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It was the earliest hour in the morning where it could be considered morning on Privet Drive when you walked out of the shadows. You were, at first glance, entirely odd. And at second, even more odd. Your hair was sticking up at all angles, and you were still in a dressing gown. However, haphazardly thrown over it was a robe, black and slightly crumpled. 

You walked with a purpose towards Number Four, Privet Drive, clutching something in your fist. Your wand. 

You knocked loudly on the perfectly painted door. You waited precisely ten seconds until you knocked again, this time even more forceful. Inside the house, a baby began to cry. 

The door was wrenched open, revealing a large, angry-looking man. He surveyed you, and you could see the shock on his face when he saw your robe. 

“Hasn’t your sort bothered my family enough?” He said loudly, his large moustache ruffling. “Banging on my door at four in the morni-” 

You only knew of Vernon Dursley by accounts of his sister-in-law, but you knew him to be a coward, and entirely afraid of magic. You raised your wand, not quite pointing it at him, but suggesting you could. He turned white, then red, in record time. 

“Where is he?” You asked lowly, almost pleasantly. 

“Petunia!” He called, looking back fearfully.

Petunia emerged down the stairs, holding a large baby on her hip. She looked at you, hatred clear in her beady eyes. She always had been that way towards you. You could never think of a time where her eyes had held anything other than hatred or disgust. 

“What is she here for?” She clutched her baby closer to her. 

“Wants to see the boy,” Vernon grunted, not taking his eyes off of your wand. 

“The boy?” Petunia scoffed. “What for?” 

“I’m his godmother, and legal guardian. He’s going home with me. He should never have been here.” 

Vernon glanced at Petunia. Petunia chuckled once. It was a highly unpleasant sound. “Well, take him, for heaven’s sake.” She pulled a key off of a hook fixed into the wall, and busied herself with unlocking… a room? You pushed past Vernon, to his outrage. 

“Well, here you are. Leave everything, buy your own things, if you think you’re so fit to be a mother.” Petunia said, smoothing her nightgown. The baby on her hip began to gurgle unhappily, and she retreated to the kitchen. 

“And don’t bring him back!” She called. 

It wasn’t a room. It was hardly big enough for the tiny crib shoved into there. There was a single, exposed lightbulb hanging over the crib and nothing else. Baby Harry was fast asleep in a dirty grey onesie. 

They were evil. 

Gently, you picked up Harry, brushing the dark hair away from his forehead. He had a scar, shaped like lighting. It was scabbed over, and definitely not properly cleaned. 

Your eyes began to burn with tears. You walked up to Vernon, rage wrapping around you like an old friend. 

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” you hissed, close to his face, and disappeared with a crack. 

Privet Drive was silent. 

…

When you arrived at your flat, Harry started to cry. You held him on your lap, and showed him your face. Slowly, he began to calm, and made grabby hands at your face.

He knew who you were. He remembered who you were. It shouldn’t have surprised you. It had only been a few months since you last saw him, sitting on Lily and James’ sofa. You had brought him a stuffed animal. It was a small black dog, and James had told Harry he should call him Padfoot after his uncle Sirius. 

Your chest was burning, and your tears were falling in a stream. So, you clutched Harry closer to your chest and cried. 

Lily had been your sister, in all of the ways that mattered. You’d spent school holidays together, whispering late in the night about all the things young girls tended to whisper about. You were her maid of honour, making a tearful speech at her wedding. Now, you were the only person in the world who held the same memories of her. Never again could you mention one of you and Lily’s exploits in an off-handed manner to her, dissolving into fits of laughter. Never again could you talk about your future in her bed. You were holding her future in your arms. 

Once you had calmed slightly, you remembered that your flat was entirely unfit for a child. So, carrying the drowsy Harry on your hip, you conjured a wooden crib in your bedroom. It was jammed up against the wall and your bed, but it was better than nothing. You had a spare room, but you didn’t want Harry to be alone, like he was at the Dursleys. 

He would never be alone again, you decided. 

The sun had made its way up the sky, so you decided to try to feed and bathe Harry. You hadn’t been totally unprepared, you did have diapers and baby food. You tried to feed him the mashed carrots you got, but he spit it out all over your nightgown. You then tried to give him applesauce, which he finished half of. Then, you bathed him. He soaked your shirt all the way, and your hair was almost as wet as his.

 But, you wrapped him in a diaper and sat him on the couch as you prepared to go to the store. 

The trip to the store was fairly uneventful. You let Harry pick out five toys, and you bought everything else you needed for him. You had to buy him a whole wardrobe. 

When you got home, you both took a nap. And for a few hours, there was peace. 

…

It was difficult in multiple aspects. 

You were young. You didn’t even know if you wanted to be a mother. Lily always knew she wanted to be a mother. She was more mature than you ever were, you think. She had a sort of silent wisdom about her, and a sort of maternal way. She had read dozens of parental books before she even had a baby bump. She knew how to react to Harry getting a girlfriend before he was even named Harry. 

You knew nothing. You knew how to feed him, yes, but you didn't know how to soothe him. He wanted his mother. You were not his mother. You felt as though you were robbing Lily. Everytime you looked at the baby that so resembled James, you felt slightly ill. But you knew she wanted it like this. You knew she wanted you (or Sirius) to raise him in the impossible event-

And then there was Sirius. Everytime you thought of the man that you had trusted yourself with so implicitly, your soul and your heart in his hands, your chest seized. He was gone, locked away forever. 

He sold them out. That was what everyone was told. You couldn’t believe it. Sirius, the man who lived with the Potters for years, who forsook the dark ways of his family, who promised you that nothing would ever come between you-

It was a useless train of thought. Somehow, he had fooled you all. 

But sometimes, when you lay in your bed, listening to the sound of Harry’s breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder. He must have been forced to tell him. He would never of his own accord. But you also knew that the Sirius you knew would have rather died. 

So, you had loved the man that murdered your sister and her husband. You had loved him, and you had to live with it. 

But it didn’t really help, you thought, bouncing Harry up and down in your lap. He giggled. 

“Harry,” you said. “Story time!” You reached for a board book behind you, and put it on your lap. You started to read to him in a low, soothing tone. At the end of the book, he reached for it to play with it. You smiled to yourself, and placed him on the floor. He wasn’t tired yet, and neither were you. 

He kept you in the real world. You slept when he slept. You ate when he ate. The week without him, the week alone, without him, was like you were an empty husk. You walked the halls of your house. You pulled all your pictures from the wall, putting them under your bed. You slept. You ate plain bread. 

He was real. 

He made you real. 

Harry tried to say something from the floor where he was playing with his blocks. “Aah-” he tried “Auntie,” he said. You clapped your hand over your mouth. 

“That’s right,” you said. “Auntie. Good job.” You slipped off the sofa and sat on the rug with him. You kissed his cheek. He hadn’t really said much before that. He would say “Yes” and “No,” and once he said “Hungwy” but otherwise, he communicated through pointing and crying. 

You looked around the room. It had looked slightly more inhabited recently. Blankets were all over. You had taken to reading more, and books littered the floor and every surface. Harry had dozens of toys, most of them transfigured by you, and some of them normal objects just charmed to be interesting. 

Suddenly, you heard a tapping on your window. You tensed, and grabbed your wand from the end table. You silently creeped towards the window, and peered through the closed curtains. 

An owl. 

It hooted in annoyance, and tapped the window again. “Sorry,” you muttered as you opened the window, and took the sealed letter. It hooted once more before it flew away. 

The envelope said your name in a neat scrawl that you recognized. You smiled. Remus. 

I hope this letter finds you well. Or at least as well as you can be. 

I haven’t heard from you, and I was wondering about you. It’s been a hard time, and I hope you’re alright. We could have tea. Send a letter with a date, if you’d like. 

My door is always open. 

Best, Remus

You folded the letter up, smiling. You missed Remus. He was- well, the only one left. The thought made your stomach drop, so you busied yourself with finding parchment and scribbling “i hope tomorrow at four is alright- i’m bringing somebody along”. You gave it to your owl, and it was off with a nibble to your finger. 

“We’re gonna go see your uncle Remus tomorrow, Harry.” You looked at the time. It was getting late. If you were more responsible, Harry would have been long asleep by now. “Best get off to sleep then,” you told him.

…

Harry hated to apparate. He would cry every time you did so. You had to travel the muggle way with him. However, you had never tried the Floo network with him. He would likely find it bothersome, but you had no other option. You lazily flicked your wand and started the fire. You took the pot from the mantelpiece and pinched a bit of powder in your fingers. 

“Ready?” You asked Harry. He had a thick scarf over his mouth, so he wouldn’t suck ash into it. He whined unhappily. 

You threw the powder in, and shouted Remus’s address. Clutching Harry closer to you, you stepped into the green, open flame. 

Remus's house was exactly as you remembered it. The flames flickered cheerfully as you wiped yourself of soot and examined it. Facing the fireplace were two worn brown sofas, with end tables with lamps. Books were on every surface- the fireplace mantle, the coffee table, and the dining room table that was just visible. The hallway that led to the bedrooms was lit by a flickering chandelier, illuminating the dark carpet. 

His bedroom door creaked open, and Remus stepped out. At first he smiled, but his eyes fell to Harry, and his mouth opened in shock. 

"Remus," you said, stepping towards him. 

"Hello- I- thought-" he sputtered for a moment. Harry finally figured out how to get rid of his scarf, so he did, throwing it on the ground. 

"I got him from them. I just knew that- that Lily wouldn't want that for her son." 

Remus looked at you, almost like he was looking for something. 

"You're right," he decided on saying. "And Lily would be grateful." 

It was silence again, before you took a few more steps to hug him. He was stiff at first, but then you realised the shaking in his shoulders matched yours. You buried your head into his shoulder blade- into his warm sweater. He smelled warm- like chocolate and fire. You stayed there for a long time. 

"Tea?" He asked pleasantly when you separated. Wiping your eyes, you laughed wetly and nodded. 

He walked to the kitchen, busying himself with making the tea. He would glance at you and Harry every so often, like he wasn't quite sure you were real. 

He presented you with a mug of steaming tea and he drew a chair for himself, scraping against the floor. 

"So, how did Petunia react to a muggle showing up on her doorstep?" He asked, stirring his tea. You laughed, and explained her reaction. His eyes grew very dark when you recalled how his "bedroom" was. 

"I can't believe Dumbledore left him there," he said. 

"I reckon he doesn't realise Harry's gone." 

Remus looked worried, almost. "Well, when he does, I'll vouch that you're a better caregiver than those… people." 

"People is a loose term," you said darkly. 

The conversation dropped off for a moment. Harry was squirming in your arms, so you set him down. You conjured him a toy, and he sat on the floor with it. 

"It's so good to see you," you said suddenly. "I'm so- I haven't been with anyone who could talk to me for… oh, it seems like forever." You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it was stubborn. 

"Me too." Remus said quietly. He looked away from you. 

"Merlin, I'm sorry for being so depressing. Let's talk about something else." 

Remus seemed to appreciate that, and said quietly. "I got a job in a muggle bookstore." 

"That's amazing!" You smiled, and then looked around the room, where books surrounded you. "Seems to me you took the bookstore home with you." 

"The owner is an older bloke, and he lets me take a book home with my check each week. He's almost retired, most of the time it's just me in the store." 

"I'm jealous. I've always preferred muggle novels over wizard ones. After all, they don't have magic, so they can imagine it in such creative ways. I think we lack imagination." 

Remus hummed in agreement. "The only time I ever read wizarding books is if they are non-fiction." 

Finally having broken the ice, you and Remus fell into easy conversation. You felt almost normal- like before. Gone was the weight on your chest, if only for a moment. 

The rain pattered steadily on the window. 

It was something like peace. 

…

"I could help," Remus said. His tea was drained, so he stood up to put the cups in the sink, him and yours. "With Harry," he clarified. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest. In just an hour, your hopelessness had eased. "What days are you off work?" You questioned. 

"Tuesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays." 

"Well, I could look for a job on the weekends." you said. "And maybe you could watch him? At least for a bit. I could pop in throughout the day. But, are you sure? I can… figure something else out, I'm sure." 

"No, I want to help," Remus said sincerely. 

"Thank you so much," you said. "It's- this will help me so much." 

"I remember Harry to be rather well-behaved for a toddler. How… is he… is he like James or Lily?" 

You laughed loudly. "I don't know. He's well-behaved, but a bit mischievous, I'd say. A healthy mix of both." 

"Well, I remember vividly James describing how perfect his and Lily's children would be in the sixth year. It was frankly disgusting." 

You ignored his accidental use of children and the painful twinge it caused. "Oh, Merlin. Lily was just as annoying. Not in sixth year, mind you, but after we'd graduated." 

"I miss them." 

"Me too." 

…

You and Remus kept in touch, and you had a sort of co-parenting situation going on. He did end up watching him on the weekends, so you got a job at a local coffee shop. You would drop Harry off early in the morning, normally while he was sleeping, and greet a sleepy Remus. Then, you would apparate to the alley next to the coffee shop. 

You only worked until about one or two, and then you would go back to Remus’ house. Harry liked him, and was usually in a bright mood when you got there. Remus was too. 

Seeing the two of them happy always kept you in a good mood. 

…

Harry turned two. He had a lovely birthday. He got presents and his own little cake, of which he ate about one bite, and the rest went on his shirt. 

Remus came over, and the two of you took Harry to the park, where you kept a close eye on him and Remus pushed him on the swings. 

Your face was brave enough. You giggled when Harry did something silly, and talked to him in an animated voice. When you put him down for a nap, though, your facade crumbled, and you spent an hour on your couch, your chest heaving and your pillows becoming damp with tears. 

…

Dumbledore found out eventually, two years after you’d taken him. 

Through the peephole, you saw his face. He looked older than you remembered.

Your heart beat wildly out of its chest. You’d imagined the conversation many times in your head, but all the imaginary dialogue flew out of your head. 

Could you just ignore him? No, you doubted that. So, your hand closed around the doorknob and opened the door. 

“Headmaster,” you said. “Hello.” 

“Good afternoon. How are you today?” 

You both knew what he was here for. The niceties made you want to run and grab Harry, holding him as tight as you could. You wanted to scream that Harry was yours, and the Potters would have wanted it that way. 

Harry, ever the lovely boy, did it for you. He ran up to you, a little toy dragon clutched in his fist. “Auntie!” He cried, slamming the dragon into your leg. It was a game he liked to play. Normally, you would reply with enthusiasm and let him save you from the dragon. This time, however, you just sighed and scooped him up into your arms. 

You just stared at Dumbledore for a moment, before deadpanning, “please, come in.” 

…

You made tea for the Headmaster after you put Harry in his room. 

He took his tea with an insane amount of sugar, and settled on your couch after you’d pushed off a mountain of toys. 

“I know that the Dursleys are not the best option for Harry,” he started after a brief interlude where he inquired after your health, and you his. “And it was not wrong of you to question if they are fit parents for Harry, given your history with Mrs. Dursley-” 

It took all of your nerve to interrupt Dumbledore. “If I may,” you said. “When I went to see him, they were keeping him in a cupboard.A cupboard, sir. Anyone in their right minds would know people who kept a baby- a baby who just lost his parents- in a cupboard are not fit parents.” 

His eyebrows raised. “A cupboard? You’re quite sure?” 

“I took him out myself.” 

There was a brief pause. “Please understand that I did not choose to put him there to be treated cruelly. I put him there because it was safest for him. When Lily died, she sacrificed her life for him. It was a sort of ancient blood magic that prevented him from being killed when Lord Voldemort put the killing curse on him. She saved his life by giving her own.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Lily’s death protected him. It protects him now, under a condition. He must be in the home of a blood relative to be shielded from harm by Voldemort. This is why it's crucial to place Harry with his blood relatives." 

"Wait, if  Voldemort is gone, then why does he need the extra protection?" You said. He was gone. You remembered the celebration that had rang through the air as you grieved. 

"I don't believe him to be truly gone." 

You could not even begin to process those words. So, you didn’t. Instead, you said gravely, “then find him."

"I promise you… we're looking for him, or rather, what remains of him," Dumbledore said grimly. "But I truly think… this would be the best for Harry's protection. I'm sure you want what's best for him." 

"I do.” You said. “That’s why he’s staying with me. 

"I see," said Dumbledore. "I am sure you will keep him safe. But, if he grows to power once more…" 

"Harry will always be safe. I will always protect him with my life. It's my job." You said. 

“Of course. Well, if you’re quite sure, I will soon cast some protections on the house, if that is alright with you.” 

“Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you.” 

“I will owl you a list, and you can approve of it.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you said sincerely. 

"I will take my leave then," said Dumbledore politely, bowing his head slightly.

…

When Harry turned four, you put all of the pictures back up. The only ones you didn’t put back up were ones with Sirius. 

You thought of him often. Often is perhaps an understatement. You thought of him everyday. 

You had romantically loved nobody else in your life besides him, and you were sure that would continue for as long as you lived. 

Few things made you cry anymore, but when you were sorting through the photographs, the ones with him sent you over the edge. 

Him and you at the Potter wedding. He held up a glass of wine in cheers, as you held his arm, smiling brightly into the camera. In the picture, he kissed your jaw several times quickly, and you laughed. 

You, him, and James on a sofa talking. You sat in between them, and Sirius had thrown his legs over your lap, his socked heels on James’ thigh. Comically, both you and James were rolling your eyes. 

Him as a kid, posing for a portrait. He looked sad.

Him and Lily at somebody’s birthday, both of them with silly birthday hats on. You were quite sure it was your birthday, actually. In the background, Remus walked out of the frame. 

Then, him and you as teenagers. Sixteen or seventeen. He had his arm around you, his hand on your hip. You looked horribly in love. 

Innocence, you thought as you looked into the eyes of the pair of clueless teenagers. They didn’t know what was coming for them. 

For some odd reason, you shoved the rest of the photos back under your bed, and kept that one in your bedside drawer. 

…

At Diagon Alley, you lost Harry in Flourish and Blotts. You were crouching down to grab a book and examine the back cover. When you turned around, deciding to leave it, Harry was gone. Panic filled your lungs like smoke, and you called, “Harry?” 

Out of the aisle of books, you scanned the store. “Harry?” You called again, voice growing louder and more worried. 

You rushed up the stairs, hoping that he simply wandered off. You refused to think of the other scenario. 

“Harry!” You shouted this time, garnering a few looks. 

Then, a woman from behind you said, “excuse me?” 

You turned quickly, seeing first the woman, red-haired with a motherly face, then the two boys at her feet. One of them was clearly hers, with bright red hair and freckles. The other was Harry, happy as a clam. 

“Is this Harry?” She asked kindly. 

“Yes, oh Merlin, Harry, you scared me,” you said, picking him up. He was heavy now, and old enough where he did not like to be picked up, but you did anyway, squeezing him. 

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “He and my son were playing together.” 

“Oh, no worries,” you said, despite in fact, worrying very much. “I should keep a closer eye on him.” 

“It’s quite difficult,” the woman said, smiling. “Do you have any others?” 

“Oh, no, just him,” you smiled. “How about you?” 

She laughed. “Oh yes. Six others.” 

Your eyebrows raised. “Wow. I can’t imagine, I have trouble with just this one.” 

“It’s difficult work, but I love it,” she said. Her happiness with her life was kind of inspiring. “Tell you what,” she said. “You and Harry should come over sometimes. Little Ronnie and him were having a grand old time.” 

“That would be lovely.” You told her your name. 

“Molly Weasley,” she said. Vaguely, you recognized the last name. Quickly, out of her purse, Molly wrote her address down. “Owl me sometime, we can plan a playdate for these boys.” 

“Great. Thank you so much,” you said. 

You said your goodbyes to the woman and left Diagon Alley. 

This time, you made sure to hold Harry’s hand. 

…

When you were sixteen, about seven or eight months after you started dating Sirius, he got very drunk in front of you. His mouth spilled out the details of his childhood. 

Every childhood has its traumas and its low points. But Sirius’ seemed to solely consist of those moments. His childhood was full of the pureblood culture so prevalent in the wizarding world. 

The Weasleys were a pureblood family. When you went home after meeting the matriarch of said family, you looked at the family tree that rested in a book. Their name was there, albeit shoved in a corner. Half of the marriages were not mentioned, due to them being to people with muggle heritage. They were distantly related to the Blacks, and through the Blacks, to the Potters. 

“Gonna go see your family,” you muttered as you dressed Harry. He didn’t hear you, too busy trying not to wear pants. 

When you first Flooed into the Weasley home, you knew they were nothing like the Blacks. Their house was cosy, full of light and the sound of children running around. 

Molly greeted you with a cup of tea and a toddler on her hip. You let Harry run wild with a pair of twin boys and Ron. Molly sat with you and you chatted. It was quite nice to talk to an adult besides your elderly neighbour and Remus. 

Molly let the little girl go play with the older boys, and then with a look and a lean in, asked, “he’s Harry Potter, isn’t he?” 

Your eyes widened with such shock you gave yourself away immediately. Hiding it had seemed the natural thing to do. Why, you were not exactly sure of. Perhaps you just wanted to give Harry a normal life as long as you could. You wanted to treat him like every little boy, rather than the baby that killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

“I thought so,” Molly said, sitting up. She looked slightly pleased with herself. 

“Um, how did you know?” 

“You’re so young, and frankly, you look nothing like him. Also, I saw a flash of the scar.” 

You let a tiny laugh escape. His hair grew over his forehead for a reason, but you supposed that he was getting a bit wild with the Weasley children. 

“May I ask? How… what is your relation to him?” 

It was a natural question to ask, and you liked Molly, so you answered. “I’m his godmother. Um, his mother i- was my best friend. She was like my sister.” 

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you. Everyday I hope I’m doing right by her.” 

“Oh, dear,” Molly said, a motherly tone in her voice. “I’m quite sure you are. Harry is a happy, healthy boy. You’re an excellent mother.” 

You swallowed heavily. “Thank you.” 

“Are you married or-?” 

“No, it’s just me and Harry.” A flash of Sirius went through your brain, but like every intrusive thought, you had to shut it down firmly. 

“Well, that won’t be so for long, a pretty girl like yourself.” She said, and you smiled at the compliment. 

This time, the image of Sirius did not leave.

…

Harry was an exceptionally smart boy. Of course he was, he was Lily’s son. He was curious as could be, always asking questions about science and maths and magic and everything he saw on the telly. 

However, it worked to your detriment sometimes. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, he walked up to you, a photograph in hand. 

“Auntie, who’s this?” He asked, holding out the photo. When you caught a glimpse of it, your heart dropped several feet. It was the photo you kept of you and Sirius in your bedside drawer, of the pair of you as teenagers. 

“Oh. Um, just an old friend. From Hogwarts.” 

“I’ve seen him before,” Harry then said, examining the photo. “In mum and dad’s wedding pictures.” 

Your heart raced. You couldn’t tell him the truth, he was only eight. He would find out sooner or later, but for your sake, it needed to be later. Much, much later. 

“Yes, he was your dad’s friend. He went to the wedding.” 

“Oh. Did he know me when I was little?” Harry asked. If you were not freaking out, you would have ruffled his hair and told him that he was still little. But you were freaking out. 

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“Oh, okay.” Harry said. He gave you the photo and sat next to you, criss-crossing his legs. 

“Harry, you shouldn’t go through my things without asking.” 

“Sorry. I was looking for a spare wand.” 

You fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Harry James Potter, what have I said about trying to do magic?” 

“I should do it all the time?” He replied with a cheeky smile. 

“Absolutely not.” 

…

The most difficult thing in your life to do was let Harry get on the Hogwarts Express. 

You knew it was one of the safest places in the world. He would be taken care of, and he already had friends in the Weasley children. He wanted to go, and you didn’t blame him. In the decade that you had cared for him, he had been slightly sheltered by you. 

As he hugged you, and the train whistled, it took all of your willpower to unclench your fingers from his arms. 

“Have so much fun,” you said. “Not too much, though. Get good marks.” He smiled, and you laughed, eyes watery. 

“I will. I have to go now, otherwise Ron and I will never get a seat.” 

“Okay. You have all of your things?” You surveyed him. He had his trunk, and the large snowy owl in her cage. He had on clean jeans and a sweater. He looked so grown up. 

“Yes, Auntie,” he said, getting a little exasperated with you. 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” You hugged him once more and pressed a kiss to his hair. Then, he was off. 

You had to press your lips together to keep from crying. 

Molly looked sad, too, holding onto Ginny’s hand. 

“Never gets easier,” she told you. 

“Reassuring,” you said dryly.  

You waited until the train was just a pinprick in the distance before you went home. 

It was incredibly quiet.

…

Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, which did not surprise you. He always exhibited traits of all the houses, but you always saw Gryffindor. You’d always thought it was in your head, trying to see things where they’re not, but it was nice to be proven correctly, rather than proven as a sentimental fool. 

Harry’s first letter came three days after you’d left him, delivered by his owl, Hedwig. She dropped the letter on the kitchen table with a hoot, and you fed her a treat before she left. 

The next letter came two days later, talking about how awful Snape was. You had not even known he worked there, though you supposed it made perfect sense. The fact he was giving Harry a hard time filled you with a rage that was almost holy. 

Lily’s son. Yes, James had been cruel to him. It was unfortunate to admit. But Harry Potter was also Lily Evans’ son. 

And Harry Potter was also eleven, and entirely innocent in any misdeeds of his father. 

So, yes, you wrote to Dumbledore.

…

Loneliness swelled inside of you. The ache felt physical. Sometimes you wished that you went back to dating. But you knew you never could. It felt wrong, almost like cheating, which was ridiculous.

But you’d never really broken up with Sirius, you ruminate over breakfast. Technicalities. 

The respite you had from the loneliness was when you saw Remus, about once a week. He came round for tea, and the two of you would talk, or when you both were in a particularly sad mood, watch terrible reality television. 

Another respite was Harry’s letters. One such letter arrived November first. You loathed having to open the window to permit Hedwig’s entry, due to the winds slamming against it. 

Hedwig hooted once and ruffled her feathers, nipping your finger affectionately. She dropped a letter next to your toast. Sitting back down, you opened the letter. 

It was a short one. 

Hi,

I’m not quite sure if McGonagall is going to Owl you. I’m not sure. She seemed quite pleased with us. 

But if she is, I wanted to tell you before she did. It’s nothing bad! 

Spoiler alert, it was something bad. A troll had somehow gotten into the school. And Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had ran into the girls bathroom to warn a fellow student, where the troll was waiting for them. 

And somehow, three eleven year-olds defeated a troll. Honestly, some things you can’t make up. 

You couldn’t be mad at Harry, really, he was being a good person. Without him, who knows what would have happened to the girl.

But once again, teachers do exist for a reason. Merlin, he was as reckless as his father and just as averse to help as his mother. 

You wrote a reply, telling him you were proud, and once again telling him to attempt to stay out of trouble. 

…

It snowed early in the season. It was a welcome change. 

You’d always been fond of snow from a safe distance. Inside your house, preferably, wrapped in blankets. When Harry was little, though, you rarely got that, because he was infatuated with snow. Every time it snowed, you would have to dress yourself and him up, and make snow angels and build snowmen. Although it was freezing, and your fingers would go numb as soon as you stepped outside, you wouldn’t have missed it for the world. 

You wondered how it was at Hogwarts. If it was snowing. If Harry was warm under a blanket or if he was making snowmen with his new friends. 

Hogwarts in the winter was always a delight. The snow reminded you of significantly happier, carefree days. Hot cocoa at breakfast, your warm breath fogging up while walking to the greenhouses. Buying presents for your friends at Hogsmeade, stopping to sample chocolates with Lily. Snowball fights with the boys, warming up next to the fire. 

You sincerely hoped that Harry’s experience was as good as yours. 

But you would hear from him soon, in person. 

The time dragged, as time often does when you’re anticipating something. 

But it passed eventually, and then you were standing at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. hugging your godson so tightly he tapped on your back, silently telling you to let go. 

You held on to his shoulders, taking one hand to smooth his messy hair. You told him how much you’d missed him, and he introduced you to his new friend, Hermione. She was a muggle-born girl with tan skin and bushy brown hair. She greeted you brightly, standing in front of her quite emotional parents. 

Ron greeted you too, but you got a hug from him, since you’d known him for such a long time and since he was staying over for the holidays. His parents were visiting his brother, and Harry had invited him to stay. You didn’t mind at all. Ron was a good boy, and a great friend to Harry. 

After a bit of socialising with Hermione’s parents, who you found out were both dentists, and very proud of their daughter, you and the boys apparated home. 

They both went to wander around in the snow, and you made tea for when they came back. 

It was a nice day. 

…

Harry and Ron were being suspicious. Furtive looks were exchanged with each other when they thought you weren’t looking.

Stupidly, you assumed it was of no importance. You let them have their secrets.

It was only after they’d gone back to school, and your regular routine had recommenced that you realised you should have paid closer attention. 

A letter arrived at the end of the term, delivered by a stately looking owl. 

The letter was all in Dumbledore’s handwriting. It explained that Voldemort had been possessing their teacher. Reading it made your stomach twist, and your heart hammer against your chest. 

You made your way to Hogwarts immediately.

…

“You brilliant, idiotic boy,” you said, brushing his hair away from his face. 

…

During the summer, Harry spent a lot of time with the Weasleys. He also spent a lot of time inquiring about Voldemort. 

You told him what you needed to. Thankfully, he did not ask about the night of his parents death. You wouldn’t be able to justify telling him about the death of his parents. Maybe it was selfish, too. 

But whatever it was, it was in the future. Harry was still young, you had time. And Voldemort must be gone, now, though doubt had creeped into your mind and made a home there. Perhaps Dumbledore was right. 

But everyone you thought that, you thought of the cupboard he was kept in. 

…

Merlin. 

You really had no words for the trouble that your godson found himself in almost every day of his life. It was truly extraordinary. 

He attracted trouble, and you were just his guardian, worried sick every single day. 

You had half a mind to homeschool him. Or send him to Ilvermorny. At least Ilvermorny doesn’t have a Chamber of Secrets. Or a giant fucking basilisk that petrifies students. 

How was Hogwarts even legal? 

…

After Harry’s stressful second year, all you wanted was a small semblance of peace. 

Of course, you did not get that. 

The morning started normally. Harry was parked in front of the television, and you were finishing washing the dishes. The owl came with the Prophet. It landed on the table, hooted, and you yelled for Harry to pay it. He did, and let the paper flop on the table before heading back to the couch. 

In no hurry, you put a plate on the drying rack, drying your hands off. Then, you picked up the paper. 

And then, you dropped it. 

It was him. 

Older and quite mad looking, of course, but it was him. There hadn’t been a drop of news about him in over ten years, and that’s how you liked it. 

The headline caught your blurry vision. 

BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN 

You almost dropped to the floor, stumbling backwards as if he would jump out of the paper. Your hand caught the counter, and you breathed- in, out, in, out. 

It was impossible, you thought hysterically. Impossible. When you were a bit more steady on your feet, you grabbed the newspaper and sat down, leg bouncing. 

Even the Ministry didn’t know how he’d escaped. There were no hints as to where he was. 

You sat there, quite still for some time. You had to tell Harry. He would find it out eventually, and you needed him to hear it from you. But when you opened your mouth, no sound came out. 

Standing up on unsteady legs, you threw the newspaper away, face-down.  

Tomorrow. 

…

You did not tell him the next day, or the day after that. 

It came out at dinner a week later, as you pushed around the peas on your plate. 

“I need to tell you something,” you said. Harry looked up quickly. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

Exhaling sharply, you replied, “it isn’t good. I need to tell you something about your parents' death.” 

Harry turned a little white, and put his fork down, waiting for you to continue. This was not a topic you discussed often. Most of the time, it ended with crying. 

“You know who… killed them. Um, but I’ve never told you how they were found. They were in hiding. They had a Secret-Keeper. They chose Sirius B-black. He was your father’s best friend.” 

“I’ve never heard of him before now,” Harry said, and the moment after he said it, he realised why. If it was his own brain connecting the dots, or your strained expression, you would never know. 

Swallowing heavily, you said, “he betrayed them. Sold them out. That’s how he found them.” 

Harry closed his eyes. You didn’t want to continue. You hated to cause him pain, but you knew it would be worse if he found out from someone else.

As you told the rest of the story, Peter’s death, and Sirius’ capture, you avoided looking at Harry. You did not mention your relation to Sirius, just calling him “Black”. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, after you had finished. 

“Harry, I was trying to protect you-“

“You don’t need to protect me!” 

“That’s my job! It’s my job, Harry. Please, listen. I didn’t want to tell you this, not until you were much older. It’s a terrible thing to know, and a terrible thing to withhold from somebody. But I had to tell you this. Sirius Black escaped Azkaban last week. I needed to tell you now, and I’m so sorry, I know it’s a lot.” It all came out in a rush, which wasn’t ideal.

“He escaped.” Harry said, his tone flat. 

“Yes.” 

“So, based on my track record, I assume he probably wants to kill me.” 

“Harry!” His voice was scaring you a bit, with the void of emotions. 

“Is that not what’s happening?” He asked. 

“I don’t know!” That was the scariest part of it. “I needed to tell you, you would have found out anyways, and I didn’t want you to think I was hiding it from you.” 

“You kind of were,” Harry said. 

“Okay, yes, fine. A little bit.” You replied, scrubbing a hand down your face. “I was scared, Harry. That night will always haunt me, and I don’t want to talk about it to anyone, especially not you. I love you so much, and I hate telling you things that will hurt you.” 

“Okay,” he said. “I’m not- I’m not mad. It’s a lot.” 

“I know.”

“I don’t really get much of a break, do I?” 

“I suppose not.” 

…

The days passed slowly and anxiously. The Prophet never came fast enough, and it never came with enough news. Remus came over often, to chat or to sit with you in knowing silence. One day, he told you that he had gotten the job as Defense professor. You were so happy for him, and you knew he would be an amazing teacher. He had always been brilliant, and had always been patient with Harry when he had to ask him for help on his summer work. 

You didn’t know how Harry was feeling. Sometimes he would look at you and his eyes were unfocused like he was thinking deeply. It was unnerving. He didn’t speak to you as much, and when he did, he sounded more withdrawn. You were scared you had robbed him of his innocence. There must have been another way to tell him, you thought. A way that preserved what little innocence he had left, but didn’t make you a liar. 

There was no guidebook for the situation you were in. 

Then, two days before Harry was going back to school, he came into the living room, a large book under his arm. 

A photo book. You had many of those, and you and Harry went through them often, pointing out pictures of you, his parents, and Remus. 

But you had safe ones, and not safe ones. 

And you knew for a fact that the thick scrapbook that Harry had under his arm was one of the not safe ones. A wave of panic hit you. It was from your seventh year, and you knew for a fact who was in it. Judging by Harry’s face, he knew as well. 

He was never going to trust you again, was he? You had failed so miserably with that situation that you had no idea how to remedy it. So, you just sat there as Harry said, “you know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” 

“I can guess,” you replied. 

“You knew him. Sirius Black. More than knew him-“ 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You- you’re not gonna deny it?” 

You took a steadying breath. “Quite sure the evidence is quite damning, but I’ll take a look.” When you held out your hands, he placed the book in them. 

You opened the fabric-bound book that had “Seventh Year” written in bright glittery letters. The first page was photographs of Hogwarts, with little notes and doodles in the margins. The next was some pictures of you and Lily on holiday at a sunny beach. The next was of you and Sirius, as you had suspected, kissing on James’ parents couch, then turning and smiling to the camera, not looking the least bit embarrassed about it. 

You looked up from the photographs to Harry. “This was under my bed. Quite far under.” 

He looked a little embarrassed. “I’d seen him before, I knew it.” 

“In your parent’s wedding pictures, I suppose. He’s hard to avoid.” 

“He’s so young,” Harry said, looking down at the photo. Sirius smiled at the two of you, your younger self burying her head into his neck. 

“None of us ever thought he would betray them. He was… he was loyal-“ 

“Loyal?” Harry interrupted loudly, getting worked up. 

“That’s what I thought, Harry, you have to understand that none of us saw it coming. We all loved him, he was- we thought he was a good person.” 

“You loved him.” He stated.

“We all did.” 

“But you loved him.” 

You leaned farther into the couch, wishing you could be sucked into it. “I loved him until he murdered my sister.” 

“I just don’t understand how nobody knew what was happening. Seriously, not one person suspected anything? The papers say he was Voldemort’s right-hand man.” 

“I still don’t believe that,” you said, and at Harry’s raised eyebrows, you continued, “the papers don’t know anything, anyways. I really doubt he could have balanced all of those lives efficiently. The story has never made sense to me.” 

“Are you sure it’s not because you loved him?” 

You clenched your jaw, and in the calmest tone you could manage said,“Harry, never say something like that again, please.” 

He mumbled “sorry.” You closed the book. 

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you with all these things, that’s why I didn’t tell you, okay? You didn’t have to snoop, I would have told you. I hope you don’t think any less of me.” 

“You didn’t know. I was… just confused.” 

“That’s okay. You can always ask me anything, okay? I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replied quietly. “I’ll put this away,” he said, taking the book and tucking it under his arm. 

Watching him retreat, you thought that that was a small victory. It was all out there, and he didn’t hate you.

…

Seeing Harry off was not any better that year. If anything, it was harder. Remus was going to be with him, which was the only good thing you saw about the situation. You knew he would keep him safe. 

So, with dread surrounding you, you dropped Harry off. That evening, you paced around and tried to resist the urge to pull him out of school indefinitely. 

That urge did not lessen when you received a letter from Remus later that night about dementors at Hogwarts. 

…

Harry’s school term passed in anxious waiting to hear terrible news. You got news often, and most of it was bad. Remus sent you a letter about the Fat Lady’s Portrait being slashed due to Sirius breaking in to find Harry. 

It was hard to reconcile the Sirius you knew with the murderer that he truly was, even after all of those years. 

You received a letter from Hermione about Harry getting a Firebolt as a gift from an unnamed person. Fortunately, Hermione was the only one of their trio with common sense, and she told McGonagall about it already. You thanked her profusely, and felt sorry that Harry and Ron were dumb boys who resented her foresight. 

You heard about dementors at a Quidditch match, and your godson almost dying. You felt helpless. It was your responsibility to protect him, and you were unable to. He would resent you for pulling him out of school, but his anger was starting to look preferable to the increasingly likely alternative. 

In June, Remus’ patronus appeared in your living room. You jumped out of your seat the second it started to talk. 

“ Peter is alive. Sirius is at the shrieking shack with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I don’t understand, but come quickly.” 

You didn’t need to hear anything more. You apparated. 

Chapter Text

There he was. 

If his image had not been burnt into your eyes since the day he escaped Azkaban, you may not have recognized him. 

He was like a skeleton, gaunt and pale. If not for his eyes, which focused on you and displayed an unidentifiable emotion, you would think him to be a reanimated corpse. 

Everyone was looking at you. Harry said your name in disbelief. Remus said it in relief. 

You pointed your wand at Sirius. Sickness churned in your gut. How many days had you imagined this? You had thought it would be cathartic. It wasn’t. Your hand shook, and if not for your white knuckled grip, your wand would have clattered to the ground. 

“Remus, what the hell is going on?” 

“He’s innocent- Peter-” Remus started. He was the picture of desperation, eyes wide and pleading. 

“I am far from innocent, Remus,” Sirius said. His voice was different, rougher. 

“Explain,” you said, gritting your teeth. 

“Remus is helping him!” Harry said, looking at you pleadingly. 

You wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous, but you didn’t know anything anymore. Your whole world had been turned upside down. The idea of truth that you held so firmly had cracks in it. 

“I have not been helping Sirius. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look-” Remus said, tossing each child their wand back. They caught them, stunned. Remus stuck his own into his belt. “There, you’re armed, we’re not. Will you listen, now?” 

Just slightly, you lowered your wand. Sirius caught your eye, and you swallowed and looked away. 

“Remus, how did you know he was here,” you asked quietly. 

“The Marauder’s Map.” 

“Oh, you must be joking.” 

“I confiscated it from Harry. Anyways, I saw somebody with the three of you,” Remus said, nodding at the students. 

“What? Nobody was with us!” Harry said. You watched Remus pace around the room, the boards creaking under his feet. 

“I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought the map was wrong. How could he be with you? Then, I saw another dot, labelled Sirius Black… I saw him collide with the three of you, I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow-”

“One of us!” Ron said angrily. 

“No,” Remus said seriously. “No, Ron, two of you.” He stopped in front of Ron. 

“Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” 

At the mention of a rat, your heart stopped. It all made sense. Peter was alive as an Animagus. He had been in hiding- because at the last second they had changed the Secret-Keeper to him. Peter had betrayed them. 

Sirius was innocent. 

You heard Ron talking in the background, but you couldn’t hear anything besides the rushing in your head. Staring at Sirius, you raised a hand to your mouth. He looked back at you- you knew he could see the understanding in your face. 

All of the times you had cursed yourself for not recognizing the signs. There had been none. He was innocent. 

“An Animagus,” said Sirius, interrupting your reverie, “by the name of Peter Pettigrew.” 

The three children looked at eachother, disbelief evident on every single one of their faces. Harry looked at you. 

“I think they’re right,” you said, the words coming out like an exhale. “Merlin, fuck, it all makes sense.” 

You had always doubted his guilt, but the evidence was there. But now, all of that evidence would be called into question. If that squirming rat was truly Peter, it would confirm all doubts. Surely, you would have many questions.

“No, it really does not,” Ron said, his voice high-pitched. Hermione and Harry nodded faintly in agreement with that statement. 

“Peter Pettigrew is dead!” Harry said loudly. “He killed him,” he said, gesturing wildly at Sirius. Sirius’ face twitched. 

“I meant to,” he growled, baring his teeth. “But little Peter got the better of me… not this time, though!” 

The cat on top of him was thrown to the floor as Sirius lunged at the rat. Ron yelled with pain as Sirius’ weight landed on top of his injured leg. Both you and Remus yelled his name at the same time. 

You launched yourself forward, grabbing his arms and dragging him away. His expression was wild, focused solely on Peter. If you didn’t know the truth, you would have been terrified of him, and truthfully, you were still a bit scared of him. “You’re hurting him, Sirius!” You shouted, struggling to drag him away. Remus helped you, and the two of you managed to get him away. 

“You can’t just do it like that- they need to understand- we must explain-” Remus said desperately. 

Nothing got through to Sirius. “We can explain afterwards,” he snarled, trying to get loose of your hold. His hand clawed the air, trying to reach the rat. 

“Sirius,” you said, sharply. “They need to know everything. You’re terrifying them- I won’t let you do anything before you tell them the truth!” 

He stopped struggling, though he kept his eyes fixed on the rat, who was clamped in Ron’s hands. 

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, tell them, you two, but make it quick- I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you muttered with a sidelong glance at Remus. 

“You too!” Ron said shakily, looking at you. “Both of you- I can’t believe it!” He glanced between Harry and Hermione. “I’ve had enough, I’m out of here.” He attempted to stand up. It was a feeble attempt, his face drained of all color the moment he stood.

“Ron, just listen,” you pleaded. “It will make sense, just keep hold of the rat.” 

Ron exhaled, disbelieving, looking at Harry. Harry shrugged. Merlin, at least he still mildly trusted you.

“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” Harry said. “A whole street. How do you explain that?” 

Remus helped explain the circumstances, with Sirius occasionally chiming in. It all solidified his innocence. 

You could not look away from him. 

Twelve years. 

The explanation was interrupted by Snape barging in. He did not know the truth, and he didn’t want to know. He enjoyed Sirius’ guilt. 

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle, and here is the proof. And- this is even more damning-” he said, his glittering eyes turning to you. “Black’s lover helping as well. I shouldn’t be surprised.” You opened your mouth, not quite sure what you were going to say, but he continued to speak. 

“Three more for Azkaban tonight. The Dementors shall be pleased.” 

“Severus, you’re making a mistake- you haven’t heard everything- I can explain- Sirius is not here to kill Harry-” 

Snape seemed not to hear him. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this… He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin… a tame werewolf-” 

Remus’ voice turned icy. “You fool,” he said softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back in Azkaban?” 

Suddenly, Snape raised his wand. Thin cord burst from his wand, twisting and writhing like snakes, binding Remus’ mouth, wrists, and ankles. He toppled over, paralyzed. You stared, wide-eyed. 

Before you could react, Sirius lunged at Snape. Immediately, Snape pointed his wand between his eyes. Sirius froze. 

“Give me a reason,” Snape said softly, his eyes filled with hatred. 

You raised your wand. Snape scoffed at you. “Defending him, are you? You should save it- perhaps if you’re good, they’ll place you and Black in the cells next to each other.” 

“You are so blinded by hatred,” you said quietly. 

You knew he would never allow an explanation. That thought made your next action seem like a good idea. 

He yelled at Hermione- screamed- sparks flying out of his wand. 

Something snapped inside of you. You started to utter a binding curse, but Snape beat you to it. He cast Protego silently, and binded you the same way as Remus. You fell to the floor, falling flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. Somebody gasped. 

He was better than you. You should’ve been faster- you knew better. You were not a fighter. 

“Come on, all of you,” said Snape. “I will drag these two- perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for them, too-” 

 A loud creak sounded as somebody stood up. 

“Get out of the way, Potter,” Snape snarled. “You’re in enough tr-” 

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry yelled. “SHE DID NOTHING WRONG! YOU WON’T LISTEN JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL-” 

“SILENCE!” Snape shrieked. “GET OUT OF THE WA-” 

A blast sounded, rattling the foundation of the shack. You heard Expelliarmus come from several people. 

A wand clattered to the floor next to your head. 

“You shouldn’t have done that..” you heard Sirius say. “You should have left him to me…” 

You struggled against the bonds. What had they done? 

Hermione whimpered in the corner as Sirius untied your bonds. You tried your best not to look at him. 

You got up, rubbing your arms where the ropes had cut in, limiting the blood flow. Now you could see Snape, against a wall, blood trickling down his head. He was alive, but knocked out cold. 

Harry walked up to you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, a knee-jerk reaction. 

“You believe them?” Harry whispered, glancing at them. 

You took a breath out. “I believe that something isn’t right. I want to hear what he has to say.” 

Harry nodded at you, his mouth twisting as he looked at Sirius. 

“Now,” Sirius started, walking towards Ron. “Give me Peter. Now.” 

Ron clutched the rat to his chest. “Come off it,” he said weakly. “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers?” He looked at Harry and Hermione for support. “Okay… say Pettigrew could turn into a rat- there are millions of rats- how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he was locked up in Azkaban?” 

The same thing you had been wondering. “You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” said Remus. “How did you find out where he was?”

Sirius put a hand into his filthy robes, and took out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it, showing it to everyone in turn. 

Your eyes widened when you saw the photo. It was from an article in the Prophet that featured the Weasleys last summer. The rat was perched on Ron’s shoulder. 

There was more talking, and Merlin, you started to feel as twitchy as Sirius. You wanted this over. You needed a semblance of closure. 

“Enough of this,” Remus said. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me the rat.” 

“What are you going to do if I give him to you?” Asked Ron. 

“Force him to show himself. If he isn’t a rat, it won’t hurt him.” 

Ron hesitated, but then held out the rat. It twisted, eyes bulging, squealing without stopping. You couldn’t call it Peter yet, until you saw with your own eyes. 

Remus looked at you and Sirius. “Ready?” Sirius had Snape’s wand in his hand. You looked at the two men, raising your wand.

 “Together?” Sirius said quietly. 

“I think so,” Remus said, the rat in his hand, his wand in the other. You and Sirius gathered around him. “On the count of three. One- two- three!” 

The spell was cast. For a moment, the rat was frozen in midair, twisting. Ron yelled out as the rat hit the floor. There was another flash of light, and then a man started sprouting out of what was a rat a moment ago. 

Standing there, wringing his hands, stood Peter. He looked terrible, hair thinning, skin hanging off of his frame. 

“Well, hello, Peter,” Remus said, deceptively pleasant. Although you knew it was fake, you wondered at how he could be so calm. Your hands were shaking with adrenaline. 

His beady eyes darted towards the door. “My- my old friends…” he said, voice squeaky. 

Sirius’ wand arm rose, but Remus grabbed his wrist, shooting him a warning look. He turned back to Peter. “We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night James and Lily died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed-” 

“Remus, you don’t believe him, do you? He tried to kill me…” 

Remus’ voice grew colder. "So we've heard. I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so-"

"He's come to try and kill me again!" Peter squeaked suddenly, pointing at Sirius. "He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too... You've got to help me…” He looked between you and Remus desperately. Disgust filled you as you stared at a man you had once considered a friend. Sirius and Remus must have felt that tenfold, and you could see it on their faces. Remus’ forced pleasantry was just an act for the children, while Sirius’ waxy face looked the very picture of a skull, his dark eyes a chasm. 

"No one's going to try and kill you until we've sorted a few things out," said Remus. Your capability of killing Peter was not in question. You knew you could. It would be almost easy, with the rage filling you. He had killed them, and denied it. He had let Sirius rot and felt no pity. You could cast the killing curse and mean it. 

"Sorted things out?" squealed Peter, beady eyes scanning the room. "I knew he'd come after me! I knew he'd be back for me! I've been waiting for this for twelve years!"

"You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?" Remus questioned. “When nobody has ever done it before?" Somehow, that thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You’d always believed in him when you were both younger, and you must still hold that faith. 

"He's got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of! How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!" Peter shouted. 

Sirius began to laugh coldly, his eyes betraying no humor. "Voldemort, teach me tricks?" he said. Peter flinched at the name.

That set Sirius off, turning and loudly telling the room how Voldemort’s supporters in Azkaban believed Peter- the double crosser- double crossed them.

“If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter-“ Sirius said, and you had no doubt that prospect delighted him. Honestly, it seemed good to you as well. 

"Don't know... what you're talking about...," said Peter again, voice shrill. He looked at you pleadingly. “Please, I’m innocent, you- you must believe me.”

"You lived as a rat for twelve years. That is not an act of an innocent man,” you said venomously.

"Innocent, but scared!" Peter squealed.. "If Voldemort's supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban- the spy, Sirius Black!"

You scoffed, and Sirius’ face contorted. "How dare you," he growled. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter- I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who'd look after you, didn't you? It used to be us... me and Remus... and James....” 

"Me, a spy... must be out of your mind... never... don't know how you can say such a- "

"Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Sirius hissed. "I thought it was the perfect plan... a bluff... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you.... It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters."

Peter was muttering to himself. Being a rat full time for twelve years did his mental state no favors it seemed. You noted his eyes darting between points of escape. 

"Professor Lupin?" said Hermione timidly. "Can- can I say something?"

 "Certainly, Hermione," said Remus kindly- as kind as he could be. 

"Well-  Scabbers- I mean, this- this man- he's been sleeping in Harry's dormitory for three years. If he's working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?"

"There!" said Peter shrilly. "Thank you! You see, Remus? I have never hurt a hair on Harry's head! Why should I?"

“You’re a coward,” you said evenly. “Voldemort is powerless, and Dumbledore is at Hogwarts. You- Peter- are a coward. Your cowardice killed my sister and her husband, and it’s what will kill you.” Peter gaped, opening his mouth and closing it several times. 

A moment passed, and Hermione spoke up once more. “Er- Mr. Black- Sirius?" 

Sirius jumped at his name, and stared at Hermione like she was particularly curious to him. 

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn't use Dark Magic?"

"Thank you!" gasped Peter, nodding frantically at her. "Exactly! Precisely what I- "

Remus silenced him with a look. Sirius was frowning slightly at Hermione, thinking of his answer. 

He said that his innocence was his salvation, and he only stayed sane because he held onto it. And his every word broke your heart. 

He said that when he found out Peter was alive, "it was as if someone had lit a fire In my head, and the dementors couldn't destroy it.... It wasn't a happy feeling, it was an obsession, but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog.... It's so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused.... I was thin, very thin... thin enough to slip through the bars.... I swam as a dog back to the mainland.... I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I've been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry...."

He looked at Harry, who did not look away.

"Believe me," croaked Sirius. "Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them."

Harry’s eyes softened, just slightly, before he stiffly nodded. 

Peter had fallen to his knees, shouting “No!” 

He shuffled forward on his knees, grovelling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.

"Sirius- it's me... it's Peter... your friend... you wouldn't- " Sirius kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled.

"There's enough filth on my robes without you touching them," said Sirius.

"Remus!" Peter squeaked, turning to Remus instead. "You don't believe this- wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?"

"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter," said Remus. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?" he said casually over Peter’s head. 

"Forgive me, Remus," said Sirius.

"Not at all, Padfoot, old friend," said Remus, and sensing his defeat, Peter crawled over to you. 

“He- he never said the plan changed. He never told you! He- he wouldn’t have thought you to be the- the traitor-“ He whimpered at your feet. You quickly stepped back. 

It was a good point, and you even had to think about it.

Then you remembered a grim conversation that happened so many years ago you had all but forgotten it. “I had told him not to tell me who it was. I knew- I thought I knew it was him, but I told him never to confirm it. I was the second most likely Secret-Keeper. If the Death Eaters were to capture me- I didn’t want to be able to give Sirius up. It was a loophole, if they used Veritaserum on me. Now, I will always wish I had been told.” 

You looked down at Peter and watched him scamper away to Ron’s side. You stiffened.

"Ron... haven't I been a good friend... a good pet? You won't let them kill me, Ron, will you... you're on my side, aren't you?” 

But Ron was staring at Peter, repulsed. "I let you sleep in my bed!"

"Kind boy... kind master..." Peter crawled toward Ron. "You won't let them do it.... I was your rat.... I was a good pet...." 

"If you made a better rat than a human, it's not much to boast about, Peter," said Sirius harshly. 

Ron, going white with pain, wrenched his broken leg out of Peter’s reach. Peter turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Hermione's robes.

"Sweet girl... clever girl... you-  you won't let them.... Help me...."

Hermione pulled her robes out of Peter’s grip and backed away against the wall, looking horrified.

Peter turned to Harry slowly, his body trembling uncontrollably. 

"Harry... Harry... you look just like your father... just like him...."

A jolt ran through your body, and then you were on the ground, your wand to Peter’s traitorous neck. Sirius had already began shouting. 

"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY? HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM? HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?"

Peter was trembling beyond control. “H- Harry,” he said, writhing to get closer to him. “James- James would have shown me- me mercy- he wouldn’t have wanted me ki- killed-“ 

Both Remus and Sirius strode forward as you shoved him to his back hard. 

"You sold Lily and James to Voldemort," Sirius said, hand shaking as he pointed it in accusation."Do you deny it?"

Peter burst into tears, cowering on the floor. In disgust, you stepped away from him. 

"Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord... you have no idea... he has weapons you can't imagine.... I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen.... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me-"

"DON'T LIE!" Sirius yelled. "YOU'D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!"

"He- he was taking over everywhere!" gasped Peter. "Wh- what was there to be gained by refusing him?"

"What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?" said Sirius, with a terrible fury in his face. "Only innocent lives, Peter!"

"You don't understand!" Peter whined."He would have killed me, Sirius!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Sirius. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

Silence reigned, and Sirius and Remus shared a look with each other. 

"You should have realised," said Remus quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

You went stock-still, and you and Harry glanced at each other fleetingly. And you stepped in front of Peter, despite wishing very much you were at the other ends of the wands. 

And Harry, too, stood in front of him. 

Sirius and Remus both staggered. 

“We’re not killing him,” you said evenly. 

Sirius let out a disbelieving noise. “He- he killed James and Lily. He is the reason that Harry has no parents. He would let both of you die- without a thought- to save himself-“ 

"I know," Harry panted. "We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the dementors.... He can go to Azkaban... but don't kill him."

Peter flung his arms around Harry’s legs, sputtering gratitude and Harry threw him off. 

“Get off me," he spat.. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because- I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers- just for you."

Sirius could not win Harry over, and he knew that. He saw the inherited Evans stubbornness, you knew it. 

So, he turned to you. 

“If he dies, Azkaban will be calling all three of our names. We’ve all committed some serious crimes,” you said. “Peter is our only proof. Besides, death is too swift. He’ll be tormented for the rest of his life.” 

Looking between you and Harry, Sirius hesitantly stepped aside, and Remus shortly followed. 

“I’ll tie him up,” you told Harry, and he nodded. Cords shot from your wand, tying him unnecessarily tight and gagging him. 

But if you transform, Peter," growled Sirius, his own wand pointing at Peter too, "we will kill you. You agree, Harry?"

Harry looked down at Peter and nodded so that he could see him.

“What do we do now?” Harry asked suddenly, looking around the room. Admittedly, it did not look good for anyone. The supposed dead man on the floor, the unconscious professor ten feet from him. 

“We can’t all go to Dumbledore,” you said. “You have to go explain, and bring him here. All of us going is too dangerous- the Dementors are still looking for Sirius, and Peter would have too much chance of escaping.”

“Use the Cloak,” Sirius said. 

Harry nodded. He had been exceptionally brave about all of the events that transpired, and you hated that he needed to be brave for even a minute longer. 

“Hermione?” He said, and the girl stepped forward, looking frightened but steady. 

They left for the castle through the tunnel, both looking back at the shack like they weren’t quite sure anything that had happened was real.

It would be a long wait. Through the boarded windows, you looked at Hogwarts' faint silhouette. 

From there, you saw the moon. It was covered by dusty clouds, but it was far too distinct. “Remus…” you said nervously. “Is today… the full moon?” 

Instantly, his expression turned to horror. 

“Did you take your-“ 

He shook his head, and without a word, bolted out of the room. His footsteps pounded against the old wood, and you heard the door burst open. 

Ron looked terrified, pale and clutching his leg, still in pain. Shock was probably setting in, and hearing of Remus’ transformation didn’t seem to help matters. 

You approached him, and he flinched as you touched his leg. “It’s a nasty break,” you said. “Nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t fix, though.” 

He nodded, looking nauseous, looking between his leg and his former rat on the floor. 

You patted his shoulder gently, and sat on the floor by Sirius. 

He looked over at you, grey eyes scanning you. “Alright?” He asked. You wanted to shake him up and down and scream. 

“Been better,” you said, glancing around the room. “I did not expect today to go like this.” 

Looking down at Peter, still alive, trembling like a leaf, Sirius said, “Me neither.” 

You looked at each other once more, before retreating to your own lines of sight. Unspoken words hung thick in the air, probably palpable to Ron, who awkwardly looked at his hands.

After a moment, you stood and looked at the window. You tried not to pace, but you were quite unsuccessful. It was also all too easy to start spiralling about the future, and the past, and the in-between bullshit that had just occurred. 

 It didn’t take very long for Dumbledore and the kids to arrive. The floorboards creaked loudly beneath you, announcing their presence. 

Both you and Sirius gripped your wands tightly, but the headmaster walked into the room ahead of Harry and Hermione, robes billowing. It was precisely the level of drama needed for the situation, you thought. 

Dumbledore stood, looking around the room, displaying no outward reaction. 

“I think,” he said carefully, “we ought to go to my office.”

…

Dumbledore got Madame Pomfrey to levitate Ron and Snape to the hospital wing. Ron complained, but with a silencing look from Hermione, he complied. 

McGonagall was called, and she was charged with watching Peter. For some reason, she was not informed of what she was walking into, and her face when she saw Sirius was gut wrenching. Dumbledore gave a brief explanation, and she took his word. She kept very careful watch of Sirius as everyone left, though. 

With a disillusionment charm on Sirius, your odd group was taken to Dumbledore’s office. It was a quite silent walk, with Hermione and Harry ahead, stooped to exit the tunnel. A Ravenclaw prefect gave your group an odd look, but it was Dumbledore, so she quickly continued her rounds. 

In the office, Dumbledore gave Sirius Veritasium. 

“Were you the Secret Keeper the night James and Lily Potter died?” Dumbledore asked calmly. 

“No,” Sirius gritted out. 

“To your knowledge, Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper?” He continued. 

“Yes.” 

“Did you ever give Order information to Lord Voldemort at any point in time?” 

“Never.” 

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. “I shall call the Ministry, explain the situation.” 

“What about Remus?” You asked quickly. 

“He will be fine,” Dumbledore said. “In the morning, I will make sure he is accounted for and given treatment for any injuries.” 

You exhaled and nodded. The following hours were a blur. 

Ministry officials came in swarms, questioning Sirius repetitively. Harry and Hermione were sent to the Hospital Wing, despite their audible protests. You thought it the best- they would be by their friend and be monitored by the Hawk’s eye that Madame Pomfrey possessed. You were questioned, too, several times, under the influence of Veritasium. 

Eventually, when dawn broke, it was done. Peter was being hauled off to Azkaban. 

“I wish I could see it,” you said to Sirius, standing in the empty Defense classroom. Light shone through the high windows. 

“I wish I had Avada’d him,” Sirius said, wistfully looking out the windows. 

“He’ll suffer,” you said. “You had your innocence to hold on to. All he has is guilt.” 

Sirius was silent, and rubbed his face. “Wise,” he commented. 

“That’s what the years do.” 

“He won’t last long,” he said. “I will be eagerly awaiting the Prophet issue that announces his death.” 

“I’ll frame it.” 

Chapter Text

“You don’t have anywhere to go,” you said, sitting at a desk. You and Sirius had just come back from the hospital wing. He had taken several potions for his malnourishment and minor wounds. All of the kids had been sleeping.  

“I still have my bank account…” he said. “Although it’ll probably take a while for me to be able to access it. I have Grimmauld Place… ” 

You looked at him, disbelieving. “You want to live alone? In that place?” The memories he had shared of that place were very rarely pleasant. You’d imagine that over the years, it had not gotten any better, though the exclusion of his family must help matters slightly. But you knew all too well the damage that memory could do to a person, and Sirius had gone through so much. He had been strong for so long, he shouldn’t have to anymore. 

“What?” he said hoarsely. “I- I don’t, I don’t know. Where else do I go? I don’t think many people are going to welcome me with open arms, even if they know I’m innocent.” 

“You can stay with us- me and Harry.” It was an easy decision. It was hardly a decision at all, you had been assuming his place would be with you, even after all those years. Though you had been separated, there was a bond that could not be severed, a cord that tied you with Sirius. His rightful place was with you. 

Sirius looked unsure. “Would he- would he want me there?” 

“Harry has so few male figures in his life that he can look up to. You’ll be good for him, and he’ll be good for you.” You said.

Sirius scoffed lightly. “I don’t think I’m much to look up to right now. Covered in rags…” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You can change your clothes, you know that, right?” 

“I can’t change who I am- and who I am- I don’t know who I am. But, I’m definitely not a role model.” Sirius said. He was right- he didn’t know who he was. He had been stunted at the age of twenty-one, but you knew who he could be, given the chance. 

“You can be, Sirius. I guarantee it. Just accept my hospitality.” 

He sighed, but didn’t seem genuinely put-out. A tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “But only because I desperately need a shower.” 

“Yes,” you agreed. “You really do.” 

…

So, he came home with you. He hugged Harry and you saw the hint of tears in his eyes after he pulled away. 

Then Harry enveloped you in a hug. “You’ll be okay?” He asked.  

“I’ll be fine,” you said, though you had no grasp on what you were currently feeling, nonetheless what you would feel with Sirius in your home. Then, Harry glanced at Sirius. He was wearing some of Remus’ clothes. It looked odd on him, the loose jumper and trousers. 

“Will he be okay?” Harry asked. Then, you felt a bit of pride for how you had raised him. He was a caring boy, above all else. Loyal and kind, even though few people had given him a reason to be. 

“Eventually. With time,” you replied. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” you repeated, smiling at your godson. 

He nodded, and you kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

You stepped back, looking at Sirius. “Ready?” 

He nodded. The two of you walked up to McGonagall's office, where you would be taking the Floo home. 

The walk was not long, but it felt much longer with him. The air was heavy. He was innocent. Why did his presence still feel like a threat? 

…

Sirius brushed off his clothes, stepping out of the fireplace. You brushed off your sooty palms and looked around the flat. 

“It’s not much,” you said. “And I wasn’t really expecting anyone… sorry.” Harry wouldn’t be home for a while, so the house was unkept. 

“It’s fine,” Sirius said, “it’s nice. Very you. ” 

You weren’t sure what that meant, and you didn’t ask. 

“Um, the bathroom is right here,” you said. “I know you got that cleaning spell done, but nothing beats a hot shower.” 

“Okay,” he said. He looked at you before he walked to the bathroom.“Thank you. For everything.”

“Oh. Of course.” 

He closed the door. You went to the kitchen and anxiously made tea. You drank your whole cup before he even came out of the bathroom. 

When he finally did, you were sitting in the living room, reading the same line of the Prophet over and over again, not absorbing any of it. He made no noise, but you looked up. His hair was wet, dampening the shoulders of his jumper. 

“I used your shampoo,” he said. “I smell lovely now.” 

“Anything would be an improvement,” you said, and he smiled a little bit. 

Gesturing for him to sit, you handed him his cup of tea. He raised it at you in thanks. 

He drank and you sat in your awkwardness. You wished that you could pick up where you left off. It would be so much easier if the years meant nothing. 

“This is awkward,” he said. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I don’t really know what to say.” 

He was quiet, contemplative, for a moment. “Tell me everything, then.” 

“What, everything that happened while you were…?” 

“Exactly.” He smiled. You could almost see his old self in that smile, when his eyes had light in them. “I have a lot to catch up on, it seems.” 

“Oh, only half of my life.” You said, and it came out much heavier than you expected. Clearing your throat uncomfortably, you barreled on. “Well, everything. Okay. I can do that.” 

And you did. You talked for hours with him. You did not sugarcoat anything, you narrated an autobiography for him. He did not cut in often, just enough to ask clarifying questions and to offer some comfort, that you immediately waved away. After all, what was your suffering to his?

He squeezed your hand once, and you tried not to think of it being violently ripped away. 

You talked your voice hoarse, and then watched the crackling fireplace. 

His face was lit by the flames, a flickering ghost of a face you knew. It was buried somewhere under there. 

He must have seen that in you, too. A ghost. 

There was nothing you could do, but reminisce and reconcile these two versions of each other. “I’m going to make dinner,” you told him. 

…

He slept in your bed. He fought you, of course. 

He hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep in years, not as a human, anyway. It was well-deserved. You slept in Harry’s bed, well aware that when he came home in a couple weeks, you would have to adjust the sleeping situation. But now, it didn’t matter. You were both comfortable. 

You woke up before Sirius, and you creeped through the open bedroom door. He was curled into himself under the covers, sleeping peacefully. He looked years younger, the stress of his life not weighing his whole being down. 

He did not wake up for another hour. You made him toast, while washing your own dish. 

“Sleep well?” You asked. 

“Very well,” he said. “You?” 

“Good, thanks. Butter or jam?” 

“Butter, please.” 

The sound of a knife scraping against bread filled the quiet room. A clock ticked on the wall, and it did not sound ominous anymore. 

Handing Sirius his toast, you pulled out a chair for yourself. As soon as you did, the post owl came with the Prophet. Sighing lightly, you got up and opened the window, placing money in the pouch. 

The front page was about Sirius and Peter. After glancing through the article, you handed it off to Sirius. Mouth full, he said, “they used an awful picture of me, didn’t they?” 

You chuckled. “I don’t think that will deter any journalists from seeking an interview with you.” 

Sirius scoffed, eyes running down the paper. “Then the end of my wand will.” 

It would probably tell them all they needed to know, you thought. Sirius read through the article and declared, “mostly accurate.” You nodded in satisfaction. 

“That’s good.” 

“It’ll be strange, being able to be a real person,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t even know what to do with myself.” 

You hummed. “Well, if you’re up to doing real person things, I need to buy groceries.” 

He huffed out a laugh. “Alright, sure.” 

“And we’re stopping somewhere to get you some new clothes. The jumpers don’t suit you.” 

His face twisted in mock outrage before falling with a laugh. “Can’t argue with you there. You wouldn’t happen to have my old leather jacket?” 

“I don’t,” you said, and he looked unsurprised. You’d donated it a few years after he’d gone to Azkaban. It had sat in your closet for so long like it was awaiting its owner. You were sure a muggle who got it from the charity shop was pleased with their purchase. 

“It’s alright. I can rebuild my wardrobe.” You wondered at his positive attitude, but you supposed your shitty flat and shitty company was heaven compared to Azkaban. 

“Fun,” you said dryly. “Remind me to get tomatoes.” 

…

“You need a haircut,” you told him. He was sitting on the couch, feet tucked under him, reading a music magazine from five years ago. You’d gone to the library with him, and he came out with stacks of incredibly random things. The librarian who checked you out had looked at you like you were slightly mad. 

He grumbled under his breath, not sparing you a glance. 

“Rude,” you remarked. 

He looked up then, sighing. “I hate going to the barber.” He ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. It was much cleaner than it was a week ago, when he first came home with you. 

“I know. I can cut it.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Uh huh. You’ve said that before, and you nearly killed me.” 

“I was fifteen ,” you lamented. “I’ve had many years of experience since. I do Harry’s hair. And-” you added, voice getting a little louder, as citing Harry’s untamed hair as a success was not quite a confidence booster, “I did not nearly kill you, your hair grew back nicely a week later.” 

“It was a hard week,” he replied, eyes sparkling in a way that made him look younger.

“Yeah, for your ego.” 

“Exactly!” 

“I like to think it was humbling. Maybe you needed it,” you shrugged. 

Sirius laughed, his voice still quite hoarse. “Fine, you can cut my hair.” 

“Great. Let me get the razor,” you said, walking briskly away. 

“Wait!” Sirius said, his voice sounding genuinely panicked. In the hallway, you paused, a shit-eating grin on your face. 

He just sighed as your laughing rang through the house. 

…

“Will you hold still?” 

“Too much! Too much!” 

You sighed. “Sirius, right now I’m just combing your hair.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

…

Sirius went as your dog when you picked up Harry from the train. Both of you decided it was for the best- Harry didn’t need more attention than he already got. Sirius bounded along on your side, and you couldn’t help but smile at his contagious excitement. 

He and Harry had seemed to get along. They both had something the other wanted, anyway. 

It was the same thing. They wanted James. 

Harry, with his messy hair and complexion, was the splitting image of James. Harry had heard it a million times. When you saw Sirius looking at him, in Dumbledore’s office, you could see the look in his eyes. It was like he was looking at something unreal. 

Sirius was everything you were not. You had been Lily’s best friend. Harry had heard a million stories of you and Lily growing up. He knew her more than he knew James. Sirius was a direct link to Harry’s father, a connection you knew he was longing for. 

It was a bit concerning to you that what they wanted out of each other was another person, but you knew it would come to pass. They wouldn’t get what they wanted, and learn what they truly needed was each other. 

Sirius followed you obediently through the station and through the brick wall. He did get a few looks, being such a big dog that closely resembled the Grim, but nobody knew he was Sirius Black, and that was what mattered. 

The two of you stood on the platform, crowded by loud families. It had been an exciting school year, you thought, looking at the black dog at your side. 

Finally, the red train came into the station, steam filling the air. Then, students flooded out, calling out names and hellos and goodbyes. You did not see Harry for some time. Sirius became impatient and put his large paw on your leg. Absentmindedly, you pet his shaggy head. 

When Harry did appear, head turned, talking to someone, Sirius did a spin. 

“Very dog-like,” you told him, and his tongue fell out of his mouth in something like a smile. 

As a dog, any timid behavior that Sirius had learned from his years in Azkaban went away. When Harry spotted you, and started to make his way to you, Sirius bounded up to him. 

Harry saw him, a little surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He smiled as Sirius jumped on him, his front paws on Harry’s shoulders. Harry sort of hugged him like a person, which looked a little strange, but you were sure delighted Sirius. 

You walked up to them, and Harry threw his arms around you. Smiling, you said, “surprise! I got you a puppy!”

Harry laughed. “I don’t think he’s a puppy anymore.” 

“You’re right. Did you say goodbye to all of your friends?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Actually, Ron invited me to the Quidditch World Cup with his family.” 

“Really?” 

He nodded, and launched into a detailed explanation of what they would be doing, and hardly pausing for breath, the rest of the summer plans he made. You listened as you guided him out of the station, and you could see Sirius’ ears perked. 

You took the muggle way home, having a dog and all. You could have found a secluded area to Apparate, but you were insecure in doing Side-Along with two others. 

The traffic was bad, and the ride was long. Somehow, you didn’t mind. 

…

When you looked at Harry and Sirius later that night, you could almost see what could have been, like a smudged reflection in glass.

When you had gotten home, Sirius turned into a human, cracking his joints and smiling at Harry. 

Harry, despite knowing of magic for his whole life, still found Animagi to be a little unsettling, and was a little awkward at first. You didn’t leave either of their sides, to be a middle-man of sorts. When the silence started, you broke it. Both of them seemed grateful for that. 

It was easier for them to become comfortable than it was for you and Sirius. They didn’t know each other, they had no normal between them. 

They bonded over Quidditch, which you definitely should have seen coming. While Harry was telling Sirius what teams were currently the best, you slipped out to make a quick dinner. 

When you poked your head back out, they were both laughing. They had clicked, somehow, in the approximately five minutes you’d been gone. Warmth filled your chest.

…

The sleeping arrangement was this- Harry had his room back. Sirius had tried to sleep on the couch. It had turned into a long winded argument that made you want to tear your hair out. He was stubborn. Chivalrously so, at least, which had not always been the case. 

A compromise had been made. You summoned a bed into your room and jammed it in there. It was a tight fit, hardly enough room to walk between the two beds. Sirius had offered relentlessly to move the bed to the living room. You told him that would interrupt the flow of the room. It was a lie, you didn’t have any particular thoughts about the flow of the room. You just wanted him to be comfortable. 

The first few weeks of Harry being home slowly became a comfortable routine. You made breakfast in the morning and Harry meandered out of his room before it went cold. Sirius did the crossword and hardly ever finished it. On days you had work, you kissed Harry’s head and told Sirius to not get in trouble. He always had a variation of the reply, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” 

On the days you stayed home, Harry often had somewhere to be. He was a teenager, which you were becoming increasingly aware of. You ushered him off to those places, and then did your chores at home. Sirius lingered by you, pestering you by asking if he could help. You usually didn't let him. He was becoming familiar to you again. The two of you were learning about the other once more. It was slow and delicate, and there were things that you didn’t talk about. 

But Sirius was becoming an integral part of your family. He was a missing puzzle piece. It hurt to think about how you had lost that time, those twelve years in which you had felt a gaping hole in your chest. 

Sirius was getting better physically, too. He was stronger, and was gaining some much needed weight. Mentally, he seemed surprisingly sound. Of course, there were vacant stares and times where he jumped a foot when you walked into a room without him noticing and spoke. But he smiled and talked to Harry and told you to not worry. You worried, you worried very much, but it was a tiny bit reassuring. 

His mental well-being was why you had avoided bringing out photo albums. Yes, they were good memories, but good memories were often insulting to people who have lost so much. Thinking of a time where they had felt so much joy, had not held so much pain, was painful in itself. So, you asked Sirius if he would like to sit with you and Harry and show his godson old photos and tell stories. His answer was a resounding yes. 

He sat on your bed as you gathered photo albums from beneath it. 

Dropping an armful of them on your bed, he raised his eyebrows. “Should we look through these before showing Harry? Some of the pictures of us are definitely not PG.” 

Face turning hot, you shook your head. “Those are some place deep in my closet.” 

“Never took them out for a quick look?” He teased. 

“Well, I wasn’t trying to get off to a mass murderer, was I?” You said, tone light. He actually grinned as he picked up the photos for you. 

As you walked into the living room, you wished he had not brought up your past relationship. It was the first time the two of you had discussed it, even in brief passing. Before you could analyze it, though, you and Sirius sat down on both sides of Harry. 

First, you put down the thick scrapbook titled “seventh year”. The very same one that Harry found and learned of your relationship with Sirius. Harry raised his eyebrows at you, but said nothing. 

You flipped past the first few pages of muggle photographs of Hogwarts, and briefly looked at you and Lily on holiday at a blindingly sunny beach. The next photo was the offending photograph, which Sirius laughed at as you came to it. 

“Very tasteful,” he said. 

“Extremely,” you agreed. There were few pictures beside that, and most of them were of you and Sirius. You cleared your throat a little uncomfortably. 

Harry rolled his eyes and flipped the page. 

The next photos were of Sirius and James, looking quite battered. Underneath the photo, you had scrawled, “ A little Quidditch accident. Effie yelled at them. It was hysterical.” 

Sirius smiled. “I remember that. James crashed into a tree because I grabbed the back of his broom. Then he went and told his mum on me.” He looked back down at the photo. “At that point, though, she was my mum, too, in all the ways that mattered. She and your grandfather took me in, you know, when I was sixteen.” 

“You ran away?” Harry asked. 

“My parents were not exactly the kind of people that should have been raising children, to put it lightly.” 

Harry just nodded. He knew that was a story for another day. 

The next photos were taken on the train. It was taken by you- you weren’t in the frame. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were all posing for the camera, smiling. There were mountains of sweets on their lap from the trolley. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sirius’ jaw tighten. You quickly flipped the page. 

The next page was dedicated to James and Lily, and their status and Head Boy and Girl. The first photo, they held up their badges, grinning. The second was a photo of their common room. Sirius sighed wistfully. “That common room,” he said. “Best thing that ever happened to us.” 

“That room should have been more regulated,” you said. “It was a free for all.” 

The next page confirmed that, as it was a photo of a party thrown in that very room. 

You continued to flip through the book, pausing now and then for anecdotes. Harry stayed quiet as he absorbed the knowledge of his parents with fervour. 

You went through three photo books before you decided to call it a night. The exhaustion of recalling had gotten to you, and likely Sirius as well. He looked tired, although that was not exactly new for him. His time in prison gave him permanent dark circles. 

After you’d wished Harry good night and put away the books, you crawled into bed, and fell asleep listening to the increasingly familiar sound of Sirius breathing next to you. 

…

It was so dark when you opened your eyes that you thought they were still closed. Then, they adjusted to decipher between the darker grays and the blacks. There, on the bed five feet from yours, was Sirius’ form. It was not still, as it should have been. That’s when you discovered the reason for your awakening. Faint whimpers came from him, and he trembled like he was freezing. 

Leaning over your bed, you saw his face. It was pale with a sheen of silver sweat. Leaning over, you touched his shoulder. He shuddered. “Sirius,” you whispered, your voice loud in the silence. 

He groaned, low and quiet in his throat, and you saw his eyes open. In the darkness, all you could see was the shadow of him, and the whites of his eyes. 

He blinked a few times. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to-” 

Interrupting, you said, “you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

There was a stretch of silence. It went on so long you would have thought he went back to sleep, if not for the whites of his eyes. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You suggested hesitantly. 

“Couldn’t hurt.” 

“Most people say it helps.” 

He hummed in agreement. “I’ve had this nightmare since the night I went into Azkaban.” He said. “Azkaban- everything you’ve ever heard about it- it’s worse than that. It’s so cold there. Dementors, they suck all the warmth out of a day. I didn’t see the sun for all those years. It was always overcast, and usually storming.” 

He paused, the mattress shifting. “The first night was the worst night of my life. The first terrible night of many. I was freezing, I was completely soaked to the bone, too. Nobody cared if I lived or died.” He exhaled shakily. “Neither did I.” 

You longed to squeeze his hand in some sort of comfort. 

“I fell asleep, and then I thought I woke up. I was in the cell, it was cold, I could hear the screaming. Then, the screaming grows louder, and louder, and I can hear that it’s Lily and James. Then I see the green light, and I see them. On the ground. Then-“ his breath caught, “then I see you, pointing your wand at me. Screaming and crying about what I did. That’s when I wake up.” 

He continued, “it always feels so real. And every time, I go back to that night. I wake up and I can feel their blood on my hands over, and over again.” 

“Sirius, it’s not your fault. You spent so many years being told it was your fault.” 

“It is my fault. I trusted him-“ 

“We all did.” 

“No, I trusted him, and I was stupid enough to go after him.” 

Your mouth had already been open to respond to another retort about how he was guilty, and you snapped it shut as he continued. “I left and I only thought of revenge. I was a fool. The best revenge would have been to live. To live and know he was suffering behind bars. To- to raise Harry with you.” His voice broke off. 

“I don’t blame you,” you said, your voice quiet. You couldn’t blame him. You were sure you would have been blinded with rage if you knew the truth from the start. It still simmered in your body, months after learning it. “And Peter will live the rest of his life, knowing that you are here.” His hand was still in yours, warm and reassuring. 

“I wish that it came earlier,” he said, and it crushed your heart. “I missed your life.” 

“You’ll make up for it,” you said, and your eyes filled with tears. 

“How?” 

“Just stay.” 

He chuckled slightly. “You’re sure you want me around? I’m miserable company.” 

“Good thing I’m also miserable company. It cancels out.” 

He laughed, and you smiled in the darkness. It grew quiet again. There were things you wanted to say, to ask. You couldn’t bring yourself to. You just needed him near. 

“Come here,” you said. 

“What?” 

“Lay next to me.” You said. “If, if you want- you don’t have to-“ He got up, sitting on the edge of your mattress. 

“You sure?” He asked softly. 

“Lay down, Black,” you said. He exhaled a quiet laugh, and did as you said. 

He took your hand as he got under the covers. Squeezing it, you said, “it’s gonna be okay.” 

“I know,” he replied. 

… 

You woke up and he looked like Sirius.

Nothing really changed. He looked as he did the day before. That morning, he hummed along to the radio and he made breakfast. He burnt the toast, and Harry pretended it wasn’t ash in his mouth. 

You woke up and you held no resentment towards him. He had left. He came back. He looked for revenge and found a semblance of contentment. 

And you could not fault him for that. 

You could, however, fault him for being a horrible chef. “Sit down,” you instructed. “And Harry, stop being nice. Toast is not supposed to be crumbly.” 

“You said we have to be nice to guests,” said Harry. “I am being courteous.” 

“He stopped being our guest about a month ago. Now he’s just a freeloader.” 

“And proud!” Sirius added, leaning back in his chair, grinning. “You really say the kindest things to me.” 

“I am deeply charitable,” you said. “Which is why, at my earliest convenience, I’m sending you to a cooking class.” 

He smiled, the corners of his gray eyes crinkling. It was hard not to smile back. 

Then, you knew. You still loved him. That was a truth that had lingered throughout your mind for twelve years, becoming the forefront of your mind for the past month. But now, you could make peace with it, in a way you never could before. 

As you handed Harry some non-burnt toast, an owl flew through the open window. It flew to Sirius, and he curiously unravelled a letter from its leg. He patted the owl in thanks, and it flew off. 

You watched as he opened the letter. His eyes followed the lines, and he raised his eyebrows. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

“All of my vaults have been reinstated,” he said. 

“Oh,” you said. It was good, you supposed. He was in the process of becoming a member of society again. But rather than happiness for him, like it should have been, your first thought had been, what does this mean for us?

It was selfish. At your extended pause, he looked at you expectantly. “That’s good,” you said, voice hopefully portraying an appropriate level of enthusiasm. 

He nodded. You withered. 

…

“I’m not leaving,” he said, in the afternoon, during the middle of an intense game of wizarding chess. “If you don’t want me to, I mean. Just- just this morning, you seemed upset.” 

You made your move. “I’m not trying to hold you back. If you want to leave, you can. I would understand.” You would. He had missed so much, it would make sense for him to want to try to get it back. 

“I don’t want to leave,” he said. “Ever, preferably.” 

You stared. 

He continued, undeterred by the blank look that was masking hope. “You’re my family. Harry is my family- the only one I have left. I can’t leave you behind. I’ll be who you want me to be, it doesn’t have to be romantic. I just want to stay.” 

Your heart got stuck somewhere in your throat. Dislodging it took a few long seconds. “Sirius, I- I love you. You must know that. I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Then I won’t,” he said, smiling. “I love you, too, by the way, if it wasn’t obvious.” 

… 

He slept in your bed, sometimes. It was really the only change between the two of you, after you told each other you loved the other. His nightmares were somehow soothed by your presence. 

You held his hand and his whimpers faded. 

Sometimes, you still woke up with his hand in yours. 

…

Harry’s birthday was the happiest it had been in years. It was at the Burrow, the whole house overrun with teenagers. 

For you, it was still a reminder of all you had lost, but with Sirius by your side, it felt better. More whole. 

Molly meeting Sirius was interesting. Of course, her initial reaction was shock. He had been a murderer in her eyes for so very long, it was quite understandable. 

He did manage to get in her good graces, however. You could tell by how she piled food onto his plate a mile high, saying he was much too thin. 

When everyone was wrangled in the backyard to sing Happy Birthday, you leaned on Sirius, smiling at your godson. After, Arthur took a picture of the three of you on his new Muggle camera. 

… 

Harry went to the World Cup. Sirius took you house hunting. 

“I’ve got my vaults back, now I want to do some good.” 

“By buying me a house,” you said flatly. 

“By buying us a house. I am not entirely selfless.” 

“Still, half the responsibility would be mine, I can’t let you buy a whole house by yourself.” 

He paused in the middle of the pavement. “Love, I am filthy rich. I could buy thirty houses and hardly make a dent in my vaults. Please, let me do this.” 

You looked at him and pretended your cheeks weren’t hot. “Fine.” 

“Okay!” He said cheerfully. 

… 

“This is the one,” you said. 

It was a tall house with four bedrooms, and large windows. The kitchen and dining area was huge, and everything felt homey. It had lots of land as well, a massive backyard. It was a place you could see yourself living in. With Sirius. 

The thought still made you feel a bit dizzy, like you were a lovesick teenager again. You weren’t, you were an incredibly rational adult who had raised a child. 

In your defence, however, the man you were a little bit lovesick over knew you so well. As you told him the house was the one, he grinned. “I know,” he said. “I already made an offer.” 

…

Harry was very excited about moving. His room would be bigger. The moment he saw his room, his face split into a grin that erased any issues you had with your pride about Sirius buying the house. The smile you directed at Sirius rivaled Harry’s. 

Remus helped you move. “How many blankets do you need?” He grumbled. 

“How many jumpers do you need?” You shot back, piling another blanket into his waiting arms. 

Sirius whisked him away, guiding him, since he could not see past the large pile in his hands. 

Harry stood next to you, holding a small box. “I wish we could use magic,” he said. 

“Muggles are around,” you said. The house was in a muggle town. “ And you’re underage.” 

Harry groaned as he put the box down. 

He looked at you. 

“Are you and Sirius together?” He asked bluntly. You choked on your next inhale. 

“What?” You sputtered. “Where’d you get that idea?” 

“He’s buying us a house…” 

“Yeah…” 

“And he sleeps in your bed most nights…” 

“Right…” You pursed your lips. “It’s complicated.” 

Harry looked at you as if you were particularly strange. “I really don’t think it is.” 

Crossing your arms, you said, “do you want to talk about my love life, or do you want to move into your new house?” 

He did not look chastened enough. “Move,” he replied. 

“Go take that box then,” you instructed. He muttered unhappily but did as you said. 

In his wake, he left behind a lot for you to think about. 

You didn’t want to hurt Harry. He was a teenager, so it wasn’t like you would confuse him by being with Sirius. However, he needed Sirius, too, just as much as you did. They had become very close over the summer, and if anything went wrong between you and Sirius, that could jeopardise that. But somehow, you could not see anything going very wrong with the two of you. 

It had been so many years. Even in your school years, there had been bumps along the road. He had been troubled, and honestly, so had you. Nobody in life makes it out unscathed, and the two of you were very good examples of that. 

There would always be problems. But now, you knew that you could outlast them, and work through them. 

Life is short. 

You continued to pack.

… 

Sirius stood in one of the guest bedrooms. When he heard you enter, he turned around. “Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi.” The room was unfurnished besides a bed frame and a mattress without sheets. The walls were painted a light blue. It used to be a nursery. 

“This place is really great,” he said. “Harry seems happy.” 

“He is. He’s already talking about having Ron and Hermione over.” 

Sirius smiled. “Of course.” He looked back out of the window that looked out into a park. The house was quiet. 

You were not graceful. You blurted, “are we dating?” 

It sounded immature. There was no better way to phrase it. You felt sixteen. 

He turned, blinking rapidly. You barreled on. “I understand we have needed time. I needed time to come to terms with all of this. It wasn’t easy. But it was easy to love you, and I do. Love you. I just- want to be clear where I stand.” 

He took two steps forward, and was in front of you. He placed his hand on your cheek. “I love you,” he said. “I wanted you to be sure. And I wanted to be sure you weren’t doing this out of pity.” 

“I want you. I want you with me. Believe me, if I didn’t, you would know it.” 

He laughed lightly. “I know.” 

Your voice lowered to a whisper. “Then why haven’t you kissed me?” 

He smirked. Carefully, his head tilted, and his lips met yours. 

It was soft. One of his arms slipped around your waist, holding you delicately. He deepened the kiss, and you were sighing into it. It was the feeling of comfort, draping over you. 

When his lips parted from yours, he said, “I’ve missed you.” 

You hugged him, hand at the back of his neck, carding into his hair. “You have me.” 

…

The house was beautiful. It was full of everything you loved. 

You woke up next to Sirius, his head nestled into the crook of your neck, his messy hair all over your face. After you’d finished moving in, you had held no pretense of separate rooms. The conversation with Harry about the nature of your relationship had been very short. 

The two of you had sat in the dining room during dinner, amongst half-empty boxes and the feeling of giddiness in your chest. It had only been about a week since Harry had bluntly asked if you and Sirius were dating. 

“Harry, um, we wanted to tell you something,” you said, glancing at Sirius, who was like his name. 

“Hm?” Harry said absently, taking a drink from his cup. 

“Sirius and I, we are… together,” you said, wincing. 

Harry looked at you. “That's it?” 

Sirius frowned. “Um, yes.” You said slowly. 

“Okay,” Harry said. “I thought that was pretty common knowledge. Especially to me.” 

“ Especially? ” Sirius intoned. 

“ To you? ” You said. “You’re the first and only person we told. We haven’t even said anything to Remus.” 

“Well I doubt he’ll be surprised,” Harry replied, smirking a little bit. “And I overheard Mrs. Weasley talking about the two of you. Nothing bad,” he clarified. 

Making a face, you asked, “what did she say?” 

Harry snorted. “That you’ve been sad and pining for him for years and she’s happy that you’re happy with him.” 

That was actually very sweet, and quite a bit nicer than you had been expecting. Molly was a dear friend of yours, but she was a very big gossip. 

“Harry, you’re very honest,” Sirius observed, and Harry shrugged affably. “You’re okay with this, though?” Sirius asked. 

“Yes.” 

Sirius blinked at his easy answer, and you rolled your eyes. “Did you expect to have to fight for my hand?” You teased. 

The side of his lip quirked up. “I don’t really know what I was expecting,” he said. “Do you let any strange man date your godmother?”

“Only if the strange man is my godfather,” Harry said. Sirius smiled in the way he only does when he is reminded that he has a family again. You squeezed his hand. 

The week after that had been easy, light. Being with Sirius was easy. 

You loved him so much. And you told him everyday, making up for lost time. It was impossible to say it enough. Everytime he replied in kind, you realised that it didn’t matter how often you said it, the words never lost power. They stayed as poignant as ever. 

After untangling yourself from Sirius, and pulling the covers back around him, you made your way downstairs. The sun had just risen. The sky was pink. 

There was so much to do. So many possibilities.