Chapter Text
At around seven in the morning on July 27, 1991, the house at Number 4 Privet Drive looked almost like every other house on the street. It was no taller than other or wider than numbers three, five, or seven. It was, perhaps, a little brighter. Petunia's award-winning back garden and window boxes brought cheery pops of color to the staid brick home. Still, the driveway was swept, and the latticed windows were identical to those on every house beside and around it. If occasionally, in the nearly three years since the Potter boy had come to stay, there were odd lights in the windows, or sounds no-one could explain, well... the poor boy had been through a lot and surely Vernon and Petunia were doing their best. There was no sense in causing a fuss when no-one was ever hurt by any of it. The neighbors shrugged their shoulders and moved on. The Dursleys were a little odd at times, but by and large they got on fine. They and the house were perfectly ordinary, at a glance.
It would take a much closer look than anyone would have bothered with to see the ways in which the house and family at number four were very different from their neighbors indeed.
On the Saturday morning in question, inside the house, Petunia Dursley was sitting at the kitchen table. She was looking through the contents of a thick tan folder that contained, among other things, definitive proof of that difference.
Petunia took the documents in the folder and spread them out; taking them in with an intensity that had increased with each passing day since March of that year. All of them, from the "copy" of the birth certificate that she'd helped her parents forge, to guardianship and transfer of guardianship papers, and beyond, constituted the proof of Harry Potter's life in the muggle world.
Petunia brushed fingers over them and thought of the lies they'd told to allow a baby given to them in a basket with a blanket and a letter, but without such mundane things as immunization records or even a certificate of live birth, to start school and to go to the doctor. There were things they hadn't known, but they'd pushed through and Harry seemed no worse for their fumbling. Ten years later it didn't seem to matter whether or not he'd ever had colic or how long Harry had been on solid foods before his first known doctor visit.
Harry's school reports were in the folder too, and the papers for his change in schools. Every note home, copies of every certificate- Petunia had been diligent in her documentation of Harry's young life. The folder even extended to the future. There were one or two brochures from the boarding school they'd tell the neighbors that Harry was going to.
Petunia remembered the conversation she'd had with Janet Polkiss, Dudley's friend Piers's mum at the grocery.
"He has his heart set on going to the school where his mum went," she'd said, explaining why Harry wouldn't be at Smeltings with Dudley and Piers. "Vernon's always wanted Smeltings for Dudley but we didn’t want to deny Harry the chance to feel close to his mother.”
Janet had smiled sympathetically and they’d carried on, brainstorming ways of sending their boys love and support while they were off at school.
Petunia frowned down at the brochures and wished briefly that Harry was actually going to just a regular school. It would be easier, in a lot of ways.
Methodically she put the papers back into the folder, leaving out the homeschooling information that she’d picked up from a school a town over and reviewed the information Harry was going to be studying this week.
Ten or eleven years old was too young to decide one’s future, in Petunia’s considered opinion. Too young to choose a life and a world. Harry would have a foot in each world until he was older. He’d have a proper home and future, whatever he chose.
Petunia glanced up at the picture of her mother and father in a standing frame on the counter, next to one of the last still photos ever taken of her sister. She glanced to the window, wondering if today the day would be when the owl with Harry’s school acceptance would come.
Nothing there, not yet. She scanned the papers with her eyes a final time and put them in the folder. Beneath them on the table was a moving photograph of Harry from a recent outing with Remus, she smiled at the faces the boy was making before slipping it in underneath some other documents. Then she took the great thing up and walked back to her room to put it away in the safe there, next to Dudley’s file.
On the way , she knocked on Dudley’s bedroom door and then on Harry’s.
“Time to get up boys. You can help with breakfast and do some studying before Remus gets here,” she called.
She smiled at the answering grumbles and went on.
Harry woke to the sound of his aunt’s voice. He gave a token grumble but he was smiling as he got out of bed. It was going to be a good day.
At ten-nearly-eleven years old, Harry potter was short for his age. His skin was dark, like his father's in the pictures that Remus had given him, and he also had his father's spectacularly untidy hair. His eyes were shaped the same as well, but their color was different. They were a luminous green, shining out from behind round framed glasses that were never as clean as they ought to be. Grandmum's eyes, he thought as he glanced into the full-length mirror on the back of his door, and Mum's.
He was the last person alive with those eyes; he had been for over a year. The weight of his grandparents' deaths was a variable one. They'd done well, preparing Harry to leave them, but it didn't change the fact that the people who'd raised him were beyond his reach, much as his parents had always been. Harry turned away from the mirror, brushing a hand over the scar on his forhead and into his hair.
He'd received the scar on the night that his parents had been killed, on Halloween a decade before by a dark wizard in a secret war, or in a car accident, depending on who was asking. It was cool, shaped like a lightning bolt. He was distantly aware that the scar was a Big Deal to some people, that it it'd been the first thing Remus had covered up when he'd first altered Harry's appearance before they'd gone into the wizarding world, but he wasn't altogether certian that he understood the fuss. It wasn't particularly dramatic, beyond the shape. It simply existed. Harry didn't mind it being there, had never asked anyone to help him remove it with magic, but he couldn't wholly separate it from all that it symbolized. It was one of countless ways that Harry wore his losses on his face.
Harry pulled out clothes for the day, speeding up as if he could outpace the resigned sadness that came with the memory that his grandparents had passed.
"No one is really gone," he murmured, remembering the points his grandparents had stressed most in the end, and conversations with Remus and Aunt Pet over the years. "Everyone comes home. I know where to find them, all of them."
Harry showered, dressed and went downstairs, passing a sleepy Dudley who was rubbing at his eyes in the doorway of his own bedroom. Harry waved as he passed, getting a half smile and a turn of Dudley's raised hand in response.
In the kitchen, Harry unwrapped the soda bread that his aunt had made the day before. It was a recipe from his grandfather's family, and Rose Evans had taken to it, making it not infrequently over the years. Harry pulled off a wedge from the once circular loaf and was carefully cutting it for toast when his uncle came downstairs.
"There's a good lad," Uncle Vernon greeted, sitting down at the table. Harry filled the kettle and put it on the stove for tea. It was warm, he noticed, even before he set it on the hob. He found himself turning to look at the table. His aunt had been up early again, and Harry searched for some remnant of her activities. There was nothing there, except for the piece of toast that his uncle had heated for him. Harry sat down covered it in marmalade.
"Is your, er... friend coming to get you today?" Uncle Vernon asked. He was comfortable enough with having Harry around, but other wizards still made him a bit nervous. Harry thought it was odd, but Aunt Pet had been further into the wizarding world, and she still refused to go within a couple of kilometers of the Leaky Cauldron unless Remus was with them. Harry had faint notions that Aunt Petunia had given his uncle a rather poor impression of the wizarding world when she'd told him about it, but he'd never thought to ask his grandparents and his aunt wouldn't say.
"Yes, Sir, Remus is coming after breakfast and I'll be back just after dinner, in time to help with the dishes. " Harry replied. "I think we're going to visit his da, and maybe get ice-cream at Fortescue's since my birthday is coming up."
"You'll stay with Remus the whole time," Uncle Vernon reminded him, stern but not unkind at all.
"Yes, Sir. Are you and Dudley going golfing again?" Harry asked.
The conversation continued, expanding as Petunia walked Dudley in. Dudley took a piece of toast happily and made sure everyone had teacups and bags before bringing the heated kettle around carefully and refilling the sugar bowl so that they could each help themselves. Petunia served them porridge with cinnamon and raisins, and they ate.
Harry was halfway through his bowl when Aunt Pet turned to him expectantly.
"Harry, the post?" she asked.
Harry jumped up.
"I forgot, but I'll get it now," Harry said dashing off to do just that. Petunia and Vernon shared a smile at his eagerness, but Harry missed it in his haste.
He did hear Dudley call out, "Slow down, not going anywhere, is it?"
Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Dudley was just weeks older than him, but he'd been acting like an old man since his birthday because he was, nominally, eleven while Harry was still only ten. It happened every year, the smug season that made harry wish that they were twins, but it was nearly over.
Harry grabbed the handful of letters from the box by the door and was sorting them as he walked back to the kitchen. He made it to the middle of the hallway before a single letter stopped him nearly mid step. It was addressed to him.
He'd had gotten letters before, of course. He still wrote back and forth with some of the friends he'd left back in Cokeworth when his aunt and grandparents had decided he'd be moving to Privet Drive. He got rude letters from the library sometimes too, though he did honestly try his best to return things on time. This letter was something different.
Harry held his breath. He'd thought that it would come by owl, but no. It'd come in the post, like a bill or a newspaper. He hadn't thought it could come after he turned eleven, but that was days away and it was in his hand.
There was no return address or stamp. The paper felt heavy. It was parchment, he recognized, and the address had been written out with a quill.
"Mr. H. Potter, Middle bedroom on the right, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey"
On the back, a wax seal and a stamp confirmed it. The letter was from Hogwarts.
Harry didn't have to open it to know what it would say. He'd had change enough in his life to know the fearsome, stunning tension of it.
"Oy, Harry! Inspecting the mail, are you?" Uncle Vernon called.
Harry looked up, startled.
"A bit," he said.
Unable to hold it in any longer, he ran the last few steps into the kitchen.
"It came," he announced from the doorway. He glanced at his cousin and his uncle before meeting his aunt's eyes. "From Hogwarts, addressed right to my bedroom door."
The tension Harry felt snapped as he shared the news, bursting in his heart like fireworks. He smiled, looking down at the still unopened letter. He was going to Hogwarts. He was going into the wizarding world as Harry Potter for the first time in possibly his whole life. He could make friends his age who knew about magic, and get a wand, and-
The feel of hands on his shoulders made Harry look up.
Aunt Petunia had moved to stand in front of him.
Harry met her eyes and saw in them fear? Sadness? Love? Harry had seen them all reflected in those eyes before, and he knew them. This was more and different, but she smiled. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his face, and Harry fought the urge to squirm free from the intense, focused affection of the gesture.
Touching her forehead to his briefly, she gave him a quick squeeze of a hug and stepped back.
"Congratulations Harry. Mum and Da would be so proud, yours and mine both," Aunt Petunia said. "Remus will be thrilled as well."
"Thank you," Harry replied. Then he turned to his uncle and cousin. Uncle Vernon gave him a grin and beckoned him over to ruffle his already mussed hair.
"There's a good lad," Harry's uncle said kindly. "Study hard. You'll need to know what you're doing with your...with that lot, potions and the like. You'll be ready for your GCSE too, Right?"
"Yes, sir. I'll make sure to take my study books. Dudley, we can write to each other all year. You'll help if I need it?" Harry asked, turning to his cousin.
Dudley was focusing intently on his empty plate. Big for his age, but healthy and strong, Dudley would rather be outside doing drills for rugby than doing anything like studying. Still Dudley gave a brief nod. Harry sat down beside him to finish breakfast.
The unopened letter remained in his hand or in his lap until he got up to rinse his plate.
Remus John Lupin was smiling to himself as he walked down Privet Drive. He'd picked up some temp-work at Flourish and Blotts, in the weeks before. He'd be able to pay his rent, eat reasonably well, and still take Harry and his father out that afternoon.
In his brief stint at the store, he'd been processing orders for the book lists from Hogwarts. The letters would be going out soon, he knew. Lyall Lupin had reminded him of as much in his last missive.
Remus sped up a little. His father was eager to see Harry, and Remus would be lying to say that he hadn't been looking forward to the day himself.
It'd been just three years before, not long before Harry had left his grandparents' home, when he'd first brought Harry to meet his father. Harry had been shy at first, and Lyall had been awestruck to have no less a figure than The-Boy-Who-Lived in his humble home, but they'd each moved past their initial reluctance rather quickly. Harry had been pleased to be around another wizard, someone besides Remus with whom he could interact without needing to have his appearance or name changed. Lyall seemed to enjoy the chance to spend timw with a more typical wizarding child. Harry would never need Lyall to cage him to protect the wider world.
Harry still had to allow Remus to change his appearance if they went out together. Juniper "Juney" Howell had made his fair share of appearances in Diagon Alley and other wizarding places around England, but Harry seemed to be alright with that, as long as they stopped by Remus's childhood home along the way.
Remus spotted Harry's window boxes as he approached the house. He also saw the boy sitting at the window, before he saw Remus and rushed to meet him at the door. The boy was wearing a red shirt with blue design of some sort on the front and denims that looked to be hand offs from Dudley. They were patched, but not in bad shape.
"'Lo Remus, how are you?" Harry asked, bouncing a little on his toes with poorly concealed excitement.
"Glad to see you, Harry. Where's your aunt?"
"Here, Remus," Petunia said, stepping out of the kitchen. There was a quirk of a smile on her face that made Remus glance back down at Harry.
"What's he done now?" Remus asked, not looking away from the eager little boy.
"Just his chores," Petunia replied. "Set up for breakfast..."
"Did some revision while I waited for you..." Harry added, barely concealed glee in his voice.
"Yes, but you did something else first, didn't you?" Petunia asked, sounding closer to playful than she ever had, possibly in her life.
Remus looked at her, raising an eyebrow before turning back to Harry.
The boy was holding up a familiar looking letter, and Remus gave a great barking laugh and pulled him in for a hug.
"I got the post from the box," Harry said into Remus's chest as he hugged back. "I haven't opened it yet. I waited for you."
Remus gave him a squeeze in thanks before pulling away.
"Shall we open it before we leave?" Remus asked, looking over at Petunia. She shook her head.
"Show me when you come back tonight," she instructed. "And pass my greetings to your father. Harry, don’t forget the meringues you made him.”
Harry darted down the hall, coming back a moment later with a round tin and his backpack.
“I’ll see you both this evening,” Petunia said.
Remus noted how her hand twitched at her side as Harry pulled his backpack more securely onto his shoulders. Not long ago she’d have helped him, but Harry didn’t need that anymore. Remus resisted the urge to do it in her place.
Taking Harry’s hand, Remus raised his left hand in a wave before disapparating, leaving only the sharp crack of the spell behind them.
The quaint old two-story cottage where Lyall Lupin resided had always been perfectly well suited for him and his very specific needs. It had been, by turns, a retreat, a prison, and a shelter. Set on a large green plot of land with virtually no neighbors, it was always, above all things, private.
Lyall had his wand out and was going room to room, clearing dust and making sure everything was ready. As he went, he remembered.
He'd bought the house shortly after Remus had been attacked. The wood and stone of it had seemed strong and warm, protective, and it was far enough away from everything that no one would hear the screams. Stepping out of Remus's room, his eyes fell to a place on the stairs. There his Hope had sat through countless full moons, a book unread in her hands as their son’s body broke and remade itself inside the horrid cage that had been faithfully assembled and dismantled each month. He'd stood and watched each time, knowing that his own words, his own prejudices, had been the reason for his family's pain. Shaking off the thought he went on to dust in the guest room.
The room, now functionally Harry’s room, was next to Remus’s and across the hall from the one that Lyall and Hope had shared.
The guest room had been vacant before Remus had started bringing Harry around. They'd never had a proper visitor, and mostly it'd served as a sewing room, or extra storage. Hope would have been pleased to see the room being used for something more.
That Harry had been newly uprooted, and more insecure than he'd ever been, staring up at him with eyes all green and a touch too large for his face... well Hope would have wanted to adopt him on the spot. Lyall knew that he had years left to have proper grandchildren, but Harry was essentially his first.
If nothing else, the boy had gotten his son to come around more often and Lyall liked him quite a bit for that.
Lyall laughed to himself as he walked downstairs. To like The-Boy-Who-Lived for bringing his son around seemed too ridiculous and incredible to be believed but that was his life.
That was also his son, he realized, hearing someone apparate into the yard. Lyall glanced around the tidy room and, satisfied, went to the door to greet his small family.