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“My...what?”
“Your Godfather,” the man--Sirius--repeated. Harry shook his head, baffled and completely out of his depth. He didn’t have a godfather. After his parents, he didn’t have anyone at all. That’s why he ended up stuck with the Dursleys in the first place--he was alone.
“I don’t have a godfather,” Harry insisted. Sirius shook his head, flinging a few water droplets from his long, tangled hair.
“You do, Harry. Your father and I were very good friends. He made me your godfather before you were even born,” Sirius looked at Harry pleadingly. “I was supposed to take you when James and Lily...when they…”
“Died.”
Sirius flinched a bit. Harry suddenly remembered the awful howling the dog had made when Harry brought up his dead parents--the dog that was, in reality, the man standing before him. It was a sound of true despair, one that matched the sudden look of grief that flitted over Sirius’s sunken face. Maybe...maybe he was telling the truth, after all.
“Yes,” Sirius rasped. “I was supposed to take you, but something...something happened. I was arrested for something I didn't do, and Dumbledore placed you with Lily’s sister.”
“You went to prison?” Harry asked. The thought occurred to him to raise his wand again, but again, he couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that he wasn’t in danger. Harry knew what danger truly was. He knew the double-time beat of his heart and the pain in his head when he faced Quirrell amidst the fire; he knew the acidic burn of basilisk venom in his blood. He’d touched Ginny’s clammy hands in the chamber, as she was a whisper away from death.
This was nothing like that. Sirius didn’t feel like a danger as a human any more than he had as a dog--which was not at all.
“It’s a very long story,” Sirius said tiredly. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten--you need to eat, Harry. How about...how about we find somewhere to eat, and I promise, I’ll answer any question you ask.”
Harry’s stomach growled at the mention of food. He nodded.
“I’ll need to clean up before we go,” Sirius said, waving a hand at himself. “I’ll attract far too much attention like this.”
It was then Harry realized why Sirius’s face was familiar.
“You were on the muggle telly!” Harry said. Sirius nodded.
“I’m not surprised. The Minister must have informed Muggle law enforcement of an Azkaban escapee. Leaving out a couple important details, of course.”
“Azkaban?”
“Wizarding prison,” Sirius supplied. “I’ve been there since you were a baby.”
“...But, innocent, right?”
Sirius nodded. “I didn’t do what they think I did.” He promptly changed the subject. “How are you at transfiguration?”
“Not terrible, why?”
“I need to change these robes into something else. Something less manky and more muggle.” He fiddled with a few matted strands of hair. “I’ll probably need to cut my hair as well. You can do it, if it makes you more comfortable. But I admit, I’ve already used your wand.”
Harry blinked. “You have?”
Sirius nodded. “I put up anti-muggle detection spells while you were in the bathroom, to prevent you from being found by the motel owner while you slept. I renewed them this morning as well, before you woke up.”
Harry remembered finding the dog with his wand in its mouth. Wordlessly, Harry handed Sirius his wand. The man looked surprised.
“I don’t know how to do those spells you need,” Harry explained. “Besides, if you wanted to kill me, I reckon you could have done it already.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed. “I’ll never hurt you Harry.”
With that promise, Sirius waved Harry’s wand at his clothes with a practiced hand. The ragged robes turned into dark, worn jeans, a grey tee shirt, and a thick, patched black jacket. Several more spells were aimed at his hair. Harry guessed he was trying to untangle it, if the way he kept trying to brush through it with his fingers between spells was any indication. Finally, Sirius swore under his breath.
“Diffindo,” Sirius slashed Harry’s wand almost viciously. The spell sliced clean through tangled locks of black hair, sending them falling to the motel room floor. After a couple repetitions, Sirius’s hair was cropped just above his shoulders. Sirius easily untangled what remained before vanishing the cut hair on the floor, looking vaguely upset as he did so. Then, he handed Harry back his wand.
“Right then,” Sirius said. “Let’s find breakfast, shall we?”
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Sirius tried his hardest not to stare at the young boy sitting across from him at the rickety diner table. On the surface, it would be almost too easy to mistake Harry for a young James; he had the same skin tone, same tousled mess of dark curls, same jaw, and the same nose as James had had when he and Sirius were young, in the times before everything had gone to hell. However, Sirius could see Lily in Harry’s eyes--green as grass, where James’s had been dark hazel--and though Harry had James’s lips, the smile was all Lily--crooked and sweet and, if the boy was anything like his mother, hiding a devilish wit that surprised people.
(Unlike James, who wore his mischievous nature like a badge for all to see, Lily had an outward appearance of innocence and a mild manner, but it hid a wicked sense of humor and a fiery temper. She and Remus were birds of a feather, they were.)
(No, don’t think of Remus. Not him. Anyone but him.)
(Remus)
(Remus. Remus. Remus)
(Merlin, I’m so sor--)
“Sirius?”
The small voice snapped Sirius back to the present. Harry sat across from him still (had Sirius expected him to be gone, for this all to be a dream?), fiddling with the plastic menu and looking at Sirius strangely, a mix of concern and apprehension. Sirius scolded himself for drifting again.
“Sorry, Harry,” Sirius sighed. “I’m afraid I keep getting a little lost in the past.”
“You were kinda staring at me.”
Sirius reached up and tugged at a lock of his newly brushed, newly cut hair. “Again, I’m sorry. You know, I expect you’ve heard this before, but you look so much like your parents. I almost feel 13 again just looking at you. But nevermind that. I know you have questions.”
Harry nodded, straightening his glasses. “Uh, you said you and my dad were friends. How did you meet?”
Sirius managed a bit of a smile at the memory. “I met him on the train to Hogwarts, when I was eleven. We were in the same year, and were both sorted into Gryffindor. We were very fast friends; I would visit him and your grandparents on holidays, and when I was 16, I left my own family and moved in with the Potters.”
Harry’s eyes widened, sitting forward in rapt attention. “You did? Why did you run away?”
Sirius thought about his answer carefully. “Much the same reason you ran away from home last night, I think.”
Oh, Sirius remembered every little word of what Harry had said about his aunt and uncle. Rage simmered in Sirius’s veins if he dwelt on it too long--rage and guilt--and really, Harry had said so little. However, Sirius could recognize the signs, the invisible scars that kind of battle left on someone. Sirius kept his expression open while he thought, and he saw Harry come to a realization in kind.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. Sirius shook his head vigorously.
“You don’t have to apologize, Harry, not for anything,” Sirius insisted earnestly. “I’m the one who should apologize. If I had been there for you like I should have been, you would have never had to go with them in the first place. I should have protected you. James trusted me to look after you. But I failed, Harry, and you paid the price.”
Harry stared down at the table. He was silent, but Sirius could see him trying to absorb all of this, puzzling it out.
“You were in prison,” Harry said. “That’s why you couldn’t take me instead of the Dursleys.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Sirius could hear it anyway. They’d come to it at last, the big question hanging over them all morning. Why Sirius had gone to Azkaban in the first place.
“I was,” Sirius said. “And you want to know why.”
Biting his lip, Harry nodded.
“I’m afraid it’s a very, very long story. And not a happy one, towards the end”
Harry, to his credit, didn’t back down. “Tell me.”
Sirius did.
He told him everything, from his past with James to them going into hiding, and needing a secret keeper. He told him of the switch, how they told not a soul, even Dumbledore, even Remus. How Peter betrayed them, and framed Sirius before faking his death.
The only omission he made was Peter’s current location, with a Hogwarts student. He didn’t want to frighten Harry with the knowledge that Pettigrew was so close. He’d find a way to tell him in due time, if it came to that.
By the time Sirius had finished the whole tale, start to finish, Harry was picking at his breakfast, which had come partway through Sirius’s story, not really eating, just stirring the runny part of his eggs with the corner of his toast. His brow was crinkled in contemplation, a thoughtful frown on his face. He looked up from his plate to Sirius.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” He asked. It didn’t sound accusing, but curious, hesitant, and almost...hopeful.
“Harry.” Sirius leaned forward to meet Harry’s gaze solemnly. “The Potters were the only real family I’ve ever known. Your parents were everything to me. You, still, are everything to me. I would have rather died than betray them, or you. I swear on their memory, Harry. I’m telling you the truth.”
For a few moments, the two of them just looked at each other, Sirius waiting out Harry’s searching gaze, his heart beating anxiously in his chest, praying Harry believed him. Finally, Harry gave a wordless nod.
Sirius felt a huge surge of relief, greater than he’d ever thought possible. Someone believed him . And not just someone-- his godson believed him. Sirius blinked his stinging eyes, unprepared for the effect Harry’s faith would have on him.
“C’mon, eat your breakfast,” Sirius choked out, his voice even rougher than usual. He tried to clear his throat discreetly, and probably failed. Mercifully, if Harry noticed Sirius’s emotion, he didn’t acknowledge it in favor of eating his toast and taking a long drink of the hot chocolate Sirius had ordered him.
“You need to eat too,” Harry insisted, pointing at Sirius’s untouched meal.
“I’m not very hungry,” Sirius said. Harry leveled an unimpressed look at him in between bites of bacon.
( “Padfoot, I swear on Merlin’s pants, if we lose this match against Hufflepuff because one of my best players passes out from malnutrition…” James shook his head, shoveling more food onto Sirius’s plate. “Now stop making goo-goo eyes at Moony and eat your eggs.” )
Sirius pushed the memory down, along with the familiar sting of grief. Instead he slathered his toast with a generous amount of marmalade, the way he used to like it. The sweetness of the fruit spread was almost overwhelming after so long of the plain meals in Azkaban, the ones he barely had the stomach to eat most of the time. Dementors really did a number on the appetite. He shook off that thought as well, taking another bite and focusing entirely on the zest of citrus on his tongue.
“Oh! Did those just…move?” Harry exclaimed, drawing Sirius out of his head.
Harry was looking with wide eyes at Sirius’s right forearm. His sleeve, too big for his emaciated wrists, had slid down to his elbow. Blinking, Sirius held out his arm for Harry to see better.
“You mean my tattoos?” Sirius asked, and Harry nodded in wonder.
Sirius had lots of tattoos, all over his chest and arms. Some were muggle–among the first, actually–but others were magical, and the ink was enchanted to dance across the skin. One such tattoo was a line of footprints that circled his wrist, like a pair of feet walking in an endless circle around the skin. Across his forearm, of course, a few inked animals played, chasing each other back and forth: a wolf and a dog, a rat and a stag. Further up his arm, the added doe joined in occasionally, but spent most of her time on the other side of his arm, just below his elbow.
“Where is she going?” Harry leaned out of his seat just a bit, watching the inked doe move to Sirius’s inner arm, obscured by the table. Wordlessly, with a bit of a lump in his throat, Sirius turned his arm over to show him.
Just below his elbow, on his inner arm, was a magical tattoo of a fawn, a bed of wildflowers beneath its little hooves. The little thing rose to his feet as his mother approached, taking a couple of wobbly steps in his flowery cradle. The only part of the tattoo that didn’t move where the numbers below it: 7.31.1980
“My birthday,” Harry murmured, seemingly to himself. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch the fawn as it was nuzzled fondly by the doe.
“Yes,” Sirius agreed, smiling faintly. “I got it for you, when you were only a couple weeks old.”
“For me? Really?”
“Of course,” Sirius trailed his thumb over the edge of the tattoo. “I…I know I’m a stranger to you, Harry. And in some ways, I guess you are to me, too. But I was there the day you were born. I knew I loved you the moment I saw you. Even before your dad asked me to be godfather, I knew I’d do anything for you.”
Harry was quiet for a long moment, staring at the little fawn on Sirius’s arm. Slowly, the boy slid his hand forward, tentatively brushing his fingertips over the fawn’s spotted body before coming to rest over his birthday, inked on pale skin. Sirius startled when Harry looked up, revealing his eyes to be shiny with unshed tears.
“Sorry, sorry! That was probably a lot, huh? Too much; I should’ve known—”
Harry shook his head. “No, that’s not…It’s not that. It’s just…” Harry wiped his eyes quickly with the hand not on Sirius’s arm.
“Just what?” Sirius prompted gently, when Harry trailed off. The boy laughed, a bit sadly, his gaze falling back to the table.
“That’s the first time anyone’s said that…that they love me.”
Harry’s words, though quiet and almost embarrassed, hit Sirius like a punch in the gut. He wanted to pull Harry to his feet and hug him tight; he wanted to wrap him up in shields, to take him so far away he could never be hurt again. Not by cruel relatives or dark wizards or school bullies or anything, ever again.
Instead, he put his free hand over Harry’s, squeezing gently.
“Harry,” he rasped. “You deserved so much better.”
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Harry scuffed his worn shoe against the pavement, looking out at the now bustling street as people commuted to work on the mild August morning. Despite enjoying the feeling of a full stomach for the first time in a while, anxiety was heavy in his chest as Sirius fell into step beside him, the door to the diner closing behind him with a chime.
He didn’t know what would happen now. Sirius had assured him over breakfast that it was incredibly unlikely that he was expelled over a bit of accidental magic, especially given the…current situation.
“Everybody still thinks I’m guilty, that I was a traitor,” Sirius had explained solemnly. “People will think that you’re in danger, with me about. They’ll want you at Hogwarts now more than ever.”
Before the revelation that he had a godfather, his working plan was to get to London, to Diagon Alley. If he hadn’t been expelled, maybe he could stay there until term started, and if he was, well, he could at least pull money from Gringotts and try to figure something out.
But Sirius changed everything. Here was someone who cared about him, someone who his mum and dad had once trusted to look after him. They’d wanted him to go to Sirius if anything had happened. Sirius was someone he always should have had.
And now, even though they’d just met, Harry did not want to leave him.
“What do we do now?” Harry asked. Sirius frowned.
“I should figure out how to get you to the Leaky Cauldron,” he said. “I’m just not sure how close I can get; they’ll definitely be watching for me. All of Magical Great Britain is on high alert.”
Harry bit his lip, hard.
“Do I have to?” He asked meekly. Harry didn’t consider himself particularly shy—but he had no idea how to do this. How to ask for what he wanted.
Sirius looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Well…can’t I just…stay with you?”
“Harry, I…” Sirius sighed. “I’d love that, but…I’m a fugitive. I don’t even know where I’m going to stay, or, or what’s going to happen. You’d be safe at Diagon Alley, and—“
“Please,” Harry cut him off, a rising desperation in his chest. He didn’t care if it was childish; he didn’t care if it was stupid. “I don’t want you to go. Please don’t make me leave.”
There was a long, anxiety-inducing silence as Harry and Sirius looked at each other, Harry looking beseeching and his godfather conflicted. Finally, Sirius spoke.
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. There’s still 3 more weeks until school starts,” Sirius said. “I will try and find a safe place for you and I to stay until then. But if I can’t find anything by tonight, you have to go to Diagon Alley. And no matter what, you have to go back to Hogwarts on the 1st of September. Okay?”
Harry hesitated. “You’ll try your hardest to find somewhere, right?”
Sirius crouched down to his level, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise. I want you to stay with me Harry, I truly do. But I need you to be safe above anything.” He paused. “Even if you do have to go do Diagon, it will not be goodbye. We’ll find a way to keep in contact. I don’t want to lose you either. Deal?”
Harry wondered at how Sirius had cut right to the root of his fears. Despite everything, he found a small smile crossing his face.
“Okay. Deal.”