I don’t either,” Sirius said. “If I could do it another way, I would.”

Harry seemed to settle down a bit when he said that. “You can’t do the Wizengamot thing without them either?”

“Not as easily,” Sirius said honestly. “But we aren’t giving up anything for their support against Dumbledore, it seems silly to reject it.”

“If they asked you to support legislature against creature rights or muggle-born rights?” Harry trailed off.

“Then we would tell them no.”

Harry nodded and sat down. “Mr. Malfoy tried to kill Ginny and a whole bunch of other students.”

“I will never claim I understand what Cissy sees in her husband.”

“Money and manners,” Andy said, sweeping into the room. “Augusta will be here at sundown.”

“Do I have to do anything?” Harry asked.

“Ideally, you would say the chant as well,” Sirius said. “But you have to mean it. You have to want to cast Bellatrix out of the circle.”

“She’s a death eater who hurt a bunch of people including Neville’s parents.”

“Family’s complicated,” Andy said softly, “taking away family magic removes them, completely, from any protection we could offer. This is bigger than disowning, Harry. This is complete exile.”

Harry seemed to catch onto the mood and studied Sirius’s face and then Andy's. “I can do it.”

Andy nodded and left.

Sirius rubbed a hand over his face and handed Harry a sheet of parchment. “Here’s what you’re going to need to say.”

---

Augusta was wearing traditional linen robes, unadorned, and a floor-length black lace veil. She was dry-eyed and grim.

Neville was looking around at the still-overgrown yard, mouthing plant names to himself as he went. He seemed uncomfortable in linen robes that were slightly too big for him.

Harry’s black linen robes matched his hair and brought out his eyes. He’d gained a tan over the summer that Sirius hadn’t noticed until now. He stood, glaring across the circle.

Tonks stood next to her mother, holding on tight to her hand. Andy looked miserable, her face unmade up and drawn. Narcissa stood next to her blank-faced, leaving a confused and nervous Draco standing awkwardly to the side which he covered up with textbook perfect manners, beside the sneer he was giving Harry.

The sun was set but still left the sky glowing. Magic was settling, heavy around Sirius's shoulders like a mantle. He could feel the wards, not only here but at Grimmauld and other places he didn't recognize. Gringotts maybe. He could feel Harry’s magic Tonks’, Andys, Cissy’s and Draco’s too. They must have paid into the magic recently.

The sky started to turn black, soaking up the last bits of purple and red.

The chant echoed through Sirius’s head. Harry and Draco were looking at him, waiting. He met Andy’s eye. She nodded. It was time.

The first time was by the head of House alone.

“Bellatrix Lestrange, indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Magic pulled tight and the world quieted. His family joined him for the next chant.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Magic flared around the circle's edge, blocking the Longbottoms from sight. Silver flames cackled up, linking them together.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Magic pulled at him, at his chest, at his wrists, at his mind. He let it.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Harry’s magic brushed up against him, Black and Potter mixing in a way that took Sirius to his knees.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Andy and Cissy hit the ground next, sobbing around their words. Cissy looked furious, clawing at the ground. Draco looked scared.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

A rubber band pulled tight, the fire sparked bright.

“Indignos ejecimus. Eiecimus proditorem. Vincula inter nos revemus. Sicut nos dereliquistis, nos te deseremus. Tu non agnoscis nos. Transeamus te e Domo Nigra.”

Magic washed over them, crashing around them like a wave. Harry swore. Sirius couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.

“Mum!” Draco’s voice.

Someone grabbed his hand. He held on to it, blind.

“The House of Black has settled its debts with the House of Longbottom,” Augusta’s voice floated over to him, nearly giddy. Sirius wanted to hit something. Footsteps on the grass. He kept breathing.

Someone settled down in the grass. “It’s okay, Harry. He’s going to be okay. It’s just a lot of magic all at once.”

Neville.

He was holding onto Harry. He squeezed. Harry squeezed back. He squeezed twice. Harry squeezed back twice. He squeezed three times. Harry snorted out a choked laugh.

“Neville,” Augusta called.

Neville didn’t respond.

“Look, his eyes aren’t glowing anymore.”

That was concerning.

“Was that normal?” Harry’s voice was high and choked.

“Aunt Bella was favoured by her grandparents and served them well,” Draco’s tone was either scared and trying to cover it or angry. “A lot of the Black family magic would have been spent on keeping her protected in Azkaban.”

Something Sirius hadn’t considered.

“She deserves no protection,” Augusta spat. “She deserves to suffer.”

“Yes ma’am,” Draco again. Scared.

Sirius blinked the sky into focus. Harry’s glasses glinted. “Hey, kiddo.”

Harry took a deep breath and squeezed his hand again. “Hi.”

“Sorry for scaring you. I didn’t know it would be that much.”

“It’s ok.”

“Hi Neville,” Sirius said, as casually as he could.

“Hi, Mr. Black.”

Both Harry and Sirius snorted at that. “It’s just Sirius, please, Neville. Mr. Black was my father.”

Neville smiled at that.

Sirius fought against gravity and ended his struggle upright. Harry helped keep him there. Andy was propped up by Tonks, who was sporting her natural face and hair colour. Narcissa was on her feet, leaning heavily on Draco. Augusta had flipped her veil back and was frowning at Neville.

“It’s time to go, Neville,” Augusta said. “We’ll leave the Black family to recover from their loss.”

Neville nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder. “See you later, Harry.”

“Bye Neville.”

Draco hesitated, unsure whether to follow Mrs. Longbottom and Neville.

He could imagine the headlines now Mrs. Malfoy splinched and the Malfoy Heir missing - Black family responsible? Sirius made a decision. “I insist that everyone has some tea,” he said. “Especially before we try travelling.”

Draco nodded and looked toward Tonks who was helping Andy to her feet. Harry bounced to his feet and helped haul Sirius up as well.

The strange collection of family looked at each other.

Harry looked up at Sirius, “Ready?”

“Lead the way, kiddo.”

What a strange night.

Chapter Text

Duelling had gone abysmally. Neville was a sitting duck. Neville seemed to realize this and Harry, Merlin bless him, was doing his best to chatter on like he hadn’t noticed.

After Neville’s shield flared and then flashed out, a dim, cloudy memory of the table in the last headquarters for the Order of the Pheonix, a wand tossed carelessly down so Frank could hold Alice’s hand, clicked into place Sirius finally figured out what was wrong. “That’s your dad’s wand.”

“Yes,” Neville ducked his head down.

“Did it pick you?” Sirius asked, leaning against the bare stone wall.

“Gran said it works well enough,” Neville said.

That wasn’t a yes.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Let’s take a break for today. We need to talk politics.”

--

“I’m not sure how much your grandmother would have already taught you,” Sirius said apologetically to Neville, “but Harry hasn’t gotten any of this.”

“It’s never bad to have a review,” Neville had perked up considerably after a snack and a change of scenery.

“You boys are both heirs to wizarding Houses and ancient family magics,” Neville and Harry both nodded. “You will be the heads of House when you come of age and will have sole control of your family’s future.”

“I thought I was already head of House,” Harry said confused. “I control the family magic.”

Neville looked unsure.

“There’s three layers, well, typically there’s three layers to this,” Sirius drew a circle on the chalkboard behind him. “The first is family magic. There isn’t a legal age for family magic. The holder of the family magic can add or remove people from the circle more easily than the others. The magic uses that person as an anchor, which is why I am the one who can sense the wards at family properties and not Andy.”

Harry and Neville nodded.

“Generally, holders of family magic tend to be older and respected members of the family or circle. However, family magic is about survival, it’s about doing the absolute most to keep everyone alive. It doesn’t care if you are an infant or one hundred and three. As long as you are a member, you can wield it.”

“Which is why I have it now,” Harry said. “Because I survived.”

Sirius nodded. “It can’t run on nothing, which is why the Potter magic had been more dormant than I’ve ever seen family magic act before. You are the only Potter alive right now and you didn’t know how to ritually maintain it.”

Neville frowned at the chalkboard. “Should I be maintaining Mum’s family magic too?”

“You certainly have a right to,” Sirius was starting to deeply question Augusta’s parenting choices. “You were added as a member of her circle. Her coven would welcome you.”

Neville digested this in thoughtful silence. Sirius drew another circle on the board, overlapping the other.

“Next we have wizarding Houses,” Sirius said. “These are a cultural construct and look different all around the world. Some places don’t even have Houses.”

Neville’s eyebrows went up.

“In Britain, wizarding Houses are a way of organizing around family magic and wealth. It started as a way to protect the family Grimoire, land, the integrity of the family magic, and anyone who didn’t have strong magic.”

“If you mess with them, you mess with me,” Harry said.

“Exactly,” Sirius said. “Each house has its own traditions, history, and hierarchy. Socially, many houses have gained a lot of power and have kept that power.”

“Then you add in pureblood nonsense,” Neville said.

Sirius nodded, “Then you add in pureblood nonsense and an exclusive cohort of Houses emerge that have wealth, power, and history behind them. They married each other, allied with each other, and fought with each other. Business, social movements, fashions, food; they decided what Wizarding Britain looked like. Socially, Harry, you are the head of House Potter.”

Harry nodded slowly and flicked his eyes toward the empty space for a third circle on the board. Sirius indulged him and drew the third circle. “The Wizengamot Houses.”

“Aren’t they the same thing as regular Houses?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Sirius said, “but they are legally recognized and a part of our government. Not every House is a wizengamot House.”

Harry looked deeply unimpressed. “Why not?”

“Blood purity nonsense, tradition, power-mongering,” Sirius listed off. “The families who were originally part of the Wizengamot keep moving the finish line. It is prohibitively expensive.”

“So I am the head of House Potter, socially,” Harry said, frowning at the board, “and the keeper of the family magic. But not the head of House Potter in the Wizengamot?”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “You understand.”

Harry blinked and shook his head.

“I’m the only Crouch left,” Neville said, slowly. “I would be the holder of the family magic for my mother’s family.”

“You are,” Sirius said, gently. “The same way Harry was. Families will have different rituals for you to gain access to everything that they are using the family magic for, I couldn’t feel the wards before I claimed my place, but it’s yours, Neville, if you truly are the last. If you feed into it, it will respond, more than it already does now.”

Neville was silent, staring at the board but not seeing. Harry was similarly quiet.

Sirius let them absorb this for a moment, busying himself with the caraf of water that had appeared on his desk.

Harry was at least blinking when Sirius turned back around.

“Right,” He rubbed his hands together. “Time for politics.”

--

“Crouch?” Harry demanded, as soon as the floo flames ceased being green. He hadn’t wanted to ask while Neville was still here.

“Bartemius Crouch Senior had a brother, Caspar. He married my first cousin twice removed, Charis.”

“What does that mean?” Purebloods and their family trees. Harry now understood how cousins, second cousins, and great aunts and uncles worked but got stuck after that.

“She’s cousins with my grandparents,” Sirius said. “Charis and Caspar had a son and two daughters. All of them were killed or incapacitated during the war. The youngest, Alice, married Frank Longbottom and had a son, Neville.”

“But,” Harry said, a feeling of doom settling onto his shoulders, “Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured into insanity by Barty Crouch Jr.”

“Yes,” Sirius said grimly.

“Neville’s mom would have been his, his,” Harry stuttered, trying to conjure up a family tree in his mind.

“Cousin,” Sirius said. “Crouch Sr. sentenced his son to Azkaban for torturing his niece into insanity.”

“Were they close?”

“Before the war,” Sirius said, raking his hand through his hair, “most of us were close.”

--

“They’re staring,” Harry grumbled.

“They always do,” Sirius said, glancing down at him. Without talking about it Harry was wearing black with silver and he was wearing green with gold. “Might as well give them something to stare about.”

“That attitude explains so much of our childhood,” Andy impeccably dressed in a sage set of robes and decked out with silver flashes of Black family jewellery. Pieces that didn’t have meaning but did have notoriety.

“Where do I go?” Harry asked.

“The Potter family does have seats up by the old families but your grandpa usually plopped himself down in the middle of the middle,” Sirius said. “He liked being able to see everyone.”

“The room is a circle,” Harry said. “There isn’t a middle.”

“Across from the Chief Warlock,” Andy said. “Mr. Potter would stare down the chief when he disagreed.”

“Which explains so much of your childhood,” Sirius said, fulfilling Harry’s hair. It didn’t make a difference to the whirlwind on his head.

“I think I want to sit up by you,” Harry said, glancing nervously at the crowd of people already on the bench seating.

“Since you aren’t actually claiming your house seat yet, you could only sit in the Potter’s heir seat anyway.”

Harry took a deep breath in and nodded. Sirius offered his arm to Andy and led them up the long set of stairs. Andy took her advisor’s seat and Harry gingerly sat down in the heir’s seat.

“The seats aren’t cursed,” Sirius offered with a grin. “It’s not going to bite you.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked but sat back in his seat.

“There’s old magic wards,” Sirius gestured up to the ceiling. “This chamber was one of the first parts of the building to be built. Every family who sits puts a little magic into their oath. The oath prevents any offensive or ‘dark’ magic from working in the chamber.”

“Like the duelling room when it’s in practice mode?” Harry asked.

“A lot like that,” Sirius said pleased. Harry made connections so quickly, especially with the confidence boost that tutoring gave him.

“There’s Neville!” Harry said.

Sirius looked toward the chamber doors to see Augusta and Neville entering with Molly, Arthur, and Bill.

Neville hung toward the back, quiet and calm, looking around the room.

“There’s the Chief Warlock,” Andy said.

“We’ll start with the scheduled stuff?” Harry asked.

“Unless someone files a motion,” Sirius said. “Usually those are short statements. Sometimes it’s a bigger thing and that’s usually a scandal.”

Neville took his seat in the heir’s seat for the Longbottoms. He was staring at something across the room.

Sirius glanced over. Amelia, the Lovegood seat, and Molly and Bill were all within his gaze.

They hadn’t talked about any of those houses over their political session. Sirius wondered what caught his attention. Maybe Augusta was planning something?

“Below them,” Andy murmured, looking in the same direction.

One row below them, tucked in between two very gossipy witches, was the empty Crouch seat. Sirius looked over Neville again, Augusta and he both were wearing robes in Longbottom green but Sirus caught a flash of wine red on one of the rings Neville had on his index finger.

“Does she not notice?” Sirius asked.

“Maybe she hasn’t but others are picking up on it,” Andy murmured. Sirius glanced around. Lucius had one groomed eyebrow raised. Brown and Trype as well, looking at Neville speculatively.

“Or just the fact he’s staring,” Harry offered, reasonably. “I don’t think he’s blinking.”

“August probably expects him to hate his mother’s house,” Sirius said thinking about it.

“That’s not going to end well,” Andy murmured.

“Is Malfoy always at these things?” Harry asked, reasonableness evaporating.

“Sometimes,” Andy said, amused. “He is the heir to the House of Malfoy. It is part of the job description.”

Draco was doing his best to avoid looking at their side of the room and in doing so had turned to face the witch next to him. She was speaking animatedly and he was wearing a polite smile.

“When will this start?” Harry slumped back into his seat. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

“I didn’t know Ted was going to be here,” Sirius said, watching the affable man chat amiably with another wizard he didn’t recognize.”

Andy gave a pleased smile. Sirius’s stomach swooped when he recognized it. It was a smile that all Black sisters shared, one they used when they’d pulled something off. On Bella, it meant run. On Cissy and Andy, it meant be prepared.

“Andy, what did you do?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Sirius cast his mind about, trying to think of what Ted could possibly be doing here and came up empty. Harry put it together first.

“You said that the new board governors would be introduced as the first item,” Harry accused.

“I did,” her grin widened.

That would solve a few, large problems. That would solve a few of the glaring, unovercomeable problems that they had. Tension bled from his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have, darling.”

Andy went through the motions of bashfulness with sharp precision. Harry laughed more, drawing more than a few eyes.

Let them see. Pride, something that he had in short supply until recently, unfurled like a banner snapping in the wind. Look and see. You couldn’t take this from me. You couldn’t ruin this precious, precious thing.

--

“Mr. Black!”

“Mrs. Tonks!”

“Mr. Potter!”

“Mr. Black!”

“Sirius!”

“I thought you said they would calm down,” Harry grumbled, slipping in between him and Andy.

“We need to stop being interesting for that to work,” Sirius brushed his hand against his wand, making a few reporters back up from the doorway.

“Mr. Tonks!”

“Mr. Tonks!”

“Mrs. Tonks!”

“Harry!”

“Are we ready?” Ted appeared on Andy’s other side, a pleased grin on his face.

“Sneaky,” he accused and Ted’s grin got wider.

“Can we get ice cream?” Harry asked, quietly just so Sirius could hear.

“Yes,” Sirius said. Harry was slowly getting bolder in his requests for things he needed but it was rare for him to ask for things that were preferences. Harry twisted a ring around his fingers even as his shoulders dropped in relief.

“Mr. Black! What are your plans for Hogwarts?”

“Mr. Tonks! What do you think of the rising enrollment rates?”

“Mr. Potter! Can you comment on -”

“Let’s get going,” Sirius said. “We’ve got errands to run.”

“The bank, right?” Ted asked, Andy on his arm.

“And ice cream,” Sirius said cheerfully, scanning the crowd as they began to push their way through. It wasn’t really pushing, the reporters didn’t dare touch them but they wouldn’t move until they got close.

“Mr. Potter, can you comment on allegations that Sirius Black has used his guardianship to take over House Potter?”

Sirius watched the question hit Harry like a well-aimed spell. His mouth fell open, his head whipped to the side, and his eyebrows came down. Sirius didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth and he was willing to bet Harry didn’t either. His hand came quickly up to rest on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry’s head snapped back around to look up at Sirius. Sirius guided Harry through the throng, the reporter falling further and further away from them.

“I hate that they think that,” Harry muttered as they finally made it to the floos.

“That seemed more like they were looking for a reaction,” Ted said, still cheerful. “They just wanted your commentary.”

Harry frowned at this again, with less outrage and more thoughtfulness.

Andy wordlessly turned the flames green and stepped through with Ted’s help. “See you in a spin.”

Sirius groaned. “I haven’t heard that bad of a joke since your dad.”

“Really?”

“Really. Jamesy was full of terrible jokes and little else.”

“I thought you said all he thought of was Mum.”

“That too,” Sirius conceded, before shoving Harry gently into the green flames. “Lily and terrible puns.”

--

“Wait a moment, Harry,” Sirius said frowning. “What do they want you to sign?”

Harry looked up and showed him the parchment.

“Harry’s a minor,” Sirius told the teller. “He can’t sign anything legally binding.”

“That does not match our records, sir,” the goblin said placidly.

Sirius ruffled a hand through his hair. “Can I speak to the account manager?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Only a person on the account can speak to the account manager.”

“Can I speak to my account manager, please? I want Sirius there too.” Harry looked confused and worried.

“Of course,” the goblin said.

“We’ll meet you there,” Andy said.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. “I don’t know if this will take a long time.”

“Do you still want me to look at some of the jewellery?” Andy asked him, fondly.

Harry nodded.

“We’ll meet you there,” she said again before she and Ted followed their teller toward the carts.

---

“We did a full inventory of the Potter account and records as requested,” Gnarlak explained.

“And?” Sirius asked.

“The Potter key was released to the guardian of Harry Potter on November 5, 1981.”

“Who was it?” Harry asked. It couldn’t have been Sirius. He was in custody at that point.

“We do not have the record page with the signature,” Gnarlak admitted reluctantly. “An investigation is ongoing.”

“They accessed the vaults?” Sirius asked.

“The Potter key was used on the recorded dates. Nothing was taken. Only galleons withdrawn.”

Someone had stolen from him. He’d been trapped, working away all day for his Aunt and Uncle, sleeping in a cupboard for Godric’s sake, and someone was stealing gold from him that he didn’t know he had?

“So something was taken,” Sirius said drily. “How do we get from stolen galleons to me no longer being recognized as Harry’s guardian?”

Gnarlak handed Sirius a newspaper. Sirius turned pale. “Surely this doesn’t count.”

“The Goblet of Fire is recognized by every country in Europe as a magically binding agreement,” Gnarlak said. “Harry Potter’s name came out, Harry Potter’s government upheld the agreement, and Harry Potter won the tournament.”

Harry was lost. “What’s happening?’

“The ministry should have filed a notice with Gringotts as soon as the decision was made,” Gnarlak said apologetically. “We did not notice until the audit.”

“Sirius, what’s happening?”

“Gringotts is making the very poignant argument that between the Goblet of Fire magically binding you to the Triwizard Tournament, something generally adults can only do under the law, and the ministry forcing you to compete makes you a legally recognized minor.”

“That’s insane.” Panic started to build in Harry’s chest. He was under seventeen. He wasn’t an adult.

“Did you file with the ministry?” Sirius asked sharply.

“We didn’t have to,” Gnarlak said. He handed Sirius another scroll. Harry could see the swirling signatures of Cornelius Fudge and Bartimus Crouch.

“No one notified Harry?”

Harry shook his head even though Sirius wasn’t looking at him and already knew the answer.

“Harry,” Sirius turned toward him and his expression softened at whatever emotion was showing on his face. Harry wasn’t sure what to call it. Terror, maybe? “The ministry has recognized you as an adult.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Sirius said slowly, looking back down at the parchment he was holding, “that legally, you have the same rights as an adult would.”

“No one told me.” Harry’s brain was swirling, faster and faster.

“Harry,” Sirius ordered. “Breathe.”

Harry sucked in a breath. Then another one. The oxygen was nice.

“Let’s go home,” Sirius said.

“I don’t want to be an adult,” Harry said.

“You don’t have to be,” Sirius said, determined.

“That says I do.”

“This says you have the rights of an adult,” Sirius countered. “That doesn’t have to change anything.”

What was the difference? Where was he going to live? Was he going to have to get a job? Why did they do this to him?

“Harry,” Sirius was in front of him now, crouched in front of his chair. Harry stared at him. “Harry, you are safe.”

He didn’t feel very safe.

“We are going to go home,” Sirius continued. “We are going to eat something. We are going to educate ourselves on what this means. You are going to keep living with me. You are still going to go to Hogwarts.”

“School is for kids,” Harry choked out.

“You are a kid with legally recognized rights,” Sirius said. “That doesn’t impact your schooling other than you could drop out now and I could only strongly advise against it instead of forbidding it.”

Harry thought about this for a while.

“Let’s go home, Harry,” Sirius said. “We can figure the rest out in a bit.”

---

House Black Silences Heir Potter?

In a stunning display of dominance, Sirius Black physically prevented Harry Potter from speaking with the press after the latest Wizengamot session. Potter was about to respond to a press question when Black grabbed him by the shoulder and moved him along. One can only wonder what is going on behind the scenes.

More on page 9.

Chapter Text

“Quidditch plan, Harry,” Edward prompted. Harry realised he’d been staring at the wall, picking at his skin.

“I don’t -” Harry couldn’t figure out where to start.

“First thing’s first,” Edward sat back in his chair. “What are we starting with?”

“They made me an adult so I would have to compete.”

“That’s a bit fucked up,” Edward said.

Harry swung his whole body around to look at Edward who was looking calmly back at him. “Yes! It is.”

Edward continued to look at him.

“I have to be an adult now.” Harry valiantly ignored the way his stomach was roiling.

“What does that mean?”

“I have to be -” alone. “I don’t -” Sirius has no reason to keep me now.

Edward waited until it became clear that he was completely twisted up in his panic.

“You’ll still be living with Sirius,” Edward said, patiently.

“WHY?” The words burst out of him before he could stop them and he was on his feet, the chair felt like it was trying to suck him in. “Why does he still want me here, he doesn’t have to. I’m an adult I don’t need a guardian anymore.”

“Do you still want to live here?”

Yes.

“I don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

I don’t want to go.

“You would be fine,” Edward agreed. “You have the skills to survive. Do you want to live here?”

Yes.

“Sirius shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“I firmly believe that nothing would make him happier,” Edward countered, still as placid as a stone wall.

“I’m -” a burden. A good for nothing. A freak. Everything goes wrong when I’m involved.

“Family? His Godson? One of his favourite people?”

“No one wants me!” The words burst out of him.

Edward let it take up space, waiting patiently as Harry’s face crinkled and he started to cry.

“Is that true, Harry?”

Harry shook his head violently and collapsed back down into his chair.

“Who’s on your team, Harry?”

“My mom. My dad.” Harry, my dearest, you are so loved. You are so wanted.

“Who else?”

“Sirius.” I will commit the crimes I was accused of before I let that happen.

Edward raised his eyebrows.

“Hermione. Mrs. Tonks. Ted. Tonks.”

“Do you want to live here?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“I know Sirius is planning on you staying.”

“Yes,” Harry said. Moving his head felt like moving a mountain.

“You are allowed to take up space,” Edward leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. His words rang with truth. “As a 15 year old you are allowed and, quite honestly, recommended to allow an adult to provide for you. It’s not selfish or attention-seeking. To go without would be like drinking pumpkin juice for the rest of your life instead of water.”

That startled Harry enough to raise his head.

“You’d survive,” Edward said, with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be ideal or that healthy.”

“We want to do better than survive,” Harry said softly.

Edward smiled. “We want to do better than survive.”

Harry let his head fall back, taking a deep breath. Sometimes, after mind healing, all he wanted was to duel. To fight against Sirius and cast and cast and cast until he won or he ended up on his back. Until the nervous energy thrumming through him calmed, leaving him heavy and quiet. Other times, he hit heavy and quiet first and all he could do was make it to his room. Sirius would check in a couple of hours later, bringing a snack. Harry would usually sleep the rest of the day.

It was going to be a heavy and quiet first kind of day.

“May I ask you something?”

Edward always asked before asking Harry about something new. Always. And if Harry said no, he didn’t ask. He’d wait until Harry said yes.

“Yes,” Harry said to the ceiling.

“I noticed that you didn’t mention Ron on your team. Do you want to talk more about that?”

Harry studied the shadows and rainbows the old windows cast on the ceiling. “I hit him.”

“Why?”

“He called Hermione a whore, sort of. He won’t apologize.”

Edward waited, letting Harry gather his thoughts.

“He doesn’t treat Hermione well. He didn’t treat me that well either,” Harry sat up, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I don’t think he’s being a very good friend right now.”

Edward did agree or disagree.

“I miss him,” Harry admitted softly. “I’ve never been able to see him in the summer like this before. I want him to apologize.”

---

“That’s it, Neville!” Sirius cheered. Green sparks bounced off the wall. Neville was sweating, arm trembling.

“It shouldn’t be this difficult,” Neville’s snarl startled him. He’d been an amiable and polite young man the entire time he’d known him. “I’m better than this.”

Neville turned to Sirius, face pleading. “I know I’m better than this.”

“Like you get it,” Peter snarled. “It comes so easy to you, Sirius. To James and Remus too!”

“Okay,” Sirius said, shoving that memory away as hard as he could. “Okay. I believe you.”

Neville, the anger bleeding out of him, stared back at the wall, 25 meters away, at the scorch marks he left. “It’s my wand.”

The grief in Neville’s voice demanded caution.

“That’s not your fault,” Sirius said.

“My gran doesn’t think so,” Neville was shaking. “I can use this wand or no wand at all.”

“Not your mum’s?”

“Don’t you remember?” Neville’s voice took on a bitter bite. “Mum’s evil, no good comes from Slytherin. Using her wand is as good as joining You-Know-Who.”

Sirius was not qualified to handle this.

“That’s pixieshit,” he offered.

“I know,” Neville said quietly. He turned back to Sirius. “You’re teaching me to duel because Voldemort’s back.”

“Yes.”

“They are going to come after me,” Neville said. “I’m a pureblood heir who supports muggle rights. I will hold two houses.”

“You’re Frank and Alice’s son,” Someone should tell him. “They put away a lot of Deatheaters.”

“They’ll want revenge.” This didn’t seem to be a surprise.

“I think so.”

“You’ll be a target too,” Neville said. “Bellatrix is going to want to kill you as well.”

“Yes.”

“I need a different wand.”

“Yes.”

“Gran won’t let me go to Diagon by myself.”

“Then we’ll all go,” Harry startled both of them.

“Hey kiddo, I thought you were sleeping.”

“I can’t sleep,” Harry looked like he deeply regretted that fact. “We can go to Gringotts together. You can get into your family's vault.”

“I can’t get in without Gran,” Neville said. “I’ll have to go to Ollivanders.”

“She controls your mother’s vault?”

Neville actually reared back. “The Crouch vaults will have wands.”

“As a minor, your Grandmother will control your access to the vaults,” Sirius cautioned.

“Dad has a key in his stuff,” Neville said. “I can get it without her knowing.”

“If you need to go to Gringotts today you are welcome to join Harry and me on our preplanned errand run,” Sirius said with a straight face.

“I just need ten minutes,” Neville said running for the door.

---

“Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter,” a goblin greeted them. “Right this way.”

“I’ve never been in the Crouch vault,” Neville admitted as they made their way down to the carts.

“I have,” Sirius said. “It should be about the same.”

Harry slumped against him during the cart ride and he glanced down at him, concerned. When he got like this after mind healing Harry usually preferred to sleep.

The cart jerked and bucked as it hit a turn, Harry lurching against the arm Sirius threw out against his body while latching on to Neville who yelped.

The goblin didn’t react.

One big swoop later, they were thrown forward as the cart slowed.

“The House of Crouch vaults,” the goblin announced, stepping out of the cart.

Neville handed his key to the goblin and the goblin opened the door. It swung open without fanfare. Neville glanced at them and then stepped through.

“Ready, Harry?” Sirius asked. Harry was staring at a wall.

Harry shrugged and stepped through.

The Crouch vault matched what he remembered. Neatly organized, with lots of greys, blacks, and muted jewel tones, and a full set of old, polished, wooden furniture.

“The Crouch Family isn’t as old as the Longbottoms,” Neville said.

“Not formally,” Sirius agreed. “They didn’t start tracking their history until relatively recently.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry found an upholstered mahogany dining chair and waited for Sirius nod before collapsing into it.

“Their family magic is as old as any of ours but won’t be recognized as such in society.”

Harry snorted, slumped down in the chair, and closed his eyes.

Neville looked back to Sirius.

Sirius waved a hand lazily at Harry and said to Neville, “If you were in charge, where would you keep wands?”

“In the wand cabinet?”

“Crouches,” Sirius said. “Always so sensible.”

The beautifully maintained cabinet slid open at Neville’s touch.

Sirius whistled, “This is an expensive piece of magical furniture.”

“My best match is in this drawer?” Neville asked.

“Most likely.”

Nevile studied the metal plaques. “How do I know what one to try?”

“Hold out your hand and try to summon it, like a broom. If a good fit is there, it will come.”

“I’m not good at brooms,” Neville said.

“Nonsense,” Sirius said. “If you are good at herbology, not just growing plants, you can summon a broom.”

“Really?”

“Brooms are just magical woods. To be truly great at herbology, you need to be able to use magic through your hands.”

"My hands?"

"A true herbologist pushes magic through their hands when tending magical plants."

Dawning understanding shone on Neville’s face, his hand snapped out and a wand flew toward him, beating out the two others starting to float.

Neville caught it and the hair on the back of Sirius’s neck rose at the magic he could feel building. He turned to Harry who was on his feet, wand out, ready for whatever was going to happen.

“Accio Mum’s rings,” Neville said.

Twinkling metal, the sound of displaced air, and three rings came shooting toward them. Neville blushed but stayed focused.

“Accio anything that’s mine,” Neville said.

Harry swore as the chair behind him started to move.

“Protego!” Sirius's shield went up and Harry crashed into him before adding his shield as well.

Neville fumbled with his wand, nearly dropping it, and the spell shuddered to a stop, the furniture wobbling into stillness.

“I just meant anything that was supposed to be mine,” Neville said into the loud silence, completely red.

“Nothing is broken,” Harry said, looking around. “I don’t think. Just closer to us.”

“On the bright side,” Sirius said, letting his shield drop, “I think you found a good fit.”

“I just summoned the entire vault,” Neville said in disbelief. “It would have worked if I hadn’t stopped it.”

Sirius peered over at the wand cabinet, a half metre closer than it had been. “Larch wood and phoenix feather.”

“That can’t be right,” Neville said.

“Well it is,” Harry said, clearly done with this whole adventure. “Congratulations.”

--

“You can’t go to Diagon without ice cream,” Sirius said bounding down the steps. “We can eat it at home.”

“Mr. Black!”

Sirius swore and slowed so Harry and Nevile could catch up. “Someone must have tipped them off.”

Three reporters were scurrying towards them. Sirius recognized one from the daily prophet.

“We can leave,” Sirius offered. “I can dissaperate us.”

“I want ice cream,” Harry said with a scowl.

Neville shrugged, hand lingering over his sleeve where his new wand was tucked away.

“Mr. Potter! What do you have to say about the allegations that Mr. Black is using his guardianship to take over House Potter?”

“Mr. Potter! Can you comment on Dumbledore’s motion to take over your guardianship?”

Sirius went to put a hand on his shoulder and Harry shrugged it off. A camera flashed. Sirius took a deep breath and settled into a pose that could generously be identified as patiently waiting. Neville came to wait by his left, face blank but blushing.

Harry didn’t look back and Sirius mentally began to compse the letter he’d need to send to his lawyers.

“I was living with my aunt and uncle, instead of with Sirius.”

The reporters were frantically taking notes.

“They treated me like how Sirius’s parents treated him.”

The reporters looked up.

“As soon as Sirius could,” Harry said, “he rescued me. Not only is he who my parents wanted to take care of me, my sworn Godfather, and someone I should have grown up calling uncle, but he is the only adult who put what I needed first.”

The reporters were talking over each other with questions. Harry cut them off. “Anyone who claims otherwise is uninformed or furthering their agenda.”

He’d been listening to Andy.

Harry glanced back at him and Sirius took his cue. Neville stayed in step as Sirius descended the last few steps to Harry, leading their group further into the Alley.

“I’m thinking of trying one of the new glowing flavours,” Sirius said, conversationally as they walked.

Neville made a face, ignoring the reporters shouting after them. “Do you know what they use to make it glow?”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Depends on how you feel about sea slime, I guess,” Neville said.

“I’ve eaten worse,” Sirius said cheerfully.

Chapter Text

“I told you, Ablus!” Sirius had never seen his transfiguration professor this upset and that was saying something. “I told you they were the worst type!”

Dumbleodore’s eyes were flat and harsh, ageing him.

“You told me he was fine!” Minerva nearly shrieked. “You told me he was safe!”

Sirius stayed in his chair, flicking his eyes down the table. Andy was a pillar of composure next to him. The Weasleys were grim, eyes flicking between Minerva and Dumbledore. Elphias was a ruddy purple, biting off whatever words he was chewing on. Moody had a hand on his wand, leaning against the wall behind his chair. Severus, oddly enough was observing him. Sirius raised his eyebrows. Severus didn’t react. Sirius moved on, down the line. Bill was sitting by Tonks, who was murmuring something under his breath to her, betting probably.

“Harry was clothed, fed, and had a room to sleep in.”

“After his 11th birthday,” Sirius interjected.

Dumbledore turned sharply to look at Sirius. Sirius didn’t react, waiting for him to continue.

“Most importantly,” he said slowly, “Lily’s sacrificial protection is tied to her blood, so long as Harry stayed at a blood relative of Lily’s he was safe.”

“But not loved,” Minerva countered, “not safe from those muggles, he was cared for in a way that would make Lily Potter rise from her grave to curse her kin.”

“Harry must be safe from Voldemort.”

“Harry must be safe!” Minerva said. “He’s just a boy, Albus. He needed someone to take care of him.”

“Harry’s relationship with his family did not develop as I had hoped,” Dumbledore admitted. “I had no reason to suspect abuse.”’

“You never do,” Sirius couldn’t help adding.

Minerva flushed even harder.

“Moving forward,” Dumbledore said, “we must do all we can to ensure Harry’s safety. Without Lily’s protection, Harry is vulnerable.”

“I confess that I am confused,” Bill said. “What protections did Lily place on Harry?”

“The night that Voldemort broke into the Potter home to kill Harry, Lily Potter was asked to stand aside three times and refused three times,” Dumbledore said. Bill tilted his head. “Her sacrifice allowed Harry to survive the killing curse. Later, when I gave Harry to his Aunt and Uncle, I cast a charm that transferred the protections to Petunia. So long as Lily’s blood offered Harry a home, sanctuary, Lily’s sacrificial protections would remain active.”

“Against Voldemort,” Bill said.

“Correct, Mr. Weasley.”

“But not against Deatheaters?” Bill said, tilting his head the other way. “Or insane fans? Or political rivals?”

“Harry’s address is not public,” Dumbledore said.

“It’s on file at the Department of Magical Transportation,” Andy said. “For the price of 10 galleons you can access the file.”

Idly, Sirius wondered if he should have that scrubbed from the record. Then he pictured Vernon Dursely confronted by a boy-who-lived fan or a Deatheater and decided he wanted to live in a world where that was possible.

Dumbledore stared at Andy, speechless.

“We need to trust Albus,” Diggle said, into the stretching silence. “This is magic that we do not understand, against an opponent that Albus knows best.”

“Harry is entitled to the safety afforded to every child in the wizarding world,” Bill said. “The fact that there weren’t even protect runes above the doorway is negligent at best.”

“The Dursleys have a right to control their home,” Dumbledore said. “They did not wish for magical protection. They felt that wizard’s general unfamiliarity with the muggle world would be enough.”

“For all we knew,” Diggle said, “Voldemort was dead. There was no reason to think that Harry would need more protection than any other muggle-born child.”

Minerva was shaking her head.

“Once Voldemort made his return clear in Harry’s first year?” it was Snape, of all people, who asked.

“Mrs. Figg kept a close eye on the house and could contact me if there was an issue, which there was not.”

Snape flicked his eyes over to him, as the conversation moved on, and Sirius slowly shook his head. Snape’s face remained blank but cooled somehow.

“If the protection is attached to Petunia,” Elphias said, “perhaps she can move to where Harry is currently living.”

Minerva reared up but Sirius spoke before she could. “No.”

“Surely you must see the wisdom in allowing Lily’s legacy to be protected,” Elphias said.

“Lily Evans-Potter gladly gave her life to keep Harry safe. She would bloody well thank me for taking Harry out of that house, protections be damned.”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore tried.

“No,” Minerva cut him off. “You have done enough Albus. Sirius is Harry’s guardian. Sirius gets to make the decisions.”

Deflated, Dumbledore nodded once. Sirius didn’t like the look on his face. It wasn’t defeat, it was planning. Andy saw it too, judging by how she was watching him from the corner of her eye.

“Now,” Shaklebolt said, efficiently moving them on, “on to the reports. Fletcher?”

--

POTTER HEIR ABUSED?

Witch Weekly has secured an exclusive interview with Harry Potter, age 15, with the consent of his guardian, Sirius Black, head of the House of Black.

Potter alleges years of abuse under his muggle aunt and uncle’s care. Potter paints Black as a hero instead of the villain sweeping in to control the House of Potter.

"As soon as Sirius could, he rescued me. Not only is he who my parents wanted to take care of me, my sworn Godfather, and someone I should have called uncle; he is the only adult who put what I needed first."

As to what Potter thinks about Dumbledore’s petition to assume guardianship, he leaves us with this to think about; “Anyone who claims otherwise is uninformed or furthering their own agenda.”

Given the press around the Potter heir, one has to wonder, is he telling the truth? Ron Weasley, 15, a school friend of Potter, weighs in.

“Harry has always told the truth. Always. It's just no one listens.”

Is this public distancing the latest tumble in the Headmaster’s fall from grace? What else has the boy-who-lived reported that was disregarded?

Story continued on page 3

For a timeline of Dumbledore’s fallout with the Ministry see page 9

--

Dear Sirius,

I wish to schedule a meeting with you to discuss Harry’s upcoming year at Hogwarts. Due to the lack of Lily’s protection, we will need to plan the precautions that will be implemented to ensure his safety during his time here at school.

Given Voldemort’s unique interest in Harry, I thought it would be prudent to give him private lessons to prepare him in case the occasion occurs where Harry finds himself facing Voldemort once again.

Please write back at your earliest convenience,

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

--

Dear Mrs. Tonks,

We need to meet. Name a time and place.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Potions Master

Head of Slytherin House

--

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Neville sent a boulder shooting up into the sky until it was nothing more than a speck.

The twins swore and roared with laughter. “That’s insane!”

Ginny steered her broom underneath the shield Hermione had erected and studied Neville. Harry tracked the boulder as it got larger and larger.

“Arresto momentum!” Neville’s voice boomed, confident and happy. The boulder slowed nearly to a halt before dropping back into the hole it came from with a thump that shot through the earth and shook her bones. Ginny steered her broom back out into the open with her knees, shouting at them.

The boys laughed harder. Hermione couldn’t focus on her book, couldn’t focus on her friends, and felt a pulse in her blood that made her want to move.

“Hermione!” Fred came over and threw himself on the ground next to her.

“Fred?” She replied.

“How's tutoring going?” he asked.

Hermione could not think of a time when she had a serious sit-down conversation with Fred Weasley. George, occasionally when they were in proximity to each other, but Fred? No.

“It’s fascinating,” she offered, waiting for the punch line.

“What subjects?” Fred settled in on the grass, seemingly to stay a while.

“Warding, ritual magic, and pureblood etiquette.”

“Ritual magic sounds fascinating,” Fred said. “I’ve never been formally trained.”

“I didn’t even know it existed,” Hermione admitted. “Or, well, I knew about ritual blood magic but only as it was taught at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” Fred stretched out on the grass, pulling at the blades of grass. “Hogwarts doesn’t view blood magic very well.”

“No, they don’t,” Hermione turned to face, “which is harmful! Warding is blood-based and isn’t considered dark but Hogwarts is banned from teaching anything blood-based under the most recent dark magic act!”

“I suppose the only reason I know how to is Charlie and Bill taught us,” Fred mused. “You can’t really find it in the library.”

“I haven’t looked because I didn’t know that I should,” frustration welled up in her. “Not to mention that a lot of books are only found in family libraries. It’s not like I can go and purchase a book from Flourish and Bolts that’s been out of print for fifty years.”

Fred frowned, considering this. “What would you do in the muggle world?”

“There’s libraries everywhere,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Almost every town has one. Certainly every city. Anyone can go and read the books and they are free to check out and take home.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It is,” Hermione agreed. “There’s a much larger body of fictional books in the muggle world.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never actually checked,” Hermione admitted, “but the library at Hogwarts is mainly non-fiction and Flourish and Bolts don’t really sell new fiction.”

“It is mostly reference books,” Fred agreed. “If you want stories you’d listen to the wireless or it’s the chapter by chapter in the prophet. There’s a lot of subscription-based fiction, I suppose.”

Loud cheering startled her, Fred got his wand up and joined his shield with hers just before the boulder bounced off it. Their shields didn’t flicker.

“So besides the lack of libraries and nonsense wizengamot laws, how are you feeling about ritual magic?”

“It’s amazing,” Hermione couldn't help the thrill of wonder that went through her. “I don’t understand why we aren’t taught this in the History of Magic.”

“How so?”

“Ritual magic gets its power from the ritual, the more people who’ve used the ritual the more easily magic works in that way. So powerful magicks that are seemingly divorced from basic magical theory are based on ritual, like blessings with salts, offering guests bread and wine or bowing to a Hippogriff, are all actions that someone took a long time ago that worked. So then more and more people started to do it and now we do the actions to do the magic, without intuitively understanding the actions or why people chose to use those actions in the first place.”

“Blessings with salts, you mean like salt rings for protection.”

“It was viewed as an offering to magic for protection, salt was used because it was so valuable.”

“The more value of your sacrifice,” Fred reasoned, “the bigger output of magic.”

Hermione nodded, “There are a lot smaller rituals that people don’t think about but do anyway. Like using knocking on wood for luck or blessing luck with four-leaf clovers. When did it start? Why did it start? Was it an inside joke? A childhood belief? A routine custom that gained power the more and more people shaped magic into it?”

“I suppose I’ve never thought about it before.”

“It’s part of the muggle world too, left over from before the Statutes of Secrecies that went into place.”

“Really?” Fred asked, intrigued.

“We didn’t used to be so separate.”

George transfigured the grass into a smooth stone surface. Harry carefully levitated the boulder and set it on the stone.

“What are they doing?”

Fred glanced over and shrugged lazily. “Competing?”

Ginny sent the boulder flying up and then with a severe look of concentration slowed the boulder until it stopped, hovering about a foot above the stone.

“Tch,” George shook his head. He sent the stone flying up and dramatically set himself up to catch it.

“So etiquettes probably boring,” Fred said.

“A bit,” Hermione said with a shrug, “but I’m good at rules.”

“Don’t sell yourself short Granger,” Fred nudged her thigh with his shoulder. “You’re excellent with rules.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

George caught the bolder with barely three inches left. Neville cheered.

“How’s the house elf thing coming?”

“Not great,” Hermione said with a sigh. “No one has the kind of records I’m looking for, or if they do, they don’t know they have it because no one cares.”

“Someone’s got to remember. Who’ve you asked so far?”

“Who could remember back to Merlin?” Hermione asked. “The Magizoologist and estate records I’ve been able to access don’t keep track of house elves in any useful manner.”

“You’d need diary entries,” Fred laid back on the grass. “Have you tried asking the portraits?”

“The portraits? Oh, Merlin, the portraits can talk.”

An urge to immediately track down the oldest nearest Black portrait filled her but she squashed it down ruthlessly. There was a time and place for research and it was not when she was entertaining a guest. Or, well, as much as Fred counted a guest.

“You could also ask Kreacher or Dobby. Kreachers older, he might know a little, or at least somewhere to start looking.”

“You are a genius,” Hermione said, stunned. “I would have never thought about asking the portraits or Kreacher.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Fred said with a grin. “The lower expectations for us, the better.”

Harry sent the boulder flying and then stopped it mid-fall, far too soon. Neville and Ginny nearly fell over laughing. Harry let the boulder fall, red-faced.

“So,” Fred said as their bones shook from the shockwaves, “what classes are you taking this year?”

“The usual,” Hermione mentally reviewed her schedule, “arithmancy, ancient runes, and care of magical creatures.”

“That’s all? No time turner?”

Hermione squinted at him suspiciously.

He raised his hands. “I’m not trying to steal it!”

“No time turner,” Hermione said. “Mrs. Tonks says there’s no need. Besides, if I were to take the Muggle Studies NEWT, it would be after Ted got his claws in it.”

Fred laughed, “I’m glad, you deserve an easier year this year.”

“Now you’ve jinxed it,” she complained.

“That’s a muggle saying,” Fred said confidently.

“If you say something nice is going to happen, then it won’t happen,” Hermione explained. “Like if you’re working and say it’s lovely that it’s so quiet, then a whole bunch of customers are going to come in.”

“Huh,” Fred said. “How do you get your luck back?”

“A whole bunch of different ways,” Hermione said. “My favourite is to knock on wood but finding and carrying a four-leaf clover is always nice.”

Fred rolled to sit up and summoned his wand from where it strapped to his thigh in a wand holster.

With a swish and then a gentle prod Fred coaxed a blanket of four-leaf clovers to grow at her feet.

“You did that wordlessly!”

“Keep your voice down!” Fred joked. “Expectations, Hermione. Hopefully, it cancels out the jinx.”

Hermione snorted but sorted through the clover. She wanted to keep one. Just in case.

--

Harry was having much more success than she was at clearing his mind. It was infuriating. How was she supposed to think of nothing?

“I think of everything,” Sirius was the one who eventually helped her, “whatever comes into my brain, I let have space. I just don’t try to direct my thoughts.”

“Like getting lost in thought.”

“Yes.”

Harry was the only one who needed the Occulmancy ward rings for reasons that she couldn’t know yet.

“It will be less suspicious if we can play it off as Black family paranoia and not as everyone is in on a conspiracy,” Sirius said.

“We are all in on a conspiracy,” Hermione said.

“A new conspiracy,” Sirius said, with an eye roll. “Once you master Occulumancy then you can participate in all the conspiracies you like.”

Despite the misguided notion that she needed permission or oversight in participating in conspiracies, Sirius gave good advice. The less she knew about whatever secret Harry discovered the better. She needed to be able to protect herself.

Thinking of everything worked best somewhere she was comfortable. Today that place ended up being under a table in the library.

“What is the girl doing? Silly witch,” Kreacher was around somewhere, just out of sight. The venom in his voice was less than it had been, curiosity in his tone shining through.

Hermione found the most success if she didn’t try to think with a purpose and if she focused on her breathing. Deep breaths - slow and steady - filled her lungs with air that tasted of old parchment and spring water. The river continued to grow as the family magic got stronger. As a guest, she didn’t have to pay into the magic but knew that Harry, Sirius, Andy, Tonks, Narcissa, and Malfoy all regularly sacrificed bits of magic to the whole.

Harry favoured using ritual candles before bed and paid into the Black, Potter, and Evans family magic. Dobby would take him to the Potter estate once a week to leave out bread and milk. He didn’t need to go to the Potter estate for this, Dobby assured him, but Harry seemed to like the excuse to go to his ancestral home.

Dobby was glowing with the weekly offerings and had started to act as a secretary of sorts for Harry, advising him on matters of the Potter estate and reminding him about home repairs. Surprisingly, his advice seemed sound.

Her house elf hunt - slowly inhaling the taste of ink and magic - was going poorly in some ways and better in others. Fred’s advice has been a stroke of genius. The portraits did have a lot to say on the topic, however, she suspected the truly useful portraits were the ones that didn’t speak modern English. She had been brushing up on her translation spells when it became apparent that the one she did know was meant for humans, not portraits.

Kreacher seemed interested, though she doubted he would -another deep breath, one she could feel down to her toes- ever admit that. He followed her from portrait to portrait forgetting to sneer at her as he peered at her from around corners and from on top of ledges.

Harry had been over for dinner at her house, multiple times now. He’d even met her neighbours. The proof that she’d had friends, one dressed in nice clothes with manners adults loved, did a lot for her reputation. While her parents' friends hadn’t ever said anything about her unknown boarding school, it was now a positive thing in their minds. Exhale, long and slow- smiles had softened, polite questions about school classes were asked with warmth now, and requests for stories about her friends were no longer tentative.

It seemed strange that this was her life now, one where her father made potions with her every week, grimly determined to get through Diagon but gleeful, now, when it came to actually brewing. There was something shifting between them now.

The slanted sunlight streaming in got caught in the stained glass and hit the floor in a geometric array of colours. The dust motes caught in the air shifted from blue to green to red to yellow. Parchment slid across her fingertips. She didn’t need to read it. She’d had the lists memorized almost as soon as she’d written it.

1. Secure Harry.

2. Ask Harry his opinions on everything*

3. Research how to form an alliance

4. What do I need out of an alliance?

5. Alliance with the House of Potter

6. Alliance with the House of Black

*Not everything, just the relevant bits.

1. What were other names for house elves?

2. What’s the earliest known record of a subservient (enslaved) house elf?

3. Is there a Magizoologist who studied house elves?

4. Is there research into house elves

5. Speak to Dobby

6. How are house elves bound to a house? How were they bound to a house?

There was still so much to do before summer ended -inhale the scent of ink and parchment- she probably wasn’t going to get it all done.

A dust mote changed from blue to red. Green to blue. Yellow to red.

Chapter Text

The Potter estate was old and new all at the same time. It was old in the way Bowtruckle Run was old. Old magic, old wards, old portraits, old secrets, old wood, everything about the house was old and grand. It was buzzing with magic that went back to the very first Potter.

It was also new in a way that Bowtruckle Run wasn’t. There were new blankets on the couch, muggle ones, waiting for his mum to come back and curl up on the couch. There were new blocks in the nursery that were supposed to be his. His grandfather’s potion lab had long-preserved potion ingredients scattered about. There was a set of chipped plates in the drying rack. It was like the estate had been frozen in time, waiting for his family to come back.

It should have been eerie. It should have been depressing. Instead, all Harry felt when he entered the estate was a glowing warmth. He was the last Potter, but he wasn’t the first. He wasn’t alone.

All that family magic? It recognized him now. He could never be alone again.

Sirius warned him that it wasn’t really like another person being there; that family magic doesn’t think so much as it held on to intent. That what Harry was feeling was echoes of his family’s intent.

It didn’t matter to Harry.

The Potters had always been a loving family. Warmth, love, and care seeped into the house, into the family magic, into the way the magic interacted with the house. With every repair, every drop of magic Harry added to the wards, with every act of maintenance he and Dobby completed, echos of love and care wrapped him up. He was loved. His parents loved him so much. His grandparents loved him so much. Every Potter, even the ones who existed so long ago there would have been no way of knowing that he would exist, loved him. He was a Potter. He was theirs.

“We be repairing the greenhouse next,” Dobby decided from his perch in one of the over-stuffed chairs in the study. “Then yous be getting more elves, sir.”

“More elves?” Harry asked. “Why would I need more elves?”

“For the greenhouse. Dobby is Harry Potter’s elf. Not Harry Potter’s greenhouse elf.”

“And I need the greenhouse?”

“Yous a Potter, sir. Potters have greenhouses. Yous only one Potter, so yous start with one.”

“Right. Logical.”

Dobby swung his feet, content.

“Err, Dobby?”

“Yes sir?’

“How do I get another elf?”

Dobby gave a sharp grin. “Dobby be finding one for Harry Potter, sir.”

--

Neville was slow, clumsy, and flinched when Harry’s wand flashed. He was also one of the most powerful wizards Sirius had encountered in a long time when measuring by sheer force.

“I think it’s because I had to make everything so powerful to make my dad’s wand work for me,” Neville said, after apologizing for blowing Harry, shield and all, across the room to bounce against the wall. “I don’t know how to do it any other way.”

“We might be going about this the wrong way,” Sirius said, thinking aloud as Harry dusted himself off and started back toward them. “Neville, besides the fact that every head of House should know how to duel, why do you want to know how to duel?”

“I’m a target, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes,” Sirius said, “but are you going to be a target in the same way Harry is going to be? Running into danger at the slightest hint that someone needs help? Or are you content to fight only when you need to?”

Neville considered this with the seriousness it deserved.

Harry sprawled out on the ground at their feet, staring up at the ceiling and twirling his wand.

“I won’t stand back when others are fighting,” Neville said, eventually. “I don’t think I could let my friends go alone. I wouldn’t go out alone either. I’m not going to hunt Bellatrix Lestrange down for revenge. I’m not run off to fight unless I have a plan.”

“Excellent,” Sirius said, “let’s try this instead. Harry, Neville, you are a team. Harry your job is offence. Neville your job is to keep Harry and yourself safe. Focus on defence and healing. Ready? Go.”

Sirius doused them in a tidal wave’s worth of water and apparated to the other side of the room which helpfully plunged them into a fog with bright glowing lights. They couldn't see anything, not even their hands in front of their face.

Sirius shifted, the smells of the room coming into sharp focus and the pads of his feet making no noise as he slunk back toward them.

If he could get behind them, before Neville could get his shield up then he’d have a chance. Otherwise, between Neville’s power and Harry’s talent, he wouldn’t stand a chance unless he outlasted them.

The terrain was rocky and started to slope uphill in jagged, uneven slants. He’d have to watch where he put his paws otherwise he’d break an ankle.

“Do you hear him?”

Padfoot slowed to a stop, one foot still raised, listening. The whispers were faint, barely making it to him.

“I can’t hear anything,” came Harry’s low whisper. “If you keep the shield up and I cast through it, we shouldn’t have any problem though.”

“I feel like that’s not doing enough,” Neville said. “This isn’t costing me anything.”

“That,” Harry said in a very odd tone, “is how magic is supposed to work. It’s supposed to be like breathing.”

“Oh.”

They were still where he’d left him. They had a shield up. Sirius was going to have to try and break through it. He shifted, crouching low, wand in his hand.

If the room didn’t have the protections it had, he would never be able to test Neville in the way he was about to.

“Bombarda Maxima!” Sirius put everything he had into the spell, and let it leave his wand pulling magic even as it left.

Harry swore loudly, Neville stammered out a word that could have been 'wait', and then the spell connected.

“Yes! Neville! Bloody Hell!” Harry cackled.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

A spell returned flying through the fog, twenty feet to his left. They didn’t know where he was, just the general direction.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

Another hit. If he moved he wouldn’t be able to hit them again unless he listened. He doubted they were going to talk again now that they knew he was here.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

Spells in quick succession, sweeping over the area, and flying above his head. Smart, Harry.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

The fog was starting to thin a bit, Sirius could make out the ground around him. He wasn’t going to win this if he couldn’t hit Harry. Not if Neville could hold his shield that well for as long as he suspected he could.

He might as well prove his point.

Hexes and curses left his tongue in a constant stream. He stayed crouched, ignoring the way Harry's spell got closer and closer to him.

Illegal spells, words he’d only ever heard from family members or Death Eaters bounced harmlessly off Neville’s shield.

A door opened, “Cousin Sirius,” Tonks began primly, “what in the bloody hell are you teaching the children?”

“Tonks,” he yelled as he dove under a bright red light, “break the shield.”

“Bombarda Maxima!”

Sirius was now countering Harry’s spells as well as trying to break through Neville’s shield. The fog was fading, gathering in wispy trails along the ground.

Tonks casted spell after spell, swearing gleefully as they didn’t have any effect.

“Together then?” Sirius called.

“Might as well,” Tonks shouted back. “We’re late to lunch.”

One twisting turn later Sirius stood shoulder to shoulder with his cousin. Bombarda Maxima left their wands, twisting around each other. Together, they hit at the same point on the glowing blue shield. It shattered, their spells surging forward, only to hit Harry’s shield one after the other. His shield wavered but held.

Tonks dropped to the ground as an overpowered expelliarmus shot over her head.

“Time!” Sirius called. “You’ve been saved by lunch.”

“We’ve been saved?” Harry asked, joyful. “You’ve been saved! Neville, that was amazing!”

“I didn’t do much,” Neville said, bright red. “All I did was a shield and disarming spell.”

“As shield that didn’t break,” Harry punched his arm. “Do you know how many people could do that?”

“It broke,” Neville said, a grin starting. “Right at the end.”

“When an auror and a madman hit your shield at the same time using Bombarda bloody Maxima.”

“It was a little amazing,” Neville admitted to the ceiling. “Maybe.”

Harry whooped and pulled Neville toward the door, Tonks following after them. “Wait ‘til Mrs. Tonks hears about this.”

--

Hermione looked up from the notes she was taking in her very nice but decidedly muggle notebook. Even she was having trouble staying focused by the end of this meeting - another debate of regulation ritual candle melting points - and it was no surprise that Harry looked like he was about to bounce off the walls. He was sitting next to Sirius, who was not sitting where he normally sat. Instead, Mrs. Tonks sat alone.

Sirius and Harry had taken a seat directly across from the Chief Warlock, decked out in Potter colours. Sirius wasn’t actually doing anything, Harry was the one lifting his wand and voting on measures, but they were both garnering amused and fond looks from older wizengamot members all the same.

Something about today had stressed Harry out beyond measure and caused him to retreat into that silent angry shell that was so familiar from last year, but Hermione wasn’t allowed to know what it was yet.

She’d watched, tense and alert, as Harry was sworn in as the heir to House Potter and Sirius swore in as his representative. It wasn’t the traditional oaths she’d studied and the other members knew it too, judging by the murmurs that went up.

From her seat in the gallery, she could see the reporter's notes as they floated next to their heads, quills flying by themselves across the parchment. Most were going to report that Sirius was taking deliberate measures to keep House Black and House Potter as separate entities, perhaps as a way to honour his late best friend.

That wasn’t it, Hermione knew, but Harry wasn’t telling her for a reason. If he thought she needed to master occlumency before she knew then maybe it was for the best. No one could make her spill a secret that she didn’t know.

As the current speaker finished their reports on the average temperature of French wax melting points Harry started to bounce his leg, whispering something to Sirius.

He glanced down at Hermione as Sirius gave an answer and looked away before she could figure out what he wanted.

Sirius glance over at the Malfoys. Both Lucius and Draco sat in the Wizengamot chambers today. Draco was staring at her. She met his gaze and raised her eyebrows. He looked away. She looked back at Harry. Harry was staring at the ceiling.

A gavel banged.

Harry bounced to his feet and nearly vaulted his way down to the floor, Sirius following at a more sedate pace behind him.

Hermione stood and politely waited her turn to leave the bench seating. It reminded her of when a church service had ended and everyone was trying to exit but stopped to chat every metre.

She made her way to the floor, ignoring the way people whispered her name in her wake and took Harry’s arm when he offered it. She really did hate the crowds, especially the reporters when they left the safety of the chambers.

Sirius found them, Mrs. Tonks on his arm, and she and Harry followed him as he led them toward the doors.

“Mrs. Tonks, Mr. Black,” Mr. Malfoy greeted. Malfoy remained behind him, stone-faced. “Mr. Potter.”

“Have you had the pleasure of meeting Hermione Granger?” Harry asked flatly when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to be greeted.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, as blandly as possible. “I’ve been following your work on the school board closely. I’m very interested in your vision.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that information and nodded once before turning back to the adults.

“Ms. Granger is top of her class at Hogwarts,” Mrs. Tonks said pointedly. “If you ever needed to get student feedback on a proposal there would be no better student to ask.”

“Of course,” Mr. Malfoy looked over their heads. “If you would excuse us we are meeting my wife. I wouldn’t wish to be late.”

“Of course,” Sirius echoed. “You wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Draco sneered as he passed them but it was ruined by how wide his eyes were.

“Poor boy,” Mrs. Tonks said as they continued. “He looks confused.”

“That’s just his face,” Harry muttered.

“Do we have everyone?” Mrs. Weasley asked, skirts swirling around her as she and Bill approached. “My children will meet us at the restaurant.”

“Just waiting on Neville, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, immediately more cheerful at the prospect of food.

“We’re here!” Neville said, standing on Hermione’s other side. “Gran's just talking to Mrs. Abbott.”

“Ready then?” Sirius asked as the vulture hat got closer and closer.

“No sense in being late,” came Mrs. Longbottom’s reply.

--

There appeared to be an entire world of restaurants and lounges that Hermione had never heard of. They were tucked away in places she had heard of, but unlike the muggle world, there didn’t seem to be any signs or advertising. There were also no menus.

“They employ several seers,” Sirius explained to the group. “They don’t need you to pick because they already know.”

Hermione glanced down at Ron at the mention of seers, he’d chosen seats away from everyone else, down between his Bill and Mrs. Longbottom. Hermione had to twist in her chair to look down the long rectangular table to even see him.

Harry was on her other side, closest to Sirius at the head of the table. Mrs. Tonks was at the other end of the table, taking on the work of conversing with Mrs. Longbottom.

Neville, Harry, and Hermione were down by Sirius, with Tonks, the twins, and Ginny making up the middle of the table.

Within minutes of sitting down, appetizers appeared on the plates in front of them, each different.

“What is this?” Harry asked quietly, poking at his food.

“I have no idea,” Hermione murmured back, “but mine is delicious.”

After a very satisfying lunch - perfectly spiced dumplings for her, a braised meat and grain dish for Harry, chicken covered in what looked like a purple sauce for Sirius, two different pastas for the twins, and a baked fish for Neville - it was time for back to school shopping.

For once, she felt like she finally had what she needed for the school year. Her clothes were sorted, she felt confident about her hair, she owned enough jewellery to pass as a pureblood, and her personal library collection had grown drastically. Shopping for her school supplies felt less urgent than it had before.

“We are going to go down and pick up our robes,” Bill said, a hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Would anyone like to come with us?”

“Can you grab ours as well?” George asked, gesturing to Fred and Ginny.

“Of course,” Bill turned down the street, pulling Ron with him.

“We should start with the books then,” Mrs. Weasley said briskly. “I assume it will be a madhouse.”

“Neville had his books delivered by owl,” Mrs. Longbottom said.

“Harry and I need to swing through Gringotts,” Sirius said. “Is anyone else heading that way?”

“I’ll go,” Tonks said. “I need to make a withdrawal.”

“Why don’t we meet back here for ice cream in an hour?” Mrs. Tonks suggested. “Hermione, would you like to start with books?”

At her nod of agreement, Neville offered her his arm. “We can get my potion ingredients from across the street Gran, I’ve grown most of them but there’s a few left I’m going to have to dry.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Longbottom took off down the street, Mrs. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley keeping step with her.

Ginny looped her arms through Fred and George’s. “Shall we, my gentle brothers?”

Fred and George bowed extravagant, uncoordinated bows, “We shall, our dearest sister.”

The trio swept off down the street, going out of their way to be polite to each other.

“At least they are clearing the way,” Neville said. There was a large wake behind the Weasleys.

“And are drawing all the attention,” Hermione agreed, letting Neville lead her down the street. “Is it always like this?”

“Yes and no,” Neville said, not needing her to elaborate. “There is always someone watching you, trying to read into every action. There is so much tradition and years of history between all the families here that every single person is looking for hidden signals. It's like a whole different language. You are getting even more attention because of who you are. That should calm down as soon as they know what to do with you.”

“Write me off, you mean,” Hermione said, lightly.

“It’s not so bad,” Neville said, smiling at her. “There are a lot less eyes on you if they don’t expect anything from you.”

“And if they do look?”

“Then you need to be ready,” Neville said. “Even if it is just to slide back into the shadows.”

Neville seemed content to let her fall into a thoughtful silence and Hermione let herself take a good look at him. He did seem different than he had been. He’d gotten taller, she decided. Or maybe he was just standing straighter. The wine-coloured lining of his collar made his blond hair look like gold. Or maybe it was just because she was looking. When was the last time she’d taken a good look at any of her classmates?

--

“Did the tracks change?” Harry asked, bouncing his way out of the cart and onto the platform. “I don’t remember that sharp of a turn last time.”

Sirius took a deep breath before standing, aware of the goblin and Harry waiting on him. “I don’t remember that turn either, kiddo.”

Nor the three long drops or the sharp upward twist that caused the cart to slow when they finally got to the Potter vault.

“I just want to get some jewellery,” Harry said. “Mum mentioned some in one of the diaries that Dad always wore.”

Three cool bands on his left cheek, three cool bands on his right. Sirius knew he was probably gripping James’s wrists to the point of pain but couldn’t relax, couldn’t breathe.

“Sirius,” James’s voice sounded far away, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t draw a breath. He was going to die. “Sirius, I have you. You are safe.”

“It’s just some rings and an earring, do you think you’d recognize them?”

“You gotta use your other hand,” Sirius batted sleepily at James, uncaring of who was watching or of the amused grin of Peter from across the chess board. “Your ring always pulls.”

James switched the hand that was combing through his hair. Remus’s arms shifted against his legs as he turned the book he’d propped up on him.

“Yeah,” Sirius said gruffly, coughing. He didn’t know how long Harry had been waiting for an answer. “I’d recognize them.”

“Where do you think they’d be?”

His lumos joined the hall lights in bouncing off the gold gleams of James’s rings. Unmoving. Unnaturally still. Lily. Where was Harry?

“If he wasn’t buried in them,” Sirius said as gently as he could, “they would have been returned to the vault.”

Harry’s enthusiasm cooled slightly but didn’t fade. “Would they have put it in the other jewellery?

“Probably.”

Harry went back to where he found the earring he hadn’t stopped wearing. Sirius joined him. Shelf after shelf gleamed in the ever-present light.

“These look like they were worn a lot,” Harry said eventually, pointing. The tray of rings was no different from the rest of the trays on the shelf but Sirius nearly started sobbing anyway.

Harry looked up at him and he nodded.

“Was this one for you?” Harry pointed to a ring with a constellation on it. James had always worn it on his thumb.

Sirius nodded. “It wasn’t made for me, but James found it in the vaults. There must have been a Potter named Sirius.”

Harry plucked it from the tray and held it out to Sirius. “You should have it.”

Sirius took it and scrubbed a hand down his face. Harry leaned cautiously into his side and looked at the tray.

“These ones,” he said hoarsely, pointing. “Three on one hand and three on the other.”

“That’s only five, counting the star one.”

“He always wore his heir ring too.”

“What about the earring?” Harry said, frowning down at the trays.

“These ones here,” Sirius said, pointing at a couple of studs and a hoop. Who had taken them out of his ears? Who had gotten Prong’s body ready to be buried? Where was his wedding ring? Had he been buried with it?

Harry carefully put all of them into his pocket.

“Here,” Sirius conjured a little bag. "We don't want to lose them."

Once the jewellery was safely put away, Harry stared back down at the trays. “Do you want anything?”

Sirius twisted James’s ring around and around his thumb.

Harry glanced up at him. “Dad would have wanted you to have something.”

Sirius reached out and brushed an earring that he hadn’t pointed out. “Your dad didn’t get to go to many Wizengamot sessions. When he did, he wore this one.”

“You should wear it when you represent me,” Harry said immediately. “I have too much snake jewellery to cycle through anyway.”

Sirius huffed out a laugh.

“Let’s hurry,” Harry decided. “You need sunlight.”

Sunlight would probably fix him. It was cold down here.

“You wait here,” Harry commanded when they got to the Evans Vault. “I’ll be really quick.”

Harry was in and out in a flash, considering how much stuff was in the trunks. He tucked his chin over the armful of items he’d gathered. “I’ve got her year five diary and a couple of other things. We’ll need to come back at Christmas.”

The confidence Harry had in making a plan for both of them filled him with pride. He'd done that. He'd made his kid feel that he could say what he wanted and it would get done.

“Textbooks?”

“It’s the ones I need for this year,” Harry said, shrugging and managing not to drop anything. “It’s just the wrong editions.”

“We’ll get you the new ones too, just in case there's anything new.”

Sirius conjured another bag and Harry let his collection of packages and notebooks gently fall into it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry said, throwing himself back into his seat.

--

Sunlight was only fixing Sirius a little bit.

Harry was keeping a careful eye on his godfather since they emerged from the belly of Gringotts and he was still not back to himself. His response time was slow, he shivered any time he wasn’t in the sun, and he didn’t track the conversation as it bounced around him. Mrs. Tonks had caught on to Sirius’s mood as well and had ordered him ice cream that had flames spilling out of his mouth every time he breathed out.

Harry tucked himself up against Sirius, ignoring how awkward it still felt to breach Sirius’s personal space in favour of focusing on how Sirius’s arm immediately came up around him and Sirius looked toward Fred who was in the middle of telling a story.

Harry looked around at … at his family. Tonks was dripping ice cream onto herself as she nodded along to whatever George was adding to the narrative, using large hand motions and big words. Hermione was deep in a conversation with Neville and Bill surrounded by her new supplies. Mrs. Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Longbottom were talking about someone else’s allegedly dead husband, Ginny listening in with wide eyes as she held her bag of new potion supplies to her chest. Ron met his eye across the group and held it for a second, head tilted, before looking away again.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t how he’d imagined it, so long ago under the stairs, but this was a family. His family.

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry turned his head to find Sirius looking down at him.

“I’m happy,” he said because Edward said it was important to recognize the good things.

Sirius looked over to Fred as he let out a crowing laugh. He let out a sigh. “I am too, kiddo.”

Harry took another bite of his ice cream. Today was a good day.

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Sirius said, finally having enough of the moods and the silence and the pacing. He was so done with the pacing. Harry, predictably, turned to flee the room in a huff. Sirius caught his wrist and tugged them to the couch so they could stare out the window. “What is going on?”

Harry pushed himself out of his grip but didn’t leave the couch, leaning forward over his knees, before slouching back a little.

“I’m going to Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” Sirius said. They had so many safety plans. Dobby, Ted, Floo Powder, Portkeys, Hermione, two other things that Andy wouldn’t tell him about yet, and weekly letters. The emancipation had yet to be publicly talked about but he had copies of the paperwork ready to go if Dumbledore tried anything. Harry was the head of one of the most powerful Houses in the Wizengamot, even if he wasn’t using that power yet. He couldn’t be made to go or do anything he didn’t want to do. He took a deep breath. At the end of the day, no matter how much he wanted to keep Harry here, he also couldn’t stop him from going.

Harry didn’t say anything, he just bounced his knee.

“Do you still want to go?” Sirius asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to be safe, Harry,” Sirius tried. He had a feeling that wasn’t the problem.

Harry nodded, his knee bouncing faster.

Sirius had an idea of what was happening. It had hit him at sixteen, after a summer of Potters and warmth and safety. He studied Hai Hai, basking in the heat of the fire before deciding to go with his gut.

“It’s going to be a better year. If anything goes wrong, we’ll send Andy out to yell at it.” Harry laughed but didn’t look up. “Plus you’ll come home for Yule and I am going to see you at your Quidditch games. I’m sure I can also wiggle my way into something during the fall now that Ted’s going to be on the grounds most weeks.”

Harry whipped his head over and stopped bouncing his knee. “Really?”

“I know, right?” Sirius said, rolling his eyes and slinging an arm around Harry. Harry let him and pressed back into his side. “I told him that most people don’t take the school board seriously at all, but he thinks that the curriculum needs oversight. Apparently, the most efficient oversight is sitting in on classes and observing.”

“You’re coming to my Quidditch games?”

“Obviously. I’m the founding member of the Potter fan club. Who else is going to lead the cheers?”

“So you’ll come in November?”

“And October,” Sirius said. “For Hogsmeade. I figured I could treat you and your friends to lunch.”

Harry’s shoulders were coming down. Sirius cast his mind through all the thoughts, ideas, and daydreams he hadn’t wanted to overwell Harry with.

“If you want,” Sirius said slowly, “only if you want, I could get you excused during Halloween as well.”

“Yes, please,” Harry said with a desperation that surprised him. “All they do is stare.”

“Consider it done. We can do something fun or stay around the house.”

“Could we go to my house?”

“Of course.” It would be like ripping out his heart but he’d do it for Harry. “Before I forget, I have something for you, I left them upstairs.”

Sirius still didn’t remember what rooms he’d stayed in here as a child and hadn’t bothered to ask Andy if she’d put him in the same ones. The dark blues were soothing, the fire was always lit, and he’d been slowly adding photos as he found them in his school things that Andy had found somewhere. He had new photos too, ones of Harry, the clips he liked from the Daily Prophet, one of Tonks in her Auror robes. It was starting to remind him of his room at the Potters.

Harry, who had seen it all before, picked up a spinning top that screamed if the person whose name it was told came near from one of the side tables, and sat down in what was becoming his chair by the fire to fiddle with it.

Sirius went to his bedside and opened the side table drawer.

He handed Harry the velvet-wrapped square mirror.

“What is it?” Harry asked, already opening it.

“Two-way mirrors, say my name into the mirror and we can talk through them.”

“Sirius Black,” Harry said to his mirror.

He quickly got out his as well so Harry could see him through the mirrors.

“Wicked,” Harry said, voice echoing.

“When you’re done, just wrap the mirror up again or put it face down.”

“I’ll have mine with me always,” Sirius said. “James and I used to carry them around all the time and talk to each other in detention.”

“Really?”

“So many detentions.”

Harry smiled down at the mirror.

“You need me, Harry, and I’ll answer. Big or small or just to chat. It doesn’t matter if I’m in a meeting, sleeping, or in the Wizengamot. Say my name and I’ll answer.”

He abruptly had an armful of emotional teenager.

“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry mumbled.

“Any time, kiddo.”

--

Harry looked good. He looked healthy, he’d even gained some weight and had started to grow. His tan looked healthy and even. He looked like he’d slept. His hair had been cut by a barber, something Harry had never had done before. Nothing could tame the wild, messy curls but the sides had been cut short and now the mess looked intentional.

None of this was hidden behind too big clothes or school robes. Instead, Harry was dressed like a wizard. A wizard wearing denims but a wizard all the same. He’d paired his denims with an open robe, the vibrant green pulling out the green of his eyes and highlighting the flashes of gold on his fingers or ears.

Perhaps most importantly, Harry was smiling, giggling as Sirius told another story about his own Hogwarts shenanigans. He didn’t have the hunted, beaten-down aura that had haunted him the last year. It was everything Hermione hadn’t dared to hope for at the beginning of summer.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who was noticing this.

“Hi, Harry!” Angelina and Alicia said. “We’re off to find Katie, do you want to come?”

“Hey, Harry!” Ginny smiled and waved as she hurried after a girl with long pale hair.

“Hullo!” Neville waved.

“Harry!” Lavender and the Patil twins came up and hugged him. Hermione was soothed by the absolutely baffled look on his face.

“Hi Harry,” a third-year Gryffindor who Hermione didn’t know the name of called.

“Harry,” Cho gave a small wave. Harry broke away from the group to talk to her. Cho looked to be on the verge of tears. More Ravenclaw girls came over and surrounded the group. Harry looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Poor lad,” Sirius said, grinning. “Doesn’t know what’s happening does he?”

“Sirius,” Mrs. Tonks chided.

He threw an arm around her, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes. “Better than James’s approach I must admit. He thought it was the best thing since fire whiskey and no one could tell him otherwise.”

“Hermione!” George pushed his way over, Fred close behind.

“How’s our favourite house-elf crusader?” Fred leaned into George to see over his shoulder.

“Well, thank you. And you both?”

“You know,” George said. “That’s what we like about you.”

“You treat us like two separate individuals.”

“Two individuals who lead separate lives.”

“I feel seen,” they said together. “I am well, thanks.”

Mrs. Tonks smiled. “That purple smoke doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

Hermione looked behind her to see a shimmering purple smoke billowing through people’s legs.

“If Mum asks,” Fred said looking around.

“We don’t have any idea about what you’re talking about,” George said with a grin.

“And if she doesn't ask?” Harry had reappeared, looking a bit frazzled.

“Mischief managed!” the boys said together.

Sirius choked on nothing.

Harry took in three uncomprehending looks and grinned. “Did you follow Sirius’s trial?”

“Just the headlines,” George said slowly, knowing something was coming.

“Sirius was instructed to register his animagus form, a big black dog.”

Fred raised his eyebrows, waiting for the punchline.

“If my dad was alive and involved, he would have been instructed to register his animagus form, a stag. Peter Pettigrew is wanted and Aurors have been instructed to be on the lookout for his animagus form, a rat.”

George shook his head, an unsure grin on his face.

“Professor Lupin,” Hermione couldn’t resist, “is a werewolf.”

Sirius flinched, looking around at everyone who surrounded them, but recovered quickly.

“So?” Fred was still leaning into George, arm around his shoulders.

“Gentlemen,” Harry did a little half bow, sweeping his arm out to his Godfather, “may I introduce Padfoot, of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.”

Fred nearly climbed over the top of George to offer Sirius his hand. “Mr. Padfoot, sir, huge fan.”

George pulled himself upright using Harry’s shoulder to shake Sirius’s other hand, “Moony is Professor Lupin? What went wrong?”

Sirius laughed, his head thrown back as he shook their hands. “Remus has always been a swot.”

“He’d have to be,” George said.

“That map is a work of art, Mr. Padfoot, sir.”

“You found the map!”

“Knicked it from Filch.”

Sirius was laughing again. “The things we got up to with that map, I think we single-handedly kept Zonko’s afloat. Those were some good times.”

“What was your favourite?”

“There’s Ron,” Harry said in her ear.

Hermione looked over, letting Sirius’s tales of his Hogwarts pranks fade into the background. Ron was standing by his mother and Bill. “I didn’t think Bill would still be here.”

“He took a desk job,” Harry said. “He’s working at Gringotts now.”

“I didn’t know,” Hermione looked over. “Has he seen us?”

“He’s not coming over.”

She just wanted things to go back to normal. Or maybe not normal. Normal but better. She liked Ron. He could be funny and sweet. When she lost her mind during Buckbeak’s trial he stepped in. He researched for weeks, checking in on her all the while. When things were good, he was a loyal friend, a brother to Harry.

Eventually, he’d apologized. They’d accepted it. They could be normal again.

She hated that Harry was in the middle.

“Do you have everything, sweetheart?” her mum asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said. They’d checked her house and Bowtruckle Run, and slowly collected the massive pile of books she’d acquired over the summer. Mrs. Tonks had a neat trick to shrink them down and then an even better one to sort them in alphabetical order by author. “If I forgot anything you can just send it by floo now.”

“I could send you a care package!” her mum said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to do that. Do you think I could send it straight through?”

“If it won’t fit in the post,” Mrs. Tonks said, “I am sure that we could talk to Professor McGonagall or have Ted take it.”

“Excellent,” her mother beamed.

“Robes sure do come in a lot of colours,” her father said.

“Hai Hai likes the ones with patterns,” Hermione told him. “He thinks it’s better camouflage.”

“I’m not sure you’d need camouflage in a room like this,” her father said looking around at the chaos of colour around them. “Just wear something neutral and you’ll blend into the walls.”

“Have a good train ride, sweetheart,” Her mother brushed her hair back from her face. “Write to us when you get settled. We have an owl now to write back.”

A newly purchased owl, at her mother’s insistence and her father’s annoyance. He was living in the tree in the backyard but frequented the breakfast table for sausage.

“I love you,” her father said into her hair as he hugged her. “Let me know what your professor says about the regulatory bodies.”

She nodded and looked at Harry as she pulled away.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She brushed a hand down her robes, smoothing wrinkles that didn’t exist. Like Harry, she was wearing denims with open robes that could be mistaken as a long muggle coat, similar to the robes Sirius had transfigured for her all the way back at the start of summer. Her hair was up but uncovered, curls spilling wildly out around her head. Jewellery from her parents, from Harry, from Mrs. Tonks lined her ears, fingers, and neck.

“Yes,” she said, “I think I am.”

--

It wasn’t safe. The words curled around Hermione’s shoulders, brushed around her ankles, and echoed with every breath.

It wasn’t safe. Harry was next to her, chatting animatedly with Seamus, Dean, and Neville. He was happy. Confident. At home.

It wasn’t safe. Hermione was acutely aware of the eyes on her, curious looks from every table. She was aware of the glare that Ron shot her now and then. She was aware of the Headmaster’s knowing gaze.

It wasn’t safe. She was wearing the Hogwarts uniform like armour and it was instead acting like a beacon. Pureblood eyes landed on the fabric, on her hair worn up, on the jewellery on her ears, neck, and fingers. Not safe, the eyes screamed. It was never safe to draw this many pureblood eyes. It was never safe to draw this many teenage girl’s eyes. Not like this.

It wasn’t -

“Hey Hermione,” George dropped into the seat across from her.

“Pass the mash, would you?” Fred said, dropping in next to her.

“Yes,” Angelina said. “AND, Hufflepuff is going to have the most first years.”

“Hufflepuff?” Fred turned to stare at Angelina and Alicia before he could take the bowl of potatoes from her. George took the opportunity to grab it. “No way, it’s going to be Gryffindor.”

“Hello Hermione,” Alicia said politely.

“Hello,” Hermione said back.

“You’re both wrong,” Alicia said to the group. “It's going to be Ravenclaw.”

“Not Slytherin?” Hermione asked.

“No!” Fred cried. “There’s not enough pureblood legacies this year.”

“That’s what usually tips them over,” George said. “Otherwise Ravenclaw and Gryffindor usually pull ahead.”

“Slander!” Angelina said. “Hufflepuff got it last year!”

“Three of the firsties had Hufflepuff parents!” Fred was loud and warm next to her, jostling her as he stood to grab the potatoes from George. The ice hold of fear loosed its grip on her, letting her breathe. Harry glanced over, smiling at her before going back to his conversation.

The noise of Alicia viciously defending the basket of bread rolls and Ravenclaw faded into the background as Hermione tried to breathe.

She needed to be safe.

She was mostly alone, in a magical castle, unreachable by her parents and surrounded by people who thought she shouldn’t exist. Mrs. Tonks wasn’t here. Sirius wasn’t here and even if he was, his priority was Harry.

Fred jostled her arm as he snagged a roll from the table. She wasn’t alone. She had time. She needed to breathe.

She didn’t flinch as she met the gaze of many curious students and tried not to feel like an exhibit at a zoo.

She needed to be safe.

How could she keep herself safe?