Chapter Text
January, 1996
Sirius isn’t quite sure of when they’d advertised their home as a centre for childcare, but soon after welcoming in nineteen-ninety-six, his cousin’s son, Draco Malfoy, somehow turned up on their doorstep with a letter, a suitcase, and red-rimmed eyes. It had been a full moon the evening before, and Sirius would be lying if he said part of him didn’t think the figure to be part of his over-active imagination due to the lack of sleep—a hallucination, Remus might call it. But Sirius’ hallucinations were almost always related to his time in Azkaban or what he could remember of his youth living at Grimmauld Place. They certainly weren’t ever concerning the future of the Black lineage, or this boy who he could only place because of his striking resemblance to Regulus—but he wasn’t Regulus, he was blonde, and he had what looked to be a bandage around his left forearm hidden beneath the thin sleeve of his dress shirt.
“Mr. Black,” the boy nodded shakily, head hung low unlike what Sirius might have expected given Harry’s stories about the boy.
“You’re Narcissa’s son,” Sirius said, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes. She asked me to ensure you received this letter,” He whispered haggardly. He held out the embellished envelope, sealed with the Malfoy family crest, and Sirius took it wearily, unsure of whether this was some sort of plot—Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, Sirius’ mind yelled, they must want Harry.
“Oh,” he said, looking around, trying to get his mind to think. His eyes caught the dining table only feet away. Ah. “How about you come inside and sit down,” Sirius offered, cogs clicking and clanking like rust dispersing. Only until you know what his intentions are, he told himself, feeling entirely guilty for what he was possibly about to do to a child—but nothing is fair in war, and they are not above using children. Nobody is, Sirius mused bitterly as he led Malfoy into the cottage and to a seat at the table where Sirius himself had been only ten minutes before.
Before the boy could even finish looking around and drop his suitcase unceremoniously to the ground, Sirius hummed, scanning his mind for the perfect—yes. He steeled himself, feeling the magic thrumming through his veins as he thrust his hands forward, Malfoy’s eyes widening in a moment of fear. But before Sirius could go any further, he caught sight of a shadow at the top of the stairs in his peripheral vision and swiftly turned his poised hands to the intrusion.
“Sirius, who is at the—Oh,” Harry’s eyes widened substantially, his eyebrows disappearing into his over grown fringe as he took in their guest from the bottom of the staircase, one leg hovering over the floor as if he were frozen mid-step. He held up his hands as if to show he wasn’t a danger. But Sirius’ mind was hardly processing the gesture as it reeled, heart stuttering as he shook himself free of the grips of whatever fight or flight mode had been activated. Harry. Harry. Harry. It’s Harry. It’s only Harry, Sirius told himself as he took a large gulp of air—he hadn’t even realised he’d stopped breathing in the first place.
“Potter?” Malfoy asked. He was standing now, wand drawn and pointed between Sirius and Harry.
Sirius, who clenched his hands into fists, willing the unbridled power to cease itself lest he hurt his godson. Again. It was a about a year before that Harry had accidentally snuck up on Sirius. The boy had such soft footsteps, and Sirius understood why, but it had ended with a stinging hex and countless apologies on both of their parts—not that Harry should have had to apologise for Sirius’ hyper vigilance.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked in return, stepping toward Sirius as if he wanted to comfort the man. And Sirius felt embarrassed by the action—he was the adult, meant to be the beacon of strength in such situations, but here he was, powerless against his own body’s reaction. But Harry didn’t seem to mind, standing beside him calmly as he looked Malfoy up and down suspiciously.
“Everybody thinks you died,” Malfoy growled—he was confused, terribly so.
“Yeah…” Harry shrugged wryly, a hand scratching at the back of his neck.
“Your friends think you are dead.”
“It’s for the best—” he answered cryptically, pulling down the sleeves of his light jumper where lay the visible scars left from the recent exodus of the horcrux from his body—It hadn’t been so purposeful as Sirius might have wished. But Sirius had to find it in himself to be happy his godson was rid of such an evil force, anyway, even if he’d only barely recovered from finding the boy’s near lifeless body on the bathroom floor only three months ago. On Samhain. “—Anyway, Ron and Hermione, they know where I am. We spent Christmas with the Weasley’s, actually,” Harry continued, shifting his eyes to Sirius and consequently crossing his arms over his chest as if to shrink in on himself.
“Really?” Malfoy asked incredulously, none the wiser.
“And I write to them most weeks. At school, it’s an act—to fool Dumbledore.”
Malfoy lowered his wand, finally. And Sirius remembered the, now ruined, envelope in his hands. He opened it—ears catching a slight hitch of breath from the stranger in the room—to find the elegant script of Narcissa Malfoy’s handwriting peering up at him, reminding Sirius of days past, and old family gossip.
“Dear Sirius Black—”
Of course his dear cousin refused to acknowledge their shared blood. And he’d be upset about her taking no care in revealing his identity if his name hadn’t been cleared half a year ago—the paperwork was endless.
“—It is my great displeasure to inform you of the circumstances that have resulted in the situation I find myself in as I write this letter. Over night, we have had an unfortunate guest visit Malfoy Manor and viciously mutilate my darling dragon. Fenrir Greyback—”
Sirius looked up, gaze landing on the boy in question. His eyes were on the floor, blinking heavily as his chest began to heave, his right hand placed carefully over the bulge of his left forearm. And Sirius couldn’t help but be reminded of a young Remus in the hospital wing—a memory so stark against the blurry haze of Sirius’ mind. He and James and Peter had snuck in early in the morning, the first time after learning of his true self. But Sirius had never once been disgusted, no matter what Remus worried. If anything, Sirius had been captivated by the boy’s scars, always thinking he had a much cooler story than Sirius did no matter whose was more traumatic.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked worriedly, feeding off of the tension in the room as he stepped impossibly closer to Sirius who quickly pressed the letter close to his chest.
“Harry, can you go and wake Remus—”
“No!” Draco yelled, his cold stare matching the fierce glint of his teeth and the shake of his wand—an entirely feral sight on the face of a Malfoy, the usual pinnacle of poise and grace and perfection. Now, however, Sirius saw. From the sticky grease of his sweat-coated hair to the pallor of his dirty feet and the ripped edges of his trousers.
“Remus can help you, Draco—”
“I don’t want that monster anywhere near me,” he growled.
Oh, the irony.
Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and letting the letter fall to the floor as it caught alight in his grasp. “Draco—”
“I said, no,” he assured, regaining whatever composure he’d been lacking to wipe his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his chin up, rising to his full height which was only slightly shorter than Harry and Sirius. “I—I…” He hesitated.
Sirius pressed his lips together, looking from Draco to Harry, “Harry, do you mind leaving the room for a moment?”
Harry frowned, “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be okay, don’t you worry,” he replied carefully, schooling his features knowing how intuitive his godson was.
Sirius had wished for a peaceful year, a kind year. However, it seemed his wish might not be granted so soon no matter whether Voldemort was gone or Dumbledore was off their backs or Sirius was a free man or Remus and he were exploring their tentative relationship. No. Sirius Black didn’t deserve peace—not yet, at least. Not after all he’d done in his life.
“Why are you even here?” He asked the boy once Harry was gone.
Draco clenched his jaw. “Perhaps, because I have nowhere else to go.”
“How did your mother know where to send you?”
“She sees things. She said she saw you.”
Sirius pressed his fingers into his eyes. He ran his hands down his face, catching a glimpse of the boy’s stony resolve turn vulnerable for only a second. “Fuckin’ Cissy and her seeing. She was always so smug. Never the type to warn you, either,” he said. He lowered his voice, sneaking another look at Draco. “It’s not the most reliable gift.”
At the statement, the boy pursed his lips. “No. It is not,” he muttered bitterly, turning his eyes downward. He slumped—as much as a pure-blood can slump—back into the chair.
Sirius did the same, pulling a chair out so he could sit across from the kid. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took a long moment to examine the boy once more. “Look, if you need a place to stay, you can stay here. But there are some rules—”
“And what if I don’t like your rules?”
“You can go live with Fenrir Greyback,” he grunted. Draco rolled his eyes, but he kept his lips shut. “I’ll take that as you’re happy to oblige. First rule, we don’t call each other names.”
“Names? What should I call you then?”
Sirius considered his cruel smirk. He had half a mind to deliver the boy to Greyback himself. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“I didn’t choose this,” Draco sulked.
“What I mean, is don’t be calling Remus a monster or Harry scar heard—” The boy’s face dropped. Sirius grinned. “—yes, if you’re going to stay here, you’ll have to interact with Remus.”
“I—”
“I don’t think you realise, but you and him are the same now, Draco.”
“I’m different.”
“You’re not.”
Draco stood, his chair falling backwards as he crossed the floor to get as far away from the truth as he could. “I am!”
“Draco—”
His voice rose, louder than Sirius thought was appropriate for a member of high society. “I am not a monster. I’m not. I am not anything like him! I’m not!” Draco cried out.
Silence. The stairs creaked, indicating the arrival of the very person Draco likely didn’t want to see. Sirius worried for a moment the boy might simply decide to run away.
“Like who?” Asked the subject of discussion as he appeared on the stairs where Harry had been not long ago. In what Sirius thought to be a carefully calculated act, the man had a blanket around his shoulders, painting a picture of peaceful innocence. Harry was behind him, sticking close by.
Draco froze.
Remus ignored the boy, looking to Sirius, his face twisting into an expression of worry as he stepped off the stairs.
“What’s going on?”
With a hand on the back of his neck, Sirius used his other hand to gesture to the blonde who was still standing by the toppled over chair. “You’ve met Draco, haven’t you?” Sirius asked as casually as he could.
“I have,” Remus said, narrowing his gaze. “You haven’t.”
“Well, he needs a place to stay for…for a while.”
“Okay,” Remus answered politely, his voice tight. Only Remus could be so polite to a person who he knew despised his own existence. Sirius watched as the man’s nostrils flared over and over, likely having recognised the unsaid issue as soon as he awoke. He was confused, but he had almost as much information as Sirius did.