Chapter Text
Charlie Potter had mourned his older brother for as long as he could remember, and he had despised Sirius Black for almost as long.
He did not remember looking forward to Sirius Black’s awakening, when his parents periodically visited him and asked for updates from the man’s cousin, murmuring anxiously between themselves, their brows furrowed and the twist of their mouths unreadable.
What he remembered was being five and asking his parents about meeting the Man-Who-Survived. He remembered being told he’d left the country. When he’d asked why, his father’s face had crumpled. He had pressed his lips together and told him Uncle Sirius needed to come to terms with the events of that night. It was his mother who took him to bed that night and explained that Sirius Black used a dark spell to protect them from Voldemort, and it was this magic that killed Harry. That he meant well, but he had done something that couldn’t be undone, and should he come back to Britain, she would not allow him near Charlie.
Lily Potter didn’t believe in coddling children.
Even years later, the burning resentment Charlie felt for Sirius Black after he understood the implications of what his mother told him was only rivalled by his hatred for Voldemort.
(He had dreamt of growing up with Harry, a twin he would share everything with, whether it was toys or their parents’ love or the burden of surviving that night. The media scrutiny, their parents’ absence – busy as they were making the world a better place for them —, Quidditch games and private tutoring, vacations and clothes and food and secrets, anything that could be shared with a brother.)
His mother’s confession shaped the boy he would become; it was how he understood that Dark magic was his true enemy, and he must do his utmost to eradicate it from the world. Charlie Potter swore to become an Auror and end all the Dark wizards like Black, like Voldemort, like the Malfoys. He would be the hero everyone expected him to be.
Harry Potter would be the last victim of the Dark, even the kind that was paved with good intentions.
He lived by this principle when he noticed someone was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. While Seamus was in favour of ignoring it and trusting their professors to handle it, Charlie knew adults couldn’t always be relied on and sought to catch the culprit himself. His friends followed him in his quest, however reluctantly, and even Weakling Neville tagged along with them to stop the Stone from falling into the hands of Voldemort.
He also remembered that conviction when the Heir of Slytherin debacle happened. He raged against the entire school for daring to call him a Dark wizard when they were the people he hated most, but even he had to admit that all the evidence pointed against him. He was the only Parselmouth in the school – and hadn’t that been a shock to find out, when he’d never seen a live snake once in his life before Draco Malfoy thrust one at him —and he was always the first person at the scene of the petrifications. He’d visited Hermione on a whim after she was attacked that year, brooding about the possible closure of the school, which was how he found out about the basilisk. Then Ginny had been taken, and he’d had to act. Tom Riddle had been repulsive, but Charlie had defeated him and his monster at the end. Once more, the Light triumphed over the Dark as it should, and his best mate’s little sister was saved.
Charlie’s parents didn’t understand why he had to get involved. He tried to explain it, but they shut him down the moment he mentioned Harry.
They never wanted to talk about him. There were no pictures of him around their home, beyond a small photo of the twins being held to Remus Lupin’s chest that Charlie had found folded into a recipe book, his older brother’s face barely visible, smushed against the tawny-haired man’s ratty sweater. Requests to go to his grave on Samhain night always prompted Lily Potter to wilfully misunderstand him and go on a tangent about how unhealthy it was to try to cling to the dead, and how purebloods’ obsession with the deceased explained their society’s lack of progress. Harry was forgotten in the wake of that rant, and Charlie had to content himself with plucking flowers for his father to take with him. James Potter always visited Remus and Harry’s graves alone. He came back from it downtrodden and often drank a whole bottle of firewhiskey by himself, shut up in his office.
Charlie was left to mourn alone in his room, and later in the crowded Great Hall while everyone else celebrated Halloween and Voldemort’s demise.
There were no Dark wizards to catch in third year, but there were Aurors to learn from, Draco Malfoy and his lackeys to confront, and Hermione to save from herself as she crumpled under the pressure of the Time Turner and tried to stop Hagrid’s hippogriff from being executed. Charlie wished he’d gotten to befriend her in first year, and he had thought they would before Seamus put his foot in his mouth and Ron laughed at his terrible joke about whiny girls going crying in the bathroom. But they studied together now, it was nice. He had someone to talk to about Harry who didn’t take the matter too lightly or make the whole conversation about him being the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron, Seamus and Dean meant well, but their attempts at levity weren’t that funny.
And now that his friends – save Hermione, who at least gave him the benefit of the doubt — didn’t talk to him, refusing to believe he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire, days after the anniversary of his older brother’s death, he found out that his parents had lied to him.
His brother was alive, and Sirius Black had never killed anyone.
The worst part was, he learnt about it in the Monday morning issue of the Prophet instead of from Harry’s mouth. He found out at the breakfast table, with everyone’s stares, whispers and snickers directed at him.
“The Boy-Who-Died Lives to Be Adopted, Sirius Black Betrayed Breaks his Silence,” read the first subheading under the frankly offensive headline accusing him of lying about his naming as fourth champion.
The papers had been published fast; Black had given an interview the day of the Champion Selection and they’d had to scramble to add it to the news about the Tournament so the scoop about Charlie’s predicament would be made even juicier.
Sirius Black, who was engaged to Remus Lupin and waiting for the war to end or slow down to marry him. Sirius Black who claimed that he’d raised Charlie and Harry from infancy with his fiancé and woke up to find one son dead and another taken from him. Sirius Black who felt his Guardian’s Oath stir as soon as he stepped into the Hogwarts grounds and reignite at the first spell Haron Pierce used in his presence. Sirius Black who found out his son had been abandoned to the muggle world, raised by strangers while the other he had no claim to was treated as a hero.
He had photos of himself with the twins as babies. At this, Charie realised the picture with Remus was also the only baby photo of him in the house.
He had letters from James Potter, promising he’d get to adopt them soon.
He had a begrudging witness statement from the goblin who had given Harry his trust vault key in their first year.
“Did he know?” he heard someone whisper.
“How could he not know?” another said.
He read the entire interview twice, paling as he did so.
“Charlie,” murmured Hermione, pulling anxiously at the sleeve of his robe.
He did not hear her. He simply stood up and started walking. He did not glance at the Ravenclaw table, and simply continued to walk to the farthest wall of the Great Hall, where all the professors were gathered at a high table. He reached it in a short time. He stared.
“You were there, that night,” he started. “Tell me this,” he brandished the newspaper, ignoring the raising murmurs of the crowd, “is an elaborate lie. Look me in the eye and tell me!” he screamed in Albus Dumbledore’s face.
The headmaster, who had folded the Prophet in front of him, looked at him evenly. His eyes were full of sorrowful contrition, the same as when Charlie had asked him why Voldemort had targeted them that night and he had refused to answer just like his parents had. The same as when Charlie had been covered in blood, ink and grime after the Chamber of Secrets debacle and Dumbledore told him Myrtle’s death had shaped Tom Riddle as much as Harry’s had shaped Charlie.
Harry, who was not dead. And Dumbledore knew.
“You knew.” He paused. Narrowed his eyes. “Of course you knew. Who else would have the confidence to tell my parents that Harry didn’t have magic anymore? If you knew, say it!” he shouted.
People exclaimed as the newspaper he held in his hand was set on fire. Charlie pulled out his wand to put it out, still staring at Dumbledore.
“I’m sorry, Mr Potter,” finally said the man, confirming what the boy feared.
Charlie tilted his head. He chuckled disbelievingly.
“Huh. You’ve never called me that before.”
It was always Charlie, or my boy, or little one when he was still a kid who worshipped the ground the man walked on.
“If you and your brother could come to my office, I would be happy to explain—”
“No. No, you know what? I don’t want explanations from you,” he spat.
He turned on his heels. Paused. Turned back and looked at Sirius Black, who watched him with pained eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek.
“You— I have nothing to say to you.”
And he truly didn’t. Sirius Black did not kill his brother, and as such he was not his enemy. But he wasn’t his father. He could have been, maybe, in another life. But he’d jumped to the press to finally get to parent Haron Pierce, and he didn’t think about Charlie’s feelings or thoughts on the matter.
He turned back again, and this time he paused at the Ravenclaw table. Haron... Haron Black was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.
“I mourned you,” he whispered. “I mourned you and I missed you.”
And he left the Great Hall, pulling his invisibility cloak out of his bag and putting it on as soon as the doors slammed behind him. He moved a few steps to the right, lowered himself to the ground, his back pressing against a wall, and cried silently.
Seconds after, Harry burst into the corridor, followed by the two friends that were always with him and frantically looked every which way. Charlie held his breath.
“He was just there,” muttered Padma Patil, her blue and gold bell earrings jiggling as she turned her head to look at both sides of the corridor.
“He— I thought—,” said Haron haltingly.
“You convinced yourself that they had told him,” completed Su-a Li with a knowing look. “We’d guessed. The one time we talked about it you said you’d wondered but... but it looked like you didn’t want to think about it. You never wanted to look at him or acknowledge him in any way. It was easier to think of him as his parents’ son and nothing else. And of course his parents’ son would know and not care about his squib brother.”
“But that’s so... cruel of them,” murmured Haron.
Padma raised an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the people who left you with abusive relatives and told your actual adoptive dad that he had killed you? Why are you surprised that they’re bad parents?”
Abusive? Charlie bit his cheek to stop himself from making a sound.
“It was just me, though. Not him. Not the...”
“What, the Boy-Who-Lived?”
“No!” he protested.
Li made a choking sound. “Haron, have you been thinking it was fine this entire time because it was you and not Charlie? Your brother’s an idiot, what are you idealising him for?”
“But he’s—”
The Korean girl cut him off.
“He’s the kid who hangs out with people who laugh at his jokes even when they’re not funny and who always does unnecessary spins on the Quidditch pitch. He insults Professor Snape for kicks and thinks Dark is the same thing as evil. He melted down a first year’s talisman because it used blood as a conduit. His friends keep making Myrtle cry for fun when she’s literally the ghost of a dead thirteen-year-old. Ron and Seamus make sexist comments all the time and they all laugh, they... they’re awful, and he’s not much better!”
They were not, Charlie wanted to protest. Were they? He couldn’t deny that his friends took their jokes too far sometimes, or that Charlie liked to show off. But he had good reason to talk back to Snape, and the Dark had ruined his family, he didn’t think it was wrong of him to despise it even now. Maybe he’d taken things too far, but he—
He didn’t get to finish his train of thought because Harry whirled around and faced Li, his eyes flashing. “He’s my little brother!”
Charlie felt blood on his tongue from how hard he was biting his cheek. His heart hammered against his chest.
Padma Patil was unimpressed. “Your little brother sucks, Haron, you have to admit it. He might have saved Britain and the school or whatever, but he acts like a prick,” she said with a reasonable tone. “I know what I’m talking about, Parvati is a judgemental bitch, and her friend Lavender is... let’s not go there. The only Gryffindors that don’t suck in our year are Neville and Hermione, and even she has this whole ‘creepily staring at you’ thing going on. Don’t blame yourself for not telling him. The risk was too great anyway, you know that. Same for Sirius telling him, what if he’d blabbed instantly and the Potters stopped him from adopting you?”
Haron deflated.
“But I took the risk. With Sirius, I took the risk. I should have... I should have done the same for him.”
They stayed silent at this. The girls knew he was right, and it would have been disingenuous to say otherwise.
“How do I fix this?” wondered Haron after a beat, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
They really had the same eyes, thought Charlie. Or they did before his brother used whatever magic he used to change one of them.
The younger twin saw the man approaching before Haron did. He saw his brother flinch at the hand pressed against his shoulder and at the doors closing once more behind them.
Haron turned and brightened when he recognised Sirius Black.
“Sirius! Er, I mean—”
Black chuckled sadly. “You don’t have to call me dad just yet, darling. I haven’t done anything to deserve it so far. I’m sorry for... this. My solicitor told me I’d have to make a statement fast to stop the Potters from spinning this in their favour. I thought Charlie would be... not fine, exactly, but I could deal with him being angry at me for staining his family’s reputation. I’m not sure what it says about me that it didn’t even occur to me that he would likely have more issues with the lies he’s been told all his life.”
“Because you gave up on him,” said Haron hesitantly. “Like I did. You thought of him as James Potter’s son because it was easier than thinking about the fact that you were a stranger to him and that it shouldn’t be that way.”
Charlie stared at the way Black softened and embraced his brother.
“We’ll give him time,” murmured Black. “He’s allowed to be angry, and he deserves an apology. From us, from his parents, from Dumbledore. He’ll have it.” He paused and added. “And I’ll find out who put his name in the Goblet of Fire. I’ll make them pay.”
“You don’t think it was him?” asked Padma hesitantly.
“It wasn’t,” said Haron fiercely. “He said it wasn’t him, and I believe him.”
Something unclenched in Charlie’s chest at those words. His brother believed him. They might be... they might not have the relationship he hoped for, and he might feel betrayed, but Harry... Haron felt guilty for his silence. That had to mean something.
He relaxed further when Black shook his head. “Even if he had wanted to, there is no way he would have bypassed both Dumbledore and... Damyan’s protections.”
“Did he use a blood ward?” asked Haron with curious eyes.
Charlie wrinkled his nose, unable to hide his reaction at hearing his brother so intrigued by Dark magic.
“No, but he used something similar. Why don’t you come by to the ship for lunch? I’ll show you then.”
Haron nodded eagerly. They murmured some more inaudible words before separating, glancing at the doors. The students would soon start getting to class. They parted soon after, the Ravenclaws setting out for their first class of the day.
Black stayed in place for long enough that Charlie started to tense.
“I know you’re here, Charlie,” said Sirius Black softly. “I was your father’s best friend for many years, I know about the cloak.”
Charlie didn’t take off the cloak, though he glared balefully at the man. Black sighed.
“And I meant what I said. You deserve an apology. I’ll wait until you’re ready to hear it, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me. No matter what I could have been, I’m nothing to you now, except your brother’s father and a former friend of your parents. But I want you safe, and I’ll make it happen. Now Minerva is talking about giving you a day off today, but you’ll be called to the Headmaster’s office at some point, I gather.”
Charlie said nothing. After a beat, Black sighed again and left the corridor. Charlie only started moving when the first student came out the door. He walked, and walked, trying to sort out his thoughts. After what seemed like hours, a house elf popped close to him.
He tilted his head.
“Aren’t you the elf who was freed by Lord Crouch?”
The elf hiccupped, blinking back tears. “It is being Winky, yes. Headmaster Dumbly be waiting for you in his office with yous parents.”
His jaw clenched, but he nodded, and made his way towards the headmaster’s office. He climbed the stairs, not even glancing at the gargoyle guarding the entrance. He slammed open the door and entered to find his parents arguing with the headmaster.
“— you said he was a squib! We would never have left him there if we had known—”
James threw up his hands. “I didn’t even want to leave him there in the first place — there are perfectly acceptable opportunities for a squib in the magical world—, you both said it would be too dangerous for him out there—I should never have listened to you on this, the guilt has eaten me for years—”
“— you have to understand, Lily, all the signs pointed to—”
“— there is no way we can leave him with Black!” exclaimed Charlie’s mother. “I birthed him, he’s my son, I should be the one to decide where he goes.”
“He’s not.”
All heads turned to Charlie, who had just spoken.
“Giving birth to someone does not make you a mother. Harry stopped being your son when you promised him to another. And I was not your son either, not until you took me back with you and raised me,” he emphasised with a calm he did not feel. “Since you abandoned him, you have no right to him. Black swore a Guardian’s Oath, he has every right to take Harry... Haron away from you if you haven’t done right by him. I know that, you know that, he knows that. There’s nothing you can do.”
He lowered his eyes.
“And at this moment, I’m not proud of who my parents are. Sirius Black might be a Dark wizard, but he’s not a liar. He didn’t look me in the eye and lie to me about Harry’s death, and about who killed him.”
“Lily, you didn’t,” whispered James, taking a step back.
Charlie’s mother raised his hands up.
“He wanted to meet him!” she hissed. “He kept asking, what else should I have said? You heard what Albus said, the spell he used—”
“And we’re supposed to trust Albus now? He told us Harry was a squib because of Pad—Sirius' spell, and that wasn’t right either! How bad was this spell, really, when it didn’t do anything to the kids?” He turned furious eyes to the headmaster. “Tell me, Albus, why I pushed away my best friend and left a magical baby in a magic-hating family?”
“Because we trusted him to be a Lupin, kind, smart and cautious, when he was always and always would be a Black!” countered Lily. “Do not talk to me about your best friends, James. A traitor, a madman and a...”
“A what?” spat James. “A what? What was kind, smart and cautious Remus exactly? Tell me, I can’t wait to hear it. Or should we talk about your friends instead, and how none of them want anything to do with you? Not Mary, who screams at the very sight of you, not Calypso Greengrass, who you pushed away because she used a slightly darker than grey spell to escape her abusive husband, and not even fucking Snivellus! Why don’t we talk about them instead Lily?”
Lily faltered.
“Now, now, James, Lily, maybe now is not the time for division,” said Dumbledore placatingly, folding his hands over his desk. “And think about your audience, if you please.”
His parents flinched and turned back to Charlie, who was watching them with revulsion.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” he decided. “You disgust me, and I don’t want to be here. I’m going.”
And he turned on his heel. But when he pressed the handle, the door didn’t open. He whirled around.
“Let me out.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Charlie. Not before you hear me out, and your parents too,” said Dumbledore apologetically. “You must understand, my boy, that the end of the war was a difficult time. Peter Pettigrew having just betrayed... both sets of your parents, Remus Lupin being dead and the only person with answers as to what happened being in a healing coma, it fell to me to piece together the events of that night. It soon became clear to me that Lord Voldemort targeted you first, and Lord Black acted swiftly, if unwisely in your defence. He used the recent death of his fiancé as fuel for the spell that protected you.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. The headmaster kept going, staring into his eyes as he did so.
“The magic, necromantic in nature, was such a profound violation of the laws of nature that it backlashed instantly against its user and sought to burn out his magical core. The spell worked, but at a steep cost. Part of the soul of Remus Lupin remains stuck in this world, bound to the scar in your forehead and acting as your protector. It is him and his love that deflected the Killing curse aiming at you and destroyed Lord Voldemort’s physical body, and him again that killed Professor Quirrell in your stead in your first year. But souls are not meant to stay bound like this, and Remus is constantly battling the connexion established between you and Voldemort. When he falters, visions of him slip through, as it has this summer.”
Charlie had known as soon as Voldemort had come back to the Isle. He’d felt it somehow and saw it that very same night when he had dreamt of the man.
“Remus’ soul is not going to last like this,” he realised, taking in the implications of the headmaster’s words.
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
“He will not, and I do not know what will become of him.”
Charlie’s father closed his eyes painfully. His wife pressed a soothing hand on his arm, watching him with similar grief.
“I wondered how Sirius could have recovered from such a thing, and upon examining young Harry, I noticed his full magical reserves were emptied, his core inflamed. After several examinations, I came to the conclusion that Sirius must have unknowingly dug into the Guardian’s Oath and taken his magic to make the spell work. The Oath allows for a Guardian to give to their charge, I figured he must have found a way to take.” He paused. “Now that this has been proven wrong, I wonder what could have happened,” he mused.
The teenager bristled at his wondering tone.
“How sure are you of all... this?” asked Charlie, gesturing at his scar.
“I am an old man, my boy, and it has been proven today that I can make mistakes. If there is another explanation, I would love to hear it.”
Charlie glanced down at the door handle and thought about Sirius Black’s words.
“But I cannot think of one,” Dumbledore added regretfully.