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“He's not your son,” said Sirius quietly.
“He's as good as,” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. “Who else has he got?”
“He's got me!”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling, “the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?”
Sirius started to rise from his chair.
Harry had been touched by what Mrs. Weasley said about him being as good as her son, but Sirius was his godfather. Sirius was the one who had been there for him throughout all of last year, when it felt like the entire school was against him. Sirius was the one who listened to him vent, gave him advice, and watched out for him. Sirius was the one who had been by his side when he retold the whole, horrible story of what happened in the graveyard.
“That’s not fair, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry said, and every head in the room swiveled to look at him. Sirius paused, hovering awkwardly over his chair as he stared at Harry with wide eyes.
“Harry, dear. I understand that Sirius is your godfather, but Arthur and I have been looking after you like you were our own for years now. We’ve been there for you in ways that he could not because he got himself locked up in Azkaban.” Mrs. Weasley said.
Sirius started to rise from his chair again, but sat down after a sharp look from Lupin. Harry swallowed hard and met Mrs. Weasley’s fierce gaze with his own. He appreciated everything Mrs. Weasley had done for him, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t know him. Not like Sirius did.
“Where were you last year, Mrs. Weasley?” Harry asked.
“I-I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Weasley replied, sounding flustered and caught off guard by the change in subject.
“If you looked after me like I was one of your own, surely you marched up to Hogwarts as soon as you found out I’d been entered into the Tournament against my will. You wrote me letters with your advice, because of course you wouldn’t leave your fourteen-year-old son to handle a tournament with a death toll all on his own. I didn’t get any of your letters, but maybe Errol got turned around and they never made it to me.”
The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Mrs. Weasley was staring at Harry with wide eyes. An embarrassed flush was starting to creep up her neck and onto her cheeks.
“Sirius lived in a cave and ate rats so that he could be there if I needed him. He was there to listen when I needed to vent about how everyone was treating me after my name came out of the goblet. He gave me advice and wrote me letters. He warned me to be careful, and told me off when I wasn’t. He was the only adult who gave a damn enough to help me last year.”
The longer he talked, the more Harry’s voice rose. The anger inside of him was bubbling up as he remembered how alone he had felt and how much it had meant to him for Sirius to be there supporting him. He may have rolled his eyes and complained when Sirius made him promise to not go wandering alone after he’d gone off with Krum, but deep down, it had made him feel protected. Like there was someone out there who cared about him staying safe.
Harry paused and took a few deep breaths, trying to bring his temper back under control. He glanced around the table. He’d sent Mrs. Weasley into a shocked silence. Lupin was looking down at the table, his shoulders slumped and his mouth in a thin line. Mr. Weasley had bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. These were the adults that Harry had once placed a small amount of trust in, but who had failed him in the previous year. And they knew it.
Harry wanted to feel bad for making them feel guilty, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He still remembered the sharp hurt he’d felt when Lupin had resigned and Harry had never heard from him again. Sirius was a man on the run, and he’d managed to send Harry letters. The Weasleys had sent him Christmas presents and come to cheer him on in the Third Task, but what did it matter that they’d come at the end, when they hadn’t been there all along? It was like when Aunt Marge had come to town for Dudley’s sports championships. She cheered him in the finals, but she didn’t share the journey it took to get there. She had no right to criticize how he was coached when she hadn’t been there supporting him along the way.
Then there was Sirius. He was smiling at Harry; the first true smile Harry seen cross his face all evening. It was the kind of smile that Aunt Petunia gave Dudley when she thought he had done something particularly noteworthy. The kind of smile a proud parent gave their child. The kind of smile Harry had never imagined could be directed at him. Harry offered him a tentative smile back, and a warm feeling grew in his chest as Sirius reached over and squeezed his knee comfortingly.
He turned back to Mrs. Weasley. She was still speechless, but the righteous anger had been knocked right out of her. Now she just looked guilty and sad.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry said quietly. “You have no idea how much it meant to me when I got a Weasley sweater just like everyone else in first year. You welcomed me into your home when you didn’t have to. You helped me understand what a real family should be like. But Sirius is my godfather, and he’s been doing his best to look after me since the day he broke out of Azkaban. It’s not his fault he got thrown into Azkaban without a trial, and it’s not fair for you to throw it in his face like that.”
“I-I-I’m not sure what to say.” Mrs. Weasley stammered.
“Perhaps an apology would be a good start.” Mr. Weasley said gently.
Mrs. Weasley swallowed hard and then turned to look at Sirius for the first time since Harry had interrupted their argument.
“I apologize, Sirius.” She said stiffly. Sirius gave her a stiff nod in return.
“We all care about Harry, Molly.” Lupin said, breaking the awkward silence that followed the stilted apology. “But Lily and James trusted Sirius to be Harry’s guardian in the event of their deaths. Dumbledore is Harry’s de facto guardian in the magical world. It is up to them, and them alone, what Harry is told. And as Arthur said, Dumbledore has already accepted that Harry will need to be filled in now that he’s here.”
“He’s just a boy.” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice cracking. “I won’t let him be turned into a-a-a child soldier.”
“There is not a single person in this room who wants that.” Lupin said, his voice gentle as Mrs. Weasley let out a loud sniffle.
“I do not want Harry to be turned into a child soldier.” Sirius agreed, his voice firm. “This war will not be on Harry’s shoulders, but fifteen years old or not, child soldier or not, Voldemort will continue to target him.”
Mrs. Weasley sniffled again.
“I’ve learned quite a bit about what the kids have gotten up to at school over the last few years.” Sirius continued.
“Since they started at Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have run recklessly into danger because they didn’t have all the facts and they didn’t trust adults. If we keep Harry informed of the facts relevant to him, we can help him stay safe. We suspect that Voldemort may try to lure Harry away from Hogwarts this year. If we keep him informed of the risk, he will stop and think before rushing off to fight Voldemort with only his school friends at his side.”
Sirius sighed. “We’re on the same side, Molly. We all want Harry to be safe and happy. The only way we can keep him safe is if he understands the risks at play.”
“All right.” Mrs. Weasley said tearfully. “All right. Just—you’ll only tell him what he needs to know? You won’t encourage him to fight?”
“We’re all doing our best to ensure he won’t have to.” Sirius assured her. “I have no wish to undermine your authority over your own children. What you allow them to know is up to you, so why don’t I take Harry upstairs for a private conversation? We’ll tell him what he needs to know, and you can share what you wish with your children.”
All around the table, the Weasley children’s faces were falling. Harry suspected that there was very little that Mrs. Weasley wished to share with her children.
“Harry’ll tell me and Hermione everything you say!” Ron protested. “Won’t – won’t you?” He added uncertainly, meeting Harry’s eyes. Their argument from earlier was clearly still weighing on his mind.
For a split second, Harry considered telling Ron that he wouldn't tell him a single word, that he could try a taste of being kept in the dark and see how he liked it. But the nasty impulse vanished as they looked at each other. Harry opened his mouth to reply that of course he would, but Sirius stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I’m not going to undermine your mother, Ron.” Sirius said, dipping his head in acknowledgement to the appreciative look Mrs. Weasley sent him.
“I know that you, Harry, and Hermione have very few secrets between you, but I will be asking Harry to keep what I tell him to himself, unless it’s something your parents have agreed that you may know. And I’m going to ask all three of you to respect that.”
Sirius’s gaze searched the table, meeting Hermione’s eyes, then Ron’s, and finally Harry’s, waiting for an acknowledgement before he moved on to the next one. When Sirius’s eyes met Harry’s, he felt torn for a moment between his loyalty to his godfather and his loyalty to his friends. But in the end, he nodded his agreement. He didn’t want to risk not being told anything if he didn’t agree.
“What about me?” Hermione asked, sticking her chin out stubbornly. “Mr. and Mrs. Weasley aren’t my parents, so they shouldn’t get to decide what I can and can’t hear.”
“While you’re here, the Weasleys are responsible for you.” Sirius replied firmly. “Your parents entrusted you to their care, not to mine. You’re welcome to stay and hear what Molly and Arthur have to say. If you’d rather not, then you can go to your room and hear nothing. Your choice.”
Hermione huffed, but didn’t move.
“Let’s go up to my room, Harry.” Sirius said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “We can talk there.”
Sirius guided Harry up the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. Harry leaned into the touch, grateful to finally be within the grounding presence of his godfather after all of those terrible weeks alone at Privet Drive. Finally, he was going to get the answers he had been waiting for.