Chapter Text
Harry Potter was seven years old when he received his first letter by owl post. He'd been outside watering the part of the garden that his grandmother had helped him plant. A mix of herbs and chrysanthemums, the garden was green and white. The air was sweet there, and Harry liked to stand in the middle of the patch and breathe deeply, feeling the august sunlight warming his skin. It was nice to be outside after school while it was still bright out. Seeing a weed, he bent down to pull it and examined it to make sure that he'd gotten most of the root. Grandmum said that if parts were left the weed would come back, ("Do it right, and you'll only have to do it once, Love").
Satisfied with his work, he went inside to do his homework and help with the prep work for dinner. coming back inside, he noticed several things. His books were spread out in the kitchen where he'd left them, but both of his grandparents had sat down at the table while he'd been outside. Their faces were weird, not happy or sad, or worried, just... looking. Harry started to back up, maybe it was better to be outside. They'd call him in when they wanted him, right? Turning, he saw the owl that he'd apparently walked past on his way inside. It was...normal looking? Maybe a barn owl, he'd eventually figure, but at seven he couldn't tell anything besides the fact that it was perched on the kitchen sink with a letter tied to its leg.
Harry tilted his head.
The owl bounced the leg with the letter on it impatiently.
Harry turned and looked back at his grandparents.
Lyle sighed.
"Harry, clever boy, what sort of person sends messages by owl?" Lyle nudged.
"Like Mum and Da?" Harry said, after a moment, the he stage-whispered, "Magic people?"
Rose smiled.
"Like you, Dear. It won't be from Hogwarts yet, but do you want to open it?" Rose asked. "It's your letter, but if you open it, you have to let us read it too."
"Okay," Harry said, and turned to face the owl again. He stepped forward and carefully took the letter from the owl.
He'd never met another wizard, not really. There'd been times over the years when oddly dressed strangers had looked at him funny, or bowed, but his grandmother had never let him go over to them. Hogwarts seemed a lifetime away, and here was someone from that world writing to him.
"I can read it to you," Harry offered, looking down at the folded piece of heavy paper. There was a seal on it and Harry brought it to his nose, reflexively adjusting his glasses with the other hand. It smelled like a candle. It was wax, red wax.
"Go on then," Rose encouraged, and Harry walked over to the table carefully pulling open the letter.
"Dear Harry," Harry read carefully.
"It is strange to write to you when I think of the last time I saw you. You were a baby in your father's arms then, you see, and we did not converse with words, because you had none. I know how that feels. I'd like to have the words to explain it all to you; about the war, and how adults can leave behind the good with the bad when they try to move on from hard times, but I don't know how true those words would be. Easier and more honest to say that I thought you were better off without me, so this is my first letter.
Your father was one of my very best friends at Hogwarts, and for too brief a time afterwards. Recently our Headmaster, and yours in time, Albus Dumbledore, informed me that you've been living with your grandparents and unable to see our world because it would be overwhelming and hard to keep you safe. I'd like to offer to help you see the world that you were born into, if your grandparents will allow it. I could also tell you more about your father. I'm sick, with a disease I've had since I was young, but it is only contagious at certain times, and I will, of course stay away at those times.
The owl will wait for your reply, as will I,
Remus J. Lupin."
Harry passed the letter to his grandfather and sat down at the table. The Evanses looked at each other and then Rose spoke.
"Do you want to meet him?" She asked.
"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation. "I know loads about mum, but not very much about Da. He can tell me. He could show me even, if he's got pictures. Can I?"
Lyle opened his mouth but Harry beat him to it.
"Sorry, Granda, May I?" He corrected.
Lyle laughed and ruffled Harry's untidy black hair. "We'll have to talk to your Aunt Pet, Harry. She loves you too, and she has a right to have her say."
"If she says no, does that mean no, ab-so-lutely," Harry asked, taking care with pronouncing the last word in a way that made Rose's heart hurt. He was so... young, sometimes, all the time really.
"It means," Rose said, "that the adults will talk about it until we decide what's best for everyone. Now, work on your homework, and start on your reply. We'll call your aunt."
"Yes, Grandmum," Harry said.
He pulled out a sheet of paper and sharpened a pencil. He looked around, turning his head in exaggerated motions before pushing his glasses up on his nose a bit and getting to work.
Carefully, he wrote, "Hi Mr. Lupin. I got your letter. Your owl is neat-"
Upstairs the Evans were sitting side by side on their bed.
"Well, this is unexpected," Lyle said, a hand coming up to tug lightly at his hair. "What is Dumbledore playing at?"
"It could just be a nice gesture," Rose pointed out, but sounded doubtful. "Does it matter? We have to deal with the results, whatever they may be. Petunia loves our boy, but who knows how she'll respond to another wizard in his life."
"We'll have to find out," Lyle said, "but first, Harry made a good point. If she says no, where do we draw the line? It's getting close, Love. If she doesn't agree to at least let them exchange letters we won't be able to allow it either; not without setting up a mess down the line. This could be good for him, but She needs to be ready. It's nearly time."
"He was only just six, Lyle. He's barely a month into seven," Rose argued, leaning on Lyle's shoulder. "He's a good boy. As easy to care for as breathing, he is. He helps us so much."
"I know, but I also know what we decided," Lyle said. "It was never going to be easy to give him up, but Petunia will need to take the reins, preferably while we're still here and well enough to help him adjust. We expected her to take him years ago."
"She hasn’t though, not for more than visits," Rose said. "She gave him to us, and we've done well. She helps when she's here. It's not too much for us. Lyle-"
Lyle wrapped his arms around Rose and held her. It would be so easy to let her convince him that the two of them could be everything that Harry needed, but there was a weariness in his bones that held him back. Harry needed someone besides them; they'd always known that. Perhaps he had it in Petunia, but if he didn't... if years of trying to make her ready weren't enough to get them through Harry's joining of the wizarding world, this Lupin fellow could be important. There were four years left, until Harry started Hogwarts. That was time to form a bond, to trust, to be like family.
"We'll see to it that Harry can write to the man, if nothing else," Lyle said at last. "We can meet him. We can insist that Harry share their letters with us, but another person who could care about our Harry for who he is, and not only what he's survived is not something to cast aside lightly."
"That sounds reasonable," Rose said. "I suppose... I suppose that we can talk about Harry's future after this is settled."
"Rose, my world, my true, my moon's-meaning and sun-song," Lyle murmured kissing her forehead with each endearment. "We'll be his grandparents, as we always should have been. All children are borrowed. We know that better than most."
"They own themselves," Rose agreed, "if they're lucky and loved. Harry is both."
Lyle picked up the phone and dialed Petunia's number. While it rang, he replied, "We'll need a fair measure of that luck."
When Petunia answered the phone, Rose watched nervously.
"Oh, no, Pet, we're all fine," Lyle assured their eldest daughter. "I know you're coming down this weekend, but we need to talk about something now if you have time."
Lyle took a deep breath and met Rose's eyes with his own as he listened then said, "Well dear, Harry received a letter from a wizard today, by owl. It was a friend of his father's."
Rose watched as Lyle's face went through a series of odd expressions.
"What is it?" Rose asked softly.
Lyle's brows furrowed a bit as he said, "I think she's dropped the phone."
Across the country, Petunia stared at the phone as if it were either the victim of one of Harry's odder little happenings, or a very confusing mathematical equation. Hadn't that just been in her hand? How was it on the floor? What was Harry doing getting an owl approximately three years and eleven months early? None of it made any sense.
It was with a tentative hand that she picked up the phone; glancing suspiciously at both hand and phone, as if they might conspire against her again.
"Sorry, Da. What did you say?" Petunia asked. Idly she sat down on a chair in the kitchen, watching the cord swing and trying to steady herself. It didn't work very well at all.