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They were never supposed to find out. Nobody was ever supposed to find out.
See, Harry’s The Boy Who Lived, and his parents were James and Lily Potter. So in his mind, he has a lot to live up to. At least when it comes to Sirius and Remus.
When the entire Department of Mysteries debacle had happened, Sirius’s name had been cleared. And that, of course, gave Harry his chance. His one ticket out of the hell he was currently living in.
As soon as the trial was over, Harry had asked, no, almost begged, for Sirius to take him in. It of course had occurred to him that perhaps Sirius would no longer want him long term, but could, perhaps, at least take him in on the summer holidays, which he quickly brought up as an alternative when he saw the confused look on Sirius’s face.
“Not that I and Remus wouldn’t be thrilled, Harry,” he replied.
He had a gentle smile on his face, but Harry was too busy mentally kicking himself for daring to bother Sirius. Of course he’d want to spend his free time with Remus, who he was in a relationship with. Of course neither of them would want Harry around.
“Harry? Did you hear me?” Sirius looks concerned now, and Harry snaps to attention.
“What?”
“I asked why you want to leave the Dursleys so badly?”
Harry could lie. It’s on the tip of his tongue. But then he imagines another two months of beatings. Two months of being starved and locked away and not having anyone to hold him or tell him it’ll be alright. It sounds stupid and childish, he knows, but he doesn’t think he can stand that for another summer. Not again. So it comes tumbling out. The Dursleys, how they view magic, what they say to him. How they love Dudley but hate him. He doesn’t mention the beatings, or the starvation. He doesn’t want Sirius thinking he’s weak, after all.
But given his description of Uncle Vernon, Sirius can guess those things. And he correctly does, too. When Harry only shrugs noncommittally as Sirius asks if they hit him, that’s when the ex con knows what he has to do.
~~~~
Adopting Harry is easy. Even if it weren’t for the current abuse case against the Dursleys, they make it very clear during the whole process that they’re happy someone’s finally taking the boy off their hands. Sirius tries not to let his disgust show through so much. Instead, he focuses on his family. On Remus and Harry.
They move out of Grimmauld Place. Sirius uses his money to buy a small two bedroom flat, similar to the one he and Remus used to live in together when James and Lily were still alive. He and Remus take it nice and slowly with Harry, given everything the kid has been through. And Sirius is glad they do.
The nightmares and panic attacks are the obvious things. The things Harry lets them see most often. But Sirius can tell he’s hiding something. The long, thick jumpers and pants in the middle of the summer kind of give it away, really.
Remus used to self harm back in their school days. Being a werewolf had always taken its toll on him. He doesn’t do it anymore. He’s gotten far better at controlling his urges and talking to Sirius when he’s fallen into one of his dark moods. It’s why Sirius knows the symptoms so well.
“Should we talk to him?” He asks Remus one day.
The werewolf quickly shakes his head. “I know what it looks like, Sirius, and you’re probably right that it is that. But if we approach him without any proof…”
“You don’t think it’s worth it? To keep him safe?”
“Did I ever go too deep?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow in Sirius’s general direction.
Sirius relents, letting out a soft sigh. “You were careful always, but I worried just the same.”
“And you’ve that right,” Remus replies gently. “It’s good that you know the signs, that you see he needs help. But pestering him’s going to make him hide more. Remember when James found out and was all over me about it?”
“Made himself sick with worry,” Sirius nods, grimacing as he remembers Prongs coming to him in hysterics anytime he saw a new scar on Remus.
“Right. Let’s not do that,” Remus murmurs, gently taking Sirius’s hand in his own. “If he tells us, or we see actual evidence, we’ll discuss it. Until then, we just love on him. Let him know he’s safe and supported here. I can’t imagine he’s felt that way too many times before so he’s probably still adjusting.”
Sirius sighs, and nods. “I hate when you're right sometimes,” he says with a smile that can’t quite reach his eyes.
“Please. It’s the whole reason you’re with me,” Remus jokes with his own smile.
Sirius playfully smacks his arm, and some of the tension releases. For now, at least.
~~~~
Remus is the one who ultimately discovers it first. He’s just finished a fresh load of laundry and is bringing it back up to Harry’s room. The deal is that Sirius and Remus take turns with the washing and the drying, and then all three of them fold up their own individual laundry. After hearing about the lengthy list of chores the Dursleys made Harry do, Sirius was adamant that Harry not be treated like a House self in their home, and Remus had quickly agreed.
Remus raps gently on the closed door. “Cub, laundry,” he calls out. “Can I come in and set it down?”
“No no! Don’t come in, Moony, please!” Harry sounds frantic, and Remus’s senses are on high alert instantly.
Usually, if Harry’s in the middle of getting dressed, he’ll just tell them to wait a minute. He never usually sounds panicked like this. And as Remus breathes in, he can smell something that has him even more worried: blood.
“Are you alright?” He asks, setting the laundry down by the door. That can wait until he makes sure his cub is alright.
“Fine, fine, just, don’t come in, please!”
Remus is normally a stickler for respecting privacy. A closed door means knock and wait for permission to enter. Especially given Harry’s trauma history, the werewolf detests the very idea of barging in unannounced and without permission.
But this isn’t any normal circumstance. Harry could be in danger.
“I’m coming in,” he calls, at least having the good sense to let the boy know what he’s doing before carefully opening the bedroom door.
“Don’t, Remus, please!” Harry is trying helplessly to stop the bleeding in his arms, and Remus forces himself not to panic as he steps into the room.
“Let me see?” He asks, not forcing, but clearly not intent on leaving til he’s ensured his cub’s safety.
There are tears in Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, Remus, please-“
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Remus soothes. “The only reason I want to see is so I can make it better. Will you let me?”
Harry still looks terrified, though. “You can’t tell Sirius.”
Remus lets out a soft sigh. “You know I don’t keep secrets from him, Harry. Especially not when they concern you. We can discuss exactly how much I tell him after I’ve looked you over though. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise?”
“He’ll hate me,” Harry’s voice comes out as a shaky whisper, and Remus knows he won’t be able to get a thing done until he reassures his cub of the truth.
He rolls up his own sleeve, showing off decades old scars scattered across his arm. “If he didn’t hate me, he won’t hate you, Harry. I guarantee it. He loves you more than either of us could ever fathom. You know that, don’t you?”
Harry stares at the scars in shock. But after a few moments, he slowly holds his arms out, and Remus takes that as his opportunity to get to work.
~~~~
The way Remus cleans out the wounds is so gentle. And it feels so nice not to have him gasp and point and gawk the way Dudley had when he’d caught Harry one time on accident. He doesn’t talk much, like maybe he’s waiting for Harry to make the first move in conversation, but it doesn’t feel like an angry or suffocating silence. It just feels…peaceful.
When the wounds are all cleaned up, and Remus pulls away to sit on the bed next to him, Harry can’t help but feel empty and afraid again. He has the sudden urge to grab Remus and never let go, but he hates the thought of being seen as clingy, as a problem. If he’s a problem, maybe the investigation into the Dursleys will get dropped and then he’ll get sent back as punishment. The small, logical part of him absolutely knows Remus would never be cruel enough to even consider something like that, but that tiny part of his mind is silenced by all the intrusive thoughts warning him that Remus hates him now, that he’s angry, that he and Sirius are going to jeer and laugh and call him a freak like the Dursleys did.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, because he’s used to saying it, and maybe if he says it enough Remus won’t be mad at him.
“I told you, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Remus’s voice stays gentle and kind, and some of Harry’s fears melt a little bit.
“Are you going to send me back?” He asks, refusing to meet the werewolf’s eyes.
“Se-what?” Remus, for the first time since this all occurred, looks momentarily confused, as if Harry’s suddenly spoken in another language he doesn’t understand. “Where on earth would you get an idea like that, Cub?”
“I just…I know I’m a burden…and a problem, and a…a freak,” he spits the word out like it’s a curse word. “I know I’m hard to handle and that it’d probably be easier for you if you just-“
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Remus looks to have gained his composure again. “You are none of those things. You’ve been through trauma, Harry, and all that means is you need a bit more care than most. Going through awful things doesn’t make you a bad person. You know that, don’t you?”
“But I-I do this,” Harry gestures to himself.
“Do you think I’m all of those horrible things because I used to do that too?” Remus asks with a raised eyebrow.
“What? No! You’re strong and brave and smart and amazing!” Harry replies, the words making Remus smile briefly before looking serious again.
“Thank you, Cub. But it’s the same for you. You’re not bad because you cut yourself. You’re just hurt and don’t know how to deal with all of the feelings inside you. Most grownups wouldn’t know how to cope with all of what you’ve been through. It’s normal to hurt, Harry.”
Harry bites his lip. “Are-Are you going to make me stop?”
Remus actually takes his time, looking like he’s seriously thinking it over before he answers. Harry likes that. Likes that he doesn’t just say yes and then start collecting all the sharp items in the room without any input from Harry. He likes knowing that Remus is probably trying to include his feelings in the answer.
“It’s an addiction,” Remus replies in a somewhat softer tone. “If I knew it would actually be helpful, I’d tell you yes. But knowing from experience that it doesn’t work like that, I want to try something else instead. It may take a bit for you to get used to, but I’d like you to at least give it a shot before giving up on it.”
“Depends what it is,” Harry asks, suddenly nervous about somehow messing it up.
“When you want to harm yourself, will you tell me first so we can try doing other things to get the feelings out before you resort to doing it?”
Telling Remus sounds good in theory, but Harry usually does this on an impulse, without thinking. “What if I forget?”
“I wouldn’t be upset if you forgot. These things are usually done on impulse, but I might have an idea to help you remember.” Remus offers Harry a soft smile. “Wherever you keep all your tools. What if we left a little sticky note there on top of everything that just says ‘Tell Remus’ or something similar? If it’s really bad and you just can’t talk to me, that’s fine. I just want it to be an option. You don’t deserve to suffer alone, Harry. You have me here, and Sirius once we catch him up to speed-“
“Catch me up to speed on what?”
Harry leaps off the bed, guilt and anxiety creeping through him again as he turns to look at Sirius. “Nothing, Sirius, it’s nothing, I promise!”
Remus, for his part, is staring back at Sirius with an unimpressed look in his eyes. “Tell me you weren’t eavesdropping,” he hisses. “What have we discussed about private conversations staying private, Sirius?”
“To be fair, the door was open,” Sirius mutters back, though he has the good graces to look at least slightly guilty. “Anyway, I didn’t hear much. Just like, ten seconds worth of stuff. Promise.”
“I don’t want to tell him, Remus,” Harry’s clearly on the verge of hyperventilating. “Please don’t make me tell him. I don’t want him thinking less of me-“
“Now why would I ever do something as stupid as that?” Sirius asks, finally stepping into the room. “Harry James Potter. You are one of the bravest, strongest, kindest wizards I’ve ever had the absolute pleasure of meeting. Nothing that you or Remus tell me could ever make me think less of you. You should know that by now, pup. Now C’mere. You want a hug?”
Harry is always surprisingly more touchy with Sirius, perhaps because the two of them know each other far better than Remus and Harry do, although that’s been slowly changing the longer Harry lives here. He doesn’t even hesitate, gripping onto Sirius tightly and relishing in the equally tight hug he gets back.
“There now, you see? I’m not going anywhere, Harbear.” Sirius is also the only one who can get away with such a ridiculous sounding nickname. “I’m gonna stay right here for as long as you need and want me to.”
“Please don’t hate me,” Harry whimpers, only managing to make Sirius hold on even more tightly.
“Never, pup. I will never hate you, no matter what. You could be a Death Eater or Voldemort supporter and I’d still love the ever loving shite out of you,” he murmurs back affectionately.
“Do you want me to tell him, Harry, or would you like to?” Remus asks, keeping a respectful distance as he watches the two.
“I-I can’t tell him, Remus, please,” Harry begs.
And so it’s Remus who explains. “It’s what you and I discussed the other day. I was going over some options for different coping methods to try when you barged in,” he smiles as he adds the last bit, trying to ease some of the tension with the light joke.
Sirius’s brow furrows into those familiar worry lines that Remus knows so well. But this isn’t Sirius’s first rodeo, so instead of panicking like he did when he first found out about Remus’s issues all those years ago, he simply starts to rub circles into Harry’s back.
“Okay pup. That’s okay. I’m not angry or upset with you.”
“Y-You promise?” Harry whimpers out shakily. “Promise you don’t think I’m a-“
“Don’t say that word, please,” Sirius murmurs as he continues holding his godson so close. “You’re not a freak. I promise you, Harry. And Moony and I are going to take good care of you. It’s gonna be alright, Harbear. Do you trust me?”
Harry nods, almost instantly, face still buried in Sirius’s chest. “Course,” he murmurs softly.
“Good lad,” Sirius replies gently. “Then trust me when I say that everything’s going to be alright now, okay?”
And for the first time in his life, Harry really believes those words when they’re coming from Sirius. His godfather has never steered him wrong before.