Chapter Text
Remus and Sirius woke up early to go back to the house. There wasn’t so much walking around and being sad this time; they just got straight to work.
Remus stood in the center of the living room, books hovering all around him as he decided how to shelve them while Sirius enchanted brooms and dusters to sweep away all the dirt that had accumulated.
The sofa and chairs were repaired, and Sirius arranged them in six different ways before settling on how they’d always been.
Euphemia’s dishes were mended and stacked in the cupboards, and then promptly used to make tea, which was then brought upstairs. They sat on the floor and sipped their drinks as they went through all of Sirius’s old work, marking and filing them according to age and completion. There was a stack that was already set to be sent for ministry approval.
Then came the difficult part. They stepped carefully into their old bedroom. The four poster had been wrecked, hanging at an odd angle with a giant hole through the canopy. The mattress had all but dissolved, and the sheets had been consumed by moths and other creatures. The vanity mirror was smashed, the wardrobe overturned, the nightstand drawers discarded, and the closet emptied. Even the once-beautiful persian rug now looked more like a garage sale find.
“We’ll need a new bed entirely,” Sirius said, voice tight.
“That’s all right.” Remus was determined to keep spirits up. They had enough to grieve. They didn’t need more. “Fresh start and all. We have to buy new furniture for Harry’s room anyway.”
“Oh, Harry’s room…” Sirius turned on his heel to go down the hall.
The nursery hadn’t been spared. In fact, it seemed ministry officials were convinced they’d keep their secrets in their young nephew’s unassuming bedroom. Remus couldn’t blame them, really. It made sense in the backwards logic of the war.
Sirius knelt down and picked up the old dog plushie that baby Harry had once treasured. It had been discarded to a dusty corner, its fur now gray and matted.
“He should pick out his own furniture,” Sirius said, speaking more to the toy than Remus.
“We’ll ask him if he wants to,” Remus agreed. “For now, we should clean out all this.”
The nursery was harder than any of it. Underneath every broken board was another memory or another thing that never was. Old toys and books and presents. Ones Harry had loved and ones he’d never even seen. They were all brushed off and packed into boxes, hopeful for another child.
Once both bedrooms were emptied and dusted repaired, they went to the kitchen table to rest, and Remus eyed the fireplace. “We should get connected to the floo soon. It’ll make contacting Harry back at school easier.”
Sirius straightened up suddenly. “The mirrors,” he said, and it took Remus a moment to realize what he meant.
“Do you still have them?”
“I don’t know. James would have had his. Ours had been here… But I took it with me that night.” His eyes widened suddenly. “My bike! I left it on the bike. I gave her to Hagrid when he took Harry from me. You don’t think he’d still have her?”
Remus sighed. “Yes, I do. It’s in his cellar.”
“His cellar?” he demanded, incredulous.
“Yes, dear, the cellar. Wipe that look of your face; there’s no use moping about it. I’m sure it can be repaired, whatever’s happened to it.”
“You better hope.” He was pouting.
“Or what?” Remus raised a brow. “You’ll divorce me?”
“I might.”
“We’d have to married for that, darling, and the world hasn’t changed that much.” He stood up. “C’mon, I know I won’t get any more use out of you now that you’ve remembered the damned bike.”
He grumbled about it the entire way back to Hogwarts, and Remus had to plead with him not to take it out on poor Hagrid. He only didn’t, of course, because he was instantly distracted by the sight of the bike after the cellar had been unlocked. He was partially coddling the old rusting hunk of metal when Remus finally cleared his throat.
“Is the mirror there?” he asked pointedly.
“What? Oh.” He leaned over the seat to dig through the sidecar. “Yes!” He held it up triumphantly and Remus stepped forward to take it.
“Of course, it’s only worth anything if we find it’s twin.”
“Right.” Sirius finally stopped looking at the bike and stood up properly. “It would have been at Godric’s Hollow, but the house had been practically blown to pieces. It’d be a miracle if that made it through.”
The mirror was old. Really old. Like, passed down for centuries through James’s ancient grecian ancestors old. The silver was now yellowing and the mirror face had age spots. “It’s an heirloom, though, and they combed the whole place over. If they’d found it, it’d be in Harry’s vault.”
“Well, we have to go back to London, anyway.”
“I’m suddenly remembering why we used to live there.”
Remus left Sirius with Hagrid to tinker with the bike. He wanted to send all his office boxes to the house, at least, and perhaps start on some of the things in his quarters— winter clothes and the like. He was still in his office, though, when Harry found him.
“Hello,” Remus greeted the boy warmly as he waved his wand and the last of the boxes disappeared.
“Hello,” Harry repeated. “Where’d those go?”
“To the house,” he answered. “Speaking of which, we should be all set to move in just as soon as there’s bedroom furniture, seeing that you wouldn’t be very comfortable in the crib that was in there.” He winked as Harry snorted at the lame joke. “We thought you might like to pick yours out yourself.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? I’ve never done that before. I wouldn’t know how.”
“I’m sure Sirius won’t let you stray too far,” Remus assured him.
“Is there a furniture store in Hogsmeade?”
“Not one that’s up to Sirius’s standards, I’m afraid. We’ll have to go back into London tomorrow.”
Harry laughed and looked around. “Where is he?”
“At Hagrid’s. You might want to go down and check on him. I’m sure he wants to show you what he’s working on.”
He raised a brow. “Working on?”
Remus smirked. “You’ll see.”
___________________________________________
Harry was in rather high spirits. He’d written a lengthy reply to Ginny, but Hedwig had been sound asleep by the time he finished. So he added a postscript asking her if it would be all right if she kept the owl a bit longer before replying this time. He planned to wait until the evening to send her out again, though, and he found himself anxious for the day to hurry up and pass.
He was grateful, then, for the distraction of walking down to Hagrid’s. Buckbeak was pacing around the fence line, and he bowed to him before passing, just to be polite. He could hear lots of metal banging coming from the open cellar door, however, so he bypassed the front entrance to go around the back and investigate.
Sure enough, he peered down to find both Hagrid and Sirius hunkered down in there, gathered around something that he couldn’t quite make out. “Uh, hello?” he called, and both men turned.
“Ah, Harry!” Sirius exclaimed. His face was streaked in some kind of black substance, and Harry sniffed the air in order to identify it as motor oil. “Come down!”
He went down the steps warily. “Should I be worried?”
“Not at all! Look!” He grabbed Harry by the arm and stepped aside to gesture to what was behind him: a vintage motorbike.
“Oh!” Harry let out, looking up to Hagrid. “Is this the flying one you and Remus were talking about last night?”
“Right-O, Harry. I reckon you don’t remember, but I flew you in this bike when you were just a babe.”
“Really?”
“Completely unfair, of course,” Sirius said. “Lily would never let me take you on it. Even though you’re the only reason I got the sidecar.”
“So it’s yours then?”
“Built her myself!“ Sirius informed him proudly.
“And it really flies?”
“Well, it used to,” Hagrid answered. “Afraid time hasn’t been too kind to her.”
Harry got an idea. “You know… Mr. Weasley could probably help you. He had a whole flying car.”
Sirius’s eyes widened. “A car, really? My, how did he manage that? Doesn’t he work for the ministry?”
Harry blushed. “Yeah, it didn’t go over so well when Ron and I stole it and kind of… flew all the way here from London.” He winced as Sirius let out an incredulous bark of laughter.
“You really are your father’s son!” He clapped him on the back.
“I didn’t mean to!” Harry protested. “A house elf sealed the barrier to the platform and we had to get to school somehow!”
“And you figured the most logical thing would be to steal the illegal flying car and take it across two countries? Instead of waiting for an adult?” He was still chuckling. “Really Harry, did you think they wouldn’t let you come to school just for missing the train?”
“I don’t know!” Harry huffed and crossed his arms. “I was twelve.”
Sirius continued laughing and Hagrid gave Harry a sympathetic head tilt. Harry supposed he deserved it.
“So where’s the car now?” Sirius asked, once he had his breath back. “The ministry confiscated it, I presume?”
Of course he had to ask that. “Well, see, we ran out of petrol and sort of… crashed into the Whomping Willow. Then the car gained sentience and now it’s feral in the Forbidden Forest.”
In complete disbelief, Sirius looked to Hagrid for confirmation, who nodded sagely. “Oh, that’s brilliant!” He clapped Harry on the back again. “Are we sure you’re not actually my son? I mean, sorry, of course we are. I just felt James punch me then.” He rubbed his shoulder and was fully cackling and wiping at tears now.
Harry sighed. “Anyway, you can ask Mr. Weasley, but not in front of Mrs. Weasley. She’s still cross about it. And Ginny said you and Remus should be on your best behavior on Sunday cos I think she’s prepared to call the NSPCC.”
Sirius wrinkled his nose. “The what now?”
“Never mind. Just try to stay on her good side.”
Harry stuck around for a bit, but it was mostly just to make Sirius happy. The longer he was there, the more sure Harry became that he was not a motorcycle person. But it was nice seeing Sirius so excited about something, even if he did keep bringing up the car thing.
While dinner was a communal event every evening, breakfast was served (at least to Harry) in the common room. He’d secretly hoped to find another letter from Ginny with his toast, but he was rationally happy to know that Hedwig would be resting at the burrow today instead of flying across the country for the fourth time in a row in half as many days. Still, her absence made the morning quite a bit more lonely.
Staying at Hogwarts was certainly leagues better than going back to the Dursleys, but it also wasn’t quite as wonderful as Harry had imagined. In reality, the castle echoed strangely when it wasn’t filled with students, and Gryffindor Tower was much too large for one person. And running into professors in the corridors was just too weird.
He walked carefully around corners, prepared to do an about turn if Filch or Madam Pince appeared. They were the only two staff members whom he found himself incapable of making small talk with. Even Professor Trelawney could carry on about the weather for an appropriate amount of time. But those two still seemed determined to get him in trouble even when they technically had no rule over him. And they both definitely had something against his godfathers, as they always brought them up with wrinkled noses and pursed lips.
Fortunately, with the exception of Mrs. Norris, the coast was clear on the way to Remus’s office that morning. Harry found the two men standing in the empty room and waiting for him.
“Ah, Harry!” Remus greeted. “Ready to go?”
He nodded. “Are we taking the floo again?”
“Yes and no,” Remus answered as they both went past the fireplace and towards the door. “The link here has expired, but we’ve got the one at the house set up now.” He gestured for Harry and Sirius to go out the door first.
Harry perked up. “I get to see the house?”
Sirius threw an arm around his shoulders as they started down the corridor. “Don’t get too excited. It’s not exactly a magical castle.”
“It could be a damp cave, for all I care. Anything’s better than the Dursley’s.”
Remus frowned. “I still haven’t heard back from them.”
“You won’t.”
Remus hummed low and Sirius swiftly changed topics. He mostly asked Harry questions about the quidditch national teams as they walked into Hogsmead, getting gradually more annoyed with every team that was not in the exact same ranks that they were when he was in school.
“Your father was a Puddlemere United fan, of course,” Sirius informed him, and Harry couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.
“You’re kidding.” Puddlemere’s team and fan base was made up mostly of wizards who reminded Harry a lot of Percy Weasley, as he just got done telling Sirius. “They were different back then, surely.”
He tilted his head. “Eh, not much. He was a bit of a ponce.”
“Potter isn’t actually your family name,” Remus piped up, seeing an opportunity to contribute to the conversation. “Your great grandfather immigrated to Britain during the Greek genocide of the first world war. Henry’s surname was originally Patronis; he changed it to avoid discrimination.”
Harry stared up at him. “Patronus as in Expecto?”
Remus laughed. “Yes, but with an ‘i’ instead of a ‘u.’ Your great grandfather was the one who invented the charm. He was highly respected in Greece.”
“In everywhere,” Sirius corrected. “He was almost immediately elected to the Wizengamot once arriving here.”
“And he was…” Harry searched his memory for his grandfather’s name. “Fleamont’s father?”
Remus nodded. “‘Fleamont’ was his mother’s maiden name, unfortunately. It was her dying wish that he pass it on.”
“Poor sod,” Sirius added. “He had your hair as well.” He ruffled Harry’s hair, making him huff and reach up to try and flatten it. “That’s what made him become a potions master: the dire need for magical hair product. Not that James ever used it.”
Harry felt as though he were creating a mental filing cabinet for all this information. “What about my grandmother?” he asked. “You said she was Greek too?”
“Euphemia was first generation,” Remus said, and Harry vaguely wondered why he knew all this— why either of them did. “She lived far enough away from Turkey to avoid the genocide in the first war, but she wasn’t so lucky in the second. She escaped from Germany.”
“She was a witch?” Harry confirmed, and both his godfathers nodded. “And Jewish?”
Sirius gave him an odd look. “Harry, you’re Jewish. James’s whole family was. Fleamont and Euphemia and all their relatives before them.”
“I didn’t know.” His voice had dropped as he processed all this. He hadn’t even known wizards could be religious. He hadn’t given it much thought at all, really. Christmas and Halloween were the only holidays recognized at Hogwarts, and both only in the pagan ways (or so Hermione had told him after he’d asked if Jesus Christ was a wizard).
He was distracted by all this when Remus and Sirius suddenly stopped, and Harry turned to face what could only be described as a fairytale cottage. It looked like it had been taken right out of the illustrations in a children’s book, and placed right here on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village. If it weren’t for the looming figure of the Shrieking Shack in the background (not a far walk from here), it seemed as though it were untouched by anything bad in the world.
Harry forgot to speak as they walked through the little creaky fence and over the mossy cobblestone path. There was a wooden sign next to the door, hanging on a rusting chain, and nearly swamped by the ivy that climbed the otherwise white stucco walls of the house. It read “Woodruff Cottage.” Harry thought it was probably a joke between the two men, but looking around, he realized that the white flowers that dotted the expanse of the garden were, in fact, sweet woodruff. Professor Sprout would be proud of him for recognizing it.
As he walked inside, that feeling that had been missing from Hogwarts since his friends left, returned to him all at once. It was the feeling of being home.
“We want to see what or if they managed to salvage anything from your parents’ house,” Remus explained as they were once again walking down Diagon Alley.
“The Potter Estate is a different vault that you’ll gain access to at 17, of course,” Sirius said, and this was news to Harry, but he decided not to say so, since Sirius’s tone indicated that it shouldn’t have been. He must have been there when James and Lily wrote their will. He was probably their executor, even. “But James had quite a few things with him at Godric’s Hollow.”
“Including a rather invaluable mirror,” Remus added, “which is what we’re most interested in.”
“What’s special about the mirror?” Harry asked, not doubtfully. Just last Summer, when he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, he had a mirror that regularly spoke to him. Not to mention the Mirror of Erised, which he found at Hogwarts during his first year and showed one’s deepest desires.
At that, Sirius pulled a vintage silver mirror from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “It’s the twin to this one. They’re connected, and allow the possessors to see and speak to each other, no matter how far apart they are. Came in handy quite a bit while we were in school.”
“I’ll bet.” Harry looked into the mirror. At first, only his own reflection shown back at him, but after a few seconds, it faded to black. “It doesn’t seem like the other side is working.”
“We’re hoping that’s just the inside of your vault,” Remus said, though he didn’t sound so sure either as they entered Gringotts for the second time that week.
Despite there being a fair number of witches and wizards in the bank, the trio was spotted almost immediately and taken into a private room. Harry wasn’t sure if this was because of their wealth, or because the goblins were anxious to get rid of them as quickly as possible, considering how much trouble they’d been last time. It was most likely a combination of both, however.
Gornak was visibly relieved to hear that they were only there to access Harry’s vault, and not to inquire more on the status of the Black fortune, and he led them quickly past the line of people waiting to get passage to their accounts. Harry was embarrassed when he realized they were skipping, but he didn’t dare protest it, as he was sure Gornak would feed him to the dragon for attempting to delay their departure.
The goblin even helped them search the vault, which Harry actually found rather annoying, since this was the first time he was getting a proper look at what his parents had left him, and Gornak kept hurrying them along. It was mostly galleons in there, but there was an entire wall of shelves filled with things which were apparently salvaged from his childhood home.
Remus pushed aside a set of candlesticks and sighed. “Could we get access to the Potter Vault if we can’t find it here?” he asked. “It’s possible it was sorted over there, since it was an heirloom.”
“As his legal guardians, you could appeal for access to it, yes,” Gornak answered, sounding annoyed, “but there will be more paperwork.”
“You would think wizards would have evolved past paperwork,” Sirius commented from the other side of the room, earning a glare to the back of his head from Gornak.
Harry was sitting on the dusty floor, surrounded by galleons, but flipping through a small photo album he’d found carelessly thrown on one of the bottom shelves. It was filled with pictures of his parents while they were students at Hogwarts. He spent a considerable amount of time staring at every one, watching them move in and out of frame, having silent conversations, and smiling at whoever was on the other side of the camera.
“Found it!” Sirius shouted suddenly, and Harry’s head snapped up to see his godfather proudly holding the compact mirror above his head.
Remus strode over to him. “I can’t believe it survived the explosion.”
Sirius scoffed. “Why not? It survived two other wars before that.” He turned to Harry. “What have you got over there?”
Harry stood up. “Pictures,” he answered as he dusted his trousers off. “You two are in here a lot too, I think.” He’d only seen them once or twice so far, but he’d only gotten to the fourth photo.
“Blimey, really?” Sirius came over to inspect the album. “Oh! I haven’t seen this thing in ages. Completely forgot it existed. Lily made it for James in seventh year. Look, Moony!”
Remus peered over his shoulder, but before he could say anything or begin to reminisce at all himself, Gornak was shooing them out. “Well now, it looks like you’re leaving with two treasures, how very nice,” he said, still somehow managing to sound polite despite his actions. He all but shoved them into the minecart and slammed the vault door behind him. And Harry could have sworn the cart went faster than normal on their way out.
He didn’t get another chance to look at the album, as they went straight on to furniture shopping, which wasn’t nearly as exciting as Harry had thought it would be. He eventually let Sirius pick out everything he needed for his new room, while mostly maintaining the impression that he cared by occasionally making noises of agreement. He had a feeling Remus had caught on, though, as he kept chuckling to himself.
One by one, bed frames and mattresses and bookshelves and benches and wardrobes and tables and chairs were all magicked to the house, and then they took the Leaky Cauldron’s floo to the Three Broomsticks.
Madame Rosmerta insisted on making them lunch, though if this were out of kindness, pity, or nosiness, Harry wasn’t sure. He was leaning towards the third option, though, as she sat them at the bar and asked an endless string of questions on their plans with everything from the cottage to Harry’s education, and financial planning. Remus finally made excuses for their departure when she started asking if he knew Sirius had been innocent all along, and inquiring into how he handled the grief and heartbreak and loneliness of the last twelve years.
Once they were at the house again, Remus waved his wand in Harry’s room, and all the furniture arranged itself. Then with another sweep, all his things from Gryffindor tower appeared, his open trunk landing with a heavy thunk at the end of the bed, Hedwig’s cage rattling down in the corner, and a pile of miscellaneous stuff he’d neglected to pack plopping down in the center of the bed.
Harry remembered when the neighbors at Number Five Privet Drive had moved in across the street and it had taken them several weeks to unpack. He was all over again glad to be a wizard, even if he did still have to physically relocate his clothes to the wardrobe, shelve his books, and hang his posters by hand.
Once it was all done, that feeling had krept back in, settling fully this time, and possibly for the first time ever. He was home.