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Chapter Text

August, The Dursleys

Harry pulls at the neck of his shirt, coughing in the cramped cupboard. It should be impossible that it is so dark and yet still so hot in here.

He can hear Aunt Petunia pulling things out of cabinets and drawers in the kitchen. Probably getting ready to make lunch. Maybe she will let him out so that he can help with lunch.

He is a lot like one of those frogs that sits in water until it boils, except he doesn’t even have the choice of jumping out.

Harry had been allowed out for breakfast; a couple of flat squares of cheese and a cold breakfast sausage. 

And then he’d been allowed to peel potatoes for the casserole Aunt Petunia wanted to make for dinner.

But then the front doorbell had rung and she’d forced him back into his cupboard with a look of warning that he knew very well how to read.

She had been expecting a flower delivery for her garden party tomorrow.

The man had come and gone quickly, traipsing up and down the hall just outside of Harry’s cupboard.

He’s fairly sure it has been at least an hour since the man left though. 

His hair is sticky against the back of his neck and against his forehead. His skin is slick and cool with sweat.

Aunt Petunia had obviously forgotten that she’d locked his cupboard door when she put him away like an old broom.

Harry is meant to be outside right now, mowing the grass. And washing the windows. And watering the garden.

He feels a bit faint.

He coughs again, not muffling the sound this time, in the hopes that she hears him and lets him out.

Harry hates the school break. Nothing to break up the day. Nothing to get him away from Privet Drive. 

No air in his cupboard.

“Quiet, boy!” Aunt Petunia snaps from the kitchen.

Then her banging around stops.

Quick footsteps come down the hall towards his cupboard door.

“What are you doing in there?” She asks, already unlocking the door and pulling it wide. “You are supposed to be mowing the grass!” She looks a little panicked at the sight of him.

Harry doesn’t point out that he had been locked in, thus making it impossible for him to go mow the grass. It isn’t worth it.

Instead he just bobs his head, offers a polite Yes, Aunt Petunia , and scurries outside.

Harry takes several long sips from the garden hose before pulling the mower out and pushing it around the yard, relishing the stretch in his legs after being cooped up for so long.

August, Remus and Sirius

Harry is standing on a stool in front of the sink when someone knocks on the front door.

“You!” Aunt Petunia snaps when she opens the door.

Harry has never heard anyone other than him get yelled at with that tone of voice.

He turns off the water and glances towards the living room where his uncle and his cousin are distracted by the telly.

Harry climbs down and wipes his hands on his shirt, crossing the kitchen to peer down the hall.

“Petunia, I’m Remus. We met at Lily’s wedding.” A voice is coming from behind the cracked door.

Lily. Harry’s mom.

“Why are you here?” Aunt Petunia asks, her frame tight and her nose high in the air.

Harry steps closer, trying to get a look at the man at the door. He manages to hug close enough to the wall that he can see him. 

There is a second man behind him.

“We came to see Harry,” the first man- Remus- says.

Remus is a strange name. Though, from the patched jacket and scarred face, Harry thinks he might be a strange man. Certainly not the sort Aunt Petunia tolerates.

When the man glances down the hall and smiles at Harry, he decides immediately that he likes him. Had he really said he wanted to see Harry?

“Aunt Petunia?” Harry asks, hoping she’ll let them in.

“Back in the kitchen, Boy,” Aunt Petunia snaps.

Harry gasps and turns quickly, leaving the strange men at the door and returning to the sink.

He turns the water back on and starts scrubbing at a pan.

“Let us in!” A second voice comes from down the hall.

Harry twists around to look but then reminds himself that he is not supposed to eavesdrop when adults are speaking.

So he carries on with the dishes, hating the moist feeling of his shirt clinging to his skin.

“You are not welcome here!” Aunt Petunia shrieks.

It isn’t eavesdropping if he doesn’t have to strain to hear it.

Seconds later, Remus is striding into the kitchen.

Harry freezes, holding the pan in his hand with his eyes wide.

“Stop. I don’t want you in my house!”

Uncle Vernon finally looks away from the telly.

“What’s going on?” He asks, barely pulling his focus from the telly.

“Nothing Vernon dear, nothing at all.”  Petunia says, waving her arm like a madwoman.

“Sirius, he’s in here,” Remus says.

The second man steps into the kitchen.

Harry’s heart is racing.

The first man is tall, very tall, with those scars across his face and really kind eyes.

The second man looks angry, his hair long and black- sort of like Harry’s but more tame. Better taken care of.

He’s handsome, like a movie star.

“Harry,” the second man, Sirius, exhales.

“Uh, hullo,” Harry answers.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Uncle Vernon asks, standing from the couch and lumbering into the kitchen.

It is cramped now, all four adults looking at each other angrily.

Harry tries making himself small, holding the pan to his chest, further wetting his shirt from the soapy water.

“Don’t be afraid, Harry,” Remus says.

Harry doesn’t move. Or breathe. Or blink.

“Get out of my house!” Uncle Vernon shouts, red as a tomato.

In half a second, the other man- Sirius- is waving his arm around, some sort of stick in his hand. He says some weird word Harry doesn’t quite catch.

And then Uncle Vernon is frozen. Literally frozen, like the telly when there is a bad storm.

Aunt Petunia shrieks and then she is frozen too, her mouth wide open.
Harry pulls the pan closer.

“Sirius!” Remus snaps at the other man, sounding quite cross.

“What? They were being complete wankers!”

Harry laughs. He doesn’t mean to. 

Sirius turns and gives him a blinding smile.

“Hiya Harry, I’m your godfather,” he says.

Harry smiles back, fairly sure now that he is dreaming.

He’d heard about fairy godmothers. They had magic wands.

Like the man’s stick.

“Who are you?” Harry asks Remus, wondering how creative his own mind could be.

“I’m Remus. I was a friend of your parents.”

“You knew my parents?” Harry asks, forgetting that this is a dream. Forgetting that this isn’t real. That the men in front of him aren’t really here. 

Forgetting everything other than the fact that the man has said he knew Harry’s parents.

“We were at Hogwarts together,” Remus nods.

“Hogwarts?” Harry asks, his mind fuzzy. How did his brain come up with such a strange word?

Sirius huffs. “You’ve never heard of Hogwarts?”

Harry shakes his head.

Then he looks back over at his aunt and uncle.

Then at Sirius and Remus.

“Is this a dream?” He asks, surprised at how real everything feels. How solid the pan feels pressed to his chest.

Both men look at him with sad eyes.

“No Harry, it’s not. Sirius really is your godfather. And I’m your uncle… sort of. There is a lot to talk about,” Remus says, looking at Sirius like he is desperate for some help.

Harry shakes his head, his glasses wobbling on his face, trying to wake himself up.

“We’ll get around to all of it, Moons. Harry, we’ve come to get you away from here. Your aunt and uncle weren’t supposed to be your guardians. Moony and I were.”

Harry thinks maybe, maybe, he isn’t dreaming.

“W-Would you maybe unfreeze my aunt and uncle?” Harry asks.

Sirius startles and then nods, waving his wand again and saying strange words.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon go right back to screaming but Harry just ignores them. He puts down the pan and he walks over to the really tall man.

“Can you tell me about my mum?” He asks, voice soft.

It isn’t easy, the rest of that day. Sirius and Remus finding out about Harry's cupboard.

Sirius and Remus talking to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Well, actually talking at them. Explaining that they'll be taking Harry no matter what.

Sirius and Remus talking with Harry. Explaining a lot of things that Harry still doesn’t believe when they help him carry his few belongings out of Privet Drive and over to an old car with a disco ball hanging from the mirror.

And then travelling for hours in the back seat of the car, sat next to Sirius who had insisted on joining him back there.

Remus smiles at Harry in the rearview mirror every once in a while.

Arriving at a massive London townhouse that pops out from between two others and seems like it will be awful to try and keep clean.

By the time Sirius manages to convince Harry that the bedroom with the lion wallpaper is his and that he is meant to sleep in the bed, Harry feels like it's been a month since he woke up in his cupboard that morning.

Everything has changed. So suddenly.

He falls asleep with the familiar anxious feeling gnawing at his stomach, but he does manage to sleep. If only because the bed is the most comfortable thing he’s ever laid on.

Chapter Text

September, The Dursleys

White trainers with a green stripe that goes all the way around and green laces. 

Harry loves them.

Hasn’t stopped staring at them since Petunia brought them home and shoved them into his arms with a comment not to get them dirty.

Now, sitting on the bus, he can’t stop pressing his feet together and smiling at his new shoes.

They look a bit odd paired with a pair of Dudley’s old pants and a shirt that Harry has had for three years, but he doesn’t let it deter his happiness.

Sitting in the front row of the small bus that carries him and his classmates to school, he can’t help but hope that someone comments on his new shoes. Then he’d have a reason to talk to them. A reason to maybe make a friend.

A reason not to be a freak anymore.

Harry will have to wait until they get to school though. He sits in the front row of the bus all alone because it is closest to the bus driver, Mr. Dale. Dudley doesn’t bother him when he is so close to an adult. 

As thick as he is, he is smart enough not to be caught hitting or teasing Harry.

So Harry just smiles down at his shoes and waits for the bus to pull up in front of their school.

Being the first one off the bus is a plus too. It allows Harry to make a beeline for the front doors, where the teachers are already waiting to show them to their new classrooms.

This year, Harry’s teacher is named Miss Angela. 

He had met her once before, after Dudley had dumped Harry’s lunch over Harry’s head.

Miss Angela had helped him find a new shirt in the lost and found. He still has it.

“Hello Harry,” she greets him, ushering him through the doors and pointing him the right way toward his new classroom.

The morning passes in a blur, Harry looking forward to recess.

And then he and the other fifteen students in his class head outside.

He smiles at a girl who had sat next to him and she smiles back.

Harry is about to take a chance and say hello first, without even needing anyone to acknowledge his new shoes when his cousin pushes him from behind.

Harry stumbles forwards and trips, falling to the ground.

When he manages to stand back up, he looks down at his shoes and nearly bursts into tears.

There are two big scuff marks across the toes of his new shoes. 

“You did that on purpose!” He shouts at Dudley.

“No I didn’t! You were going too slow,” Dudley shouts back.

A teacher steps between them and ushers Dudley off towards the swings.

Harry stands there at the bottom of the school steps, unable to hold back the tears in his eyes.

His new shoes are ruined.

None of his classmates bother asking him if he is okay. No one even really looks at him.

No one is going to compliment his shoes now.

And Aunt Petunia is going to be so cross.

Harry hadn’t even managed to keep them clean for a day.

She was right to never buy him anything new. All he did was ruin everything.

September, Sirius and Remus

“He’ll need someone to talk to.”

“He has us,” Sirius defends.

Remus knows that Sirius doesn’t want to think about what the Dursleys did to Harry, but they have to face the truth.

Things were obvious enough when they went to Privet Drive, but since they’d brought him home, several concerning things had happened.

Harry had woken up before either of them and cooked breakfast, not making enough for himself. 

He’d spent an entire day without leaving his room because he didn’t think he was allowed.

And he’d stood in the telly room staring at the couch as if he was positive he wasn’t permitted to sit on it.

Not to mention how he flinched.

“We aren’t enough,” Remus says even though he knows it will hurt Sirius.

“If we aren’t enough, who is? Who else could possibly do a better job of helping him through this?”

Someone with a PhD, preferably.

“We will figure something out,” Remus reassures him.

Sirius just nods and turns away, trying not to throw a tantrum over something that he can recognize that Remus is right about.

“I don’t want to mess this up, Moony.”

Remus steps behind him and slips his hands around his waist.

“You won’t. I won’t let you,” he nips at Sirius’s ear, missing the feel of his boyfriend’s lips against his own. They’d been trying not to overwhelm Harry with their relationship on top of everything else. They could both tell he wasn’t raised in a tolerant home.

Sirius turns around and the spark is back in his eyes. 

“You won’t let me?” He asks, incredulous. He leans forward and presses his lips softly to Remus’s. It’s just enough that Remus melts a little into Sirius, pressing them both back against the counter.

“Come on, we should wake him up. He’ll be upset if he wastes another morning,” Remus breaks the intimate moment, wishing he could forget the looks people in the world gave them.

Sirius leads the way, heading for the second floor where they had set up Harry’s room. It had once been a sunroom that his mother hosted people in. They’d picked it because of all the natural light. Sirius hated the thought of Harry ever waking up in the dark again.

When they push the door in, a jolt of panic runs up his spine. The bed is empty.

“Harry?” He calls, walking in and glancing around in a panic.

“Where is he?” Remus asks.

Before they can both call in the aurors, Harry enters through a door on the other side of the room. He’s carrying a broom.

“Harry?” Sirius asks, his heartbeat returning to normal.

Harry pauses and offers a shy smile, his eyes darting towards a window.

A potted plant had tipped over and dirt had spilled all over the antique rug.

“I’m really sorry. I’m going to clean it up,” he whispers.

Remus steps around Sirius and walks towards Harry.

“Want to see something neat?”

Harry nods.

Remus clears the dirt and fixes the pot with a skillful swish of his wand.

“No harm, no foul,” he tells Harry.

The young boy is just grinning at the spot the plant landed on the shelf, fully intact.

Sirius walks over to join them and knocks the plant back onto the floor. It crashes and shatters more forcefully, the dirt spreading in a wider circle.

Harry’s eyes go wide and he looks to Remus for an explanation.

Except Remus hasn’t got one. Before he can ask Sirius what he is doing the Black heir knocks another planter off the window sill.

“I’ve always hated this carpet,” Sirius says, knocking a third plant over. “Now Harry, Remus is going to scold me because I purposefully made a mess. But neither of us is ever going to scold you for an accident. Understood?”

Harry nods, looking at Sirius as though he’s lost the plot.

Which in Remus’s opinion, he has.

“You are going to clean that up, Sirius.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Remus turns and asks Harry for the broom in his hand.

After taking it, Remus shoves it towards Sirius. “Not only are you going to tidy it up, you will do it the muggle way. I have spent quite a bit of time making this godforsaken house inhabitable.”

“Fine, fine. Sorry, Moony,” Sirius rolls his eyes.

“I could help you,” Harry offers.

“No,” Remus shakes his head. “You and I are going to have pancakes while your Godfather cleans up his mess.”

Remus takes Harry by the hand and they do exactly that, leaving Sirius with the broom and a large pile of dirt and poorly growing plants.

“Why did Sirius do that?” Harry asks, sitting down at the table, his little legs swinging underneath him.

“He grew up here. Has some bad memories.” He goes for a simple explanation.

“I’d like to make a mess at the Dursleys,” Harry whispers, like it is a confession.

Remus freezes, putting down the griddle and turning to look at Harry.

“Oh yeah?” Remus sits down next to him. He’ll have to talk about it at some point.

Harry nods, his face screwing up like it had the night before.

“I broke a dish. A really fancy one. I cut myself trying to clean it up. Aunt Petunia locked me in my cupboard for the whole weekend,” Harry says, looking down at a small white scar on his hand.

Remus could rip out her throat with his bare teeth, in human form.

“That wasn’t fair of her, Harry. You didn’t deserve that,” Remus comforts.

Harry nods, though his eyes still look sad. 

“Dudley got upset once. On a different day. Anyways, he pulled the tablecloth off the table and all the dishes with it. Made a huge mess. He hollered and cried about it. Aunt Petunia didn’t even raise her voice. That’s when I knew things weren’t fair,” Harry says, wiping at his face where a few tears fall from his eyes.

“You know, you are really smart. Maybe too smart for your own good, Sprog,” Remus says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You are smart too. And nice. I like that,” Harry lifts his chin and smiles and Remus realises he’d hurt anyone who hurt Harry ever again.

“Sirius is nice too. But not as smart,” Harry whispers, this time conspiratorial.

Remus chuckles, not disagreeing with the lad. He also thought it was a good sign, Harry stating his mind.

He goes back to making breakfast talking with Harry about what they could do that day. Go to the park, or buy some clothes that actually fit. Maybe get some ice cream.

By the time Sirius joins them, there are two perfect stacks of pancakes on the table and they all dig in, topping them with lemon and sugar. 

Harry drinks a glass of orange juice and Sirius and Remus each have a cup of tea. 

When they’ve finished, Remus vanishes the dishes and tells Harry to go take a shower so they can get going.

“Are you alright?” He asks Sirius as soon as the boy is out of sight.

“I’m fine. I just don’t want to see Harry tiptoe around here. I don’t want him to see this place the way I do,” Sirius says, his voice tight.

“He won’t. Mostly because you won’t let him. But also because we are going to make him feel safe. And happy.”

“Which mother certainly didn’t do,” Sirius lifts his glass in a faux cheers.

“I told Harry we’d go shopping. Get him some clothes that fit. Maybe a couple of toys,” Remus stands up, refreshing his tea.

“Spending some of the Black fortune seems an excellent idea,” Sirius smiles.

Remus is glad he is in better spirits.

He can’t imagine how difficult it is to watch another hurt young boy walk through his nightmares.

Harry is quick in the shower and soon enough the three of them are headed outside, taking the muggle route to Diagon Alley. They are saving floo travel for after Harry is a bit more comfortable with magic.

Chapter Text

October, The Dursleys

Harry buckles himself into the car and crosses his ankles, sitting tall. He hates riding in the car.

Petunia closes the door on Dudley’s side, having made sure her son was safely buckled and then gets into the passenger’s seat.

“All set?” Uncle Vernon asks her.

She nods, setting her purse in her lap and smiling at her husband.

Uncle Vernon is an aggressive driver. Harry tries to keep his focus on the sky outside the window but he keeps getting distracted by Dudley punching him in the leg and arm.

As they turn onto the thoroughfare, Harry swallows the watery feeling in his throat.

He tries to focus on the grateful feeling he’d had when Aunt Petunia had told him he was allowed to join them for dinner.

They almost never let him go out to eat, it being such a burden to buy him a meal in a restaurant. 

“And then he tried telling me that selling the newer model was harder than the classic. As if people don’t want the new shiny thing,” Uncle Vernon complains, his wife nodding along sympathetically.

Suddenly, as the car moves through an intersection, another car screeches into the roadway, slamming on their horn and nearly crashing into them.

Harry’s heart races and he presses his eyes shut as he braces for impact.

Vernon shouts and slams on his brakes, sending the car into a slide and jostling the occupants.

It takes several long seconds for Harry to realise that they didn’t get hurt. The car didn’t get hurt.

He was okay.

“Oh Dudders, are you alright?” Aunt Petunia shrieks, turning around in her seat and cooing at her son.

Dudley looks around and then promptly bursts into tears.

Vernon climbs out of the car and starts shouting angrily at the driver of the other vehicle.

Harry feels the panic mounting but he can’t do anything to stop it from filling him up. Blood rushing in his ears, his breathing tight and uneven.

His parents had died in a car crash. In seconds, they were gone. And Harry had been all alone, waiting for someone to find him in the wreckage.

No one seems to notice the terror that he is feeling. 

He sits, ankles crossed, belt across his chest tight from the quick brakes until his mind runs out of fear. Until he is able to calm himself down. Until Uncle Vernon is pulling the car into the parking lot of the restaurant and Aunt Petunia is checking over every inch of her precious Dudders.

Harry’s chest remains tight through dinner and he barely tastes the chicken tenders his aunt had ordered for him.

Harry had been told that his parents died in a car crash before he even knew what that meant.

His uncle liked to tell him that they had been blown up in the crash.

Aunt Petunia liked to speculate that Harry’s father had been drunk when the crash happened.

And Dudley liked to poke Harry’s scar like he was some sort of disfigured specimen pinned to a velvet board.

Every year on Halloween, Harry tries not to remind the Dursleys that it is the anniversary of his parent’s death. The anniversary of the last day they had before he came into their lives. Ruining their perfect family.

But tonight, in the wake of an experience that mirrored the night his parents died, Harry can’t push away the memories. Even if they are sparse and fuzzy. Barely anything of his parents in them.

October, Remus and Sirius

Harry notices things. When a person waiting in a line turns from impatient to irritated. When the floor is getting dusty and needs a going over.

How certain people react when they see something surprising.

It is a symptom of his childhood. He knows that.

Hypervigilance. The ability to see everything in order to decide what is a threat and what is mundane.

Harry notices things about Sirius and Remus.

When Sirius is late he pouts at Remus and calls him Moony with long vowels and a sweet smile as the punctuation.

When Remus is tired and the three of them are curled up on the couch in front of the telly, he still moves his fingers across Sirius’s leg, or hand, or jaw.

When they are both in the kitchen, how they dance around each other in a synchronicity that seems nearly magical.

Harry notices that Sirius brings Remus a chocolate croissant at least once a week, if not more.

That Remus scolds Sirius for throwing his socks on the floor even as he picks them up himself.

And when they are tucking Harry into bed, reading him a story or telling him about his parents, they share long glances that say a thousand things.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were married. Had been for nearly fifteen years.

They aren’t in love like Remus and Sirius are.

Even Dudley could notice that.

Still, they hadn’t told Harry that they were together. He thought maybe they didn’t want him to know. That it was private. Just between them.

Then he wonders if they don’t think he will be okay with it. Two men in love.

He hadn’t had a problem with Remus being a werewolf. He thought he’d reacted well. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe they thought he was a no good terrible little boy.

Had he lost their trust so quickly? What if they make him leave?

He makes a promise to himself to prove that he can be trusted. That he doesn’t care that Sirius and Remus are together like his aunt and uncle. 

That if they keep him, Harry will do everything he can to make them happy.

Easier said than done though. They don’t let Harry do anything.

He tries helping with the cleaning but Kreacher pinches him, hard, and tells him to go away. He tries to cook dinner but Remus and Sirius help him do it, making it into a fun activity rather than a chore. So it doesn’t feel like he is earning anything by doing it.

He just wants to be able to do something for them. Instead of having everything given to him. And then he feels angry for wanting that. He should be allowed to want things. He’d spent his whole life wishing someone would treat him the same as his cousin. With love and kindness and near adoration.

One night in late October he wakes from a nightmare. It isn’t really a scary one. He is just stuck in quicksand washing dishes, but when he wakes, he realises that he’s wet the bed.

Embarrassed and not wanting to wake up anyone, Harry climbs out of his bed and strips off the sheets, crying.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He isn’t a baby. Why couldn’t he behave? Why couldn’t he be a good boy?

Harry wondered if maybe his aunt and uncle were right? Maybe he didn’t deserve all of the things Sirius and Remus gave him.

“Haz?” Sirius appears in the doorway of his room, wand aloft with a soft blue light, and sleep still in his eyes.

“I’m sorry! I’m going to clean it up,” Harry stammers, pushing the pile of sheets behind his legs, ashamed.

Sirius walks forward and eyes the sheets before coming to the realisation that Harry had wet the bed.

“Hey, bud, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, it happens. Why don’t you go hop in the shower and I’ll take care of this?”

Sirius is so nice. 

“No!” Harry says, voice louder than he intends.

He doesn’t want Sirius to touch the sheets.

It is his mess. He needs to be the one to clean it up.

“Harry, it isn’t a problem. You’ll want to wash up,” Sirius says, voice softer.

It shouldn’t make Harry angry.

“I don’t want to! Go away! Go away!” He shouts, angry tears spilling over his cheeks.

Remus comes into the room next.

“Harry?”

He is sobbing now. Why is he like this? Was he trying to get sent back?

“Hey,” Sirius whispers, kneeling in front of him. “Remember what we said about accidents? You’re not in any trouble.”

“I know,” he snaps, though it comes out much weaker, more a hiccup than anything else.

Remus comes closer and rubs Harry’s back in soothing circles.

“It’s okay, Harry. I promise. Let us help you?”

It isn’t a hard question. Nor should it be a difficult answer.

“I’ll go shower,” he manages.

And then he runs away from his godfather and his uncle. He cries in the shower and hopes that maybe they’ll just leave him alone. 

When he emerges from the bath, he thinks they’ve done just that. And for a moment, he feels relieved.

The bed is made, with new sheets.

He isn’t tired though.

So he wanders down to the kitchen.

Sirius and Remus are sitting at the table, having a cuppa.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks.

Harry looks up, surprised. He was still getting used to anybody caring about his well being.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He shrugs.

Remus crosses the floor and grabs another mug from the cabinet next to Harry’s head.

“Take a seat, we’re having a cuppa,” Remus says, offering a soft smile.

Harry feels bad sitting down and watching Remus prepare the tea, but he is also trying not to let slip how many chores he’d had at the Dursleys. He can tell it makes them angry.

Once the tea is ready, Remus sits opposite Harry and takes a long sip.

“Is there anything we can do to help you?” Sirius asks.

Harry sips his own tea, trying to figure out why his stomach is flip flopping.

He shakes his head.

“I just- have- I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to be okay, Harry,” Remus says. “In fact, it would be crazy if you were completely okay. You’ve been through so much. We care about you. We want you to feel safe here. Loved.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat.

They are so nice.

“Thank you,” he answers.

Remus sighs.

Guilt rises in Harry’s gut.

Why can’t he do anything right?

“You know, when I started at Hogwarts, your dad was the first person who tried to be my friend,” he says.

“Tried?” Harry asks.

“I wasn’t exactly willing to give anyone a chance. I was pretty sure people were more bad than good. But your dad was persistent. Wouldn’t let me brush him off.”

“I’m not trying to brush you off,” Harry promises.

“We know that, Harry. What I mean is that I understand that you don’t have any reason to trust Sirius and I yet. But you should know that we are going to be here, making sure you know how much we care about you. Until you believe it.”

Harry just stares at his mug, trying to make himself believe Remus.

“I just- I need time.”

Remus smiles and nods. 

Sirius bumps gently into Harry’s shoulder. Harry manages to smile. He’s not sure he means it yet though.

Then Remus stands up, turning for the pantry.

When he returns to the table, he hands Harry a piece of chocolate.

“Eat that, you’ll feel better.”

“I’m not sure chocolate will help me sleep,” Harry says, accepting the sweet chocolate anyways.

“Absolutely right. Which is why we are going to watch a movie,” Remus grins.

Chapter Text

November, The Dursleys

“Stop moving!” Aunt Petunia snaps, pinching at the flesh of his upper arm.

Harry flinches and it makes her huff even louder.

“I’m sorry,” he tries, holding his head still.

She continues cutting away at his hair, the long black locks falling around him onto the floor.

He’ll have to sweep it up.

“What a rat’s nest,” Aunt Petunia complains. “You look like a vagrant.”

Harry isn’t sure what a vagrant is, but he is certain it isn’t a good thing.

By the time Aunt Petunia is done cutting his hair, Harry is also certain that he has been left almost bald, apart from the fringe she has left to cover his scar.

“Clean this up and then go to bed.”

His aunt slips the scissors into a drawer and walks away, leaving Harry to run a hand over his scalp.

He grabs the broom from his cupboard and sweeps up his hair, dumping it in the waste bin and then heading for the bathroom.

Harry nearly cries when he sees himself. He doesn’t cry. Not anymore. Not if he can help it.

Only, he can’t go to school like this. He looks awful.

She’d shorn his hair close, leaving his fringe, making him look like he fell into a woodchipper hairfirst.

He burns with anger and swipes at his cheeks, hating the tears that he can’t stop from falling. He isn’t supposed to cry.

“Bed!” Aunt Petunia snaps, rapping on the door.

Harry brushes his teeth and rinses his blotchy face and then wanders back to his cupboard.

Aunt Petunia heads upstairs, turning off the hallway light before Harry can reach for the string of the cupboard light.

For a second, he thinks about just going to sleep. He’s exhausted. Spending all weekend scrubbing at the bathroom tiles had left his hands raw and his knees sore.

But he has homework he has to do. He hadn’t had any time with all of his chores.

So he reaches up and pulls the string, mustering up as much energy as he can.

Dudley’s old backpack is tucked in on the shelf, so he reaches first for the pencil that he’d stolen from a drawer in the kitchen.

Then he pulls out the maths sheet and squints at the problems until he’s scratched out answers for everything.

November, Remus and Sirius

Harry really likes being homeschooled. Remus takes things slowly and makes sure that Harry doesn’t have any questions before he moves onto a new topic. He smiles when Harry comes up with the right answer and even tells him he is a “smart lad” which makes Harry’s chest feel warm.

As much as he wishes there were other students, kids his age, he is happy to have someone so patient teaching him. And he knows he will have to work really hard to catch up with everyone else his age in the magical world.

In the early afternoon, Remus is doing a magical history lesson, talking him through the peace accords with centaurs in Greece, when Sirius knocks on the door to their makeshift classroom.

“It came in!” He exclaims, a long box tucked under his arm. “School’s out, class is done, fini!”

Harry sort of laughs before glancing at Remus and finding him unamused.

“Sirius, we are in the middle of a lesson,” Remus sighs, putting down an illustration of a centaur shaking hands with a wizard.

Sirius is giddy. Bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking past Harry and Remus out the window at the bright blue sky.

“But Harry has a much more important place to be right now, Moons!”

He does? Harry doesn’t remember being told they were going anywhere today. 

“Fine. An hour, no more. And I don’t want him any higher than the building Sirius. I mean it.” Remus sounds tired.

Sirius nods and jumps up and down before holding out the long rectangle parcel to Harry.

“Go on, open it!”

Harry accepts the parcel and sets it gently on the table in front of him.

Sirius and Remus quite liked giving Harry things. Clothes and food and toys. 

He was struggling a bit with it, but he couldn’t tell them that. They’d see how strange he really is. They might not like him so much anymore if they knew.

His healer said it was alright to think that as long as he tried to figure out why he felt like that. 

He pulls open the box and smiles.

It is a broomstick.

Sirius had shown him his cleansweep the morning after he woke up in Grimmauld Place, telling him all about his Dad and the sport that they had bonded over during school.

Sirius had promised to get Harry a children’s broom so he could learn how to play.

“Wow,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Time for your first lesson, Pup,” Sirius says, already helping Harry to pull the broom from the box. Harry smiles to himself at the term of endearment that had come so naturally to his godfather.

Harry and Remus follow Sirius outside into the garden behind the house.

“So what you want to do is mount the broom and take a firm grip of the handle. You’ll have total control over the broom. It won’t do anything without your okay. And because it is a children’s broom it won’t take you more than twenty feet in the air.”

Harry nods, looking up and wondering how high twenty feet actually is.

Trying to be brave, Harry does as Sirius instructed and then looks back up, waiting for the next instruction.

“Perfect. How does it feel?”

“Like I am sitting on a broom,” Harry shrugs.

Remus laughs and Sirius glares at him over his shoulder before turning back to Harry.

“Alright, what you want to do now is gently push off from the ground and pull up on the handle.”

As soon as he does it, Harry is hovering two feet off the ground.

He adjusts to the weightless feeling and smiles.

“Wicked!”

“You are a whiz, Harry. Alright now to move you’ll lean forwards or to the side to get the broom to move in that direction. Take it slow at first until you feel more comfortable. I’m gonna grab my broom and we can do a couple laps together, alright?”

Harry nods, pressing forwards gently and feeling proud when it works.

“Wait for Sirius, please,” Remus says, noticing how Harry is already inching higher off the ground.

Harry laughs and nods.

“Why don’t you come too?” He asks his uncle.

“Oh no, you do not want to see me on a broom. I’m much too fragile.”

Harry laughs. The last word he would use for Remus is fragile.

Before he can say as much though, Sirius is back and jumping on his own broom.

“Let’s go, Pup!” 

Harry leans forward and commits to the idea of flying, the broom listening to his movements and sending him forward.

Sirius is by his side in a second and then the pair of them are flying in lazy circles around the inner courtyard of Grimmauld place, protected by magic from the eyes of their muggle neighbours.

Harry hits maximum speed on his broom fairly quickly and frowns.

“Don’t worry. If you don’t get hurt in the next month, I’ll have a good chance of convincing Moony to let me buy you a real broom!”

Harry grins, nods, and then practises spinning in a circle, listening as Remus calls from the ground for him to be careful!

Flying is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. The air moving through his hair, the feeling in his stomach, the thrill of looking down and knowing how far from the ground he is.

He loves it.

Harry’s Da had been an excellent flyer.

And now he can be too.

Chapter Text

December, The Dursleys

One Christmas Eve, when Harry was maybe four, he hung his own stocking on the mantle of the Dursley’s fireplace. It looked so out of place, his old patched sock, hanging beside three pristine white knit stockings.

When his Aunt saw it, her face became very drawn, her lips tightly puckered.

She took it down without a word, leaving the sock in the top of the wash bin, and leaving Harry to do the rest of his chores.

He’d cried, when he realised that it wasn’t a mistake. His Aunt not putting up a stocking for him. In fact, his Aunt didn’t think Father Christmas would leave him anything.

She had told him that he was a naughty little boy before. It was why he’d never gotten a Christmas present in the past. Because he was an ungrateful freak. A misbehaving brat who took advantage of his Aunt and Uncle’s generosity.

Harry thought he had been good enough though, that year. And the year after.

And somehow, this year, even at 7 years old, Harry thought that maybe he could still manage to be good enough.

Maybe he’d get something. Maybe when he woke up on Christmas Day there would be a package with his name on it.

He had written to Father Christmas at school. Scrawled out a wish next to a drawing of a Christmas tree.

He’d asked for a new pair of eyeglasses. His were too big, a scratched pair that Aunt Petunia picked up at a charity shop.

His teacher had told him that the letter would be mailed to the North Pole. That Father Christmas would get his letter and bring him his gift as he does for every good little boy and girl.

Even then, Harry was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be seen as a good boy.

Still, he came home every day and did everything he was told. He learned to keep quiet during his nightmares.

He never asked for seconds, and he always cleared the dishes without being asked. 

Harry did everything he was told . He swept the floors and scrubbed the kitchen floors until his hands went red. He shovelled snow until his fingers went numb and his nose ran. 

So he had dumbly thought that maybe this year was the year that he proved he could be good.

But when he laid in his cupboard and tried to stay awake listening for Father Christmas’s arrival, Harry knew that when he woke up there wouldn’t be any packages with his name on them. He still had no stocking and no one who thought he was a good little boy.

********************

Christmas comes with a soft blanket of fresh snow that Uncle Vernon grumbles about for most of breakfast. Not that he will be the one to clear the car or the drive. Harry just hopes it isn’t too heavy.

He was woken by Dudley screaming about Santa Claus. Made breakfast while Dudley demanded his mother count the packages for him. 

Cleared the table while Dudley tore into present after present, loud and excited. Tried not to cry when he accepted that another year had come and gone without him receiving any presents. 

Shovelled snow while the Dursley’s had Christmas pudding. It wasn’t too heavy, so he was back inside before his nose ran.

Picked up the wrapping paper from the living room while Petunia made beef Wellington for supper. Of which Harry got the smallest slice. Sat at the table pushing mushy peas around his plate while Dudley hit him in the arm with a fake Pirate’s sword.

Cleared the table while the rest of them watched a holiday movie on the telly.

And went to bed early while Uncle Vernon put together a model aeroplane for Dudley.

Aunt Petunia had gotten a new vacuum for Christmas from Uncle Vernon. It has a fancy extra hose for hard to reach places. Is slicker than the old model. Easier to handle.

The vacuum is already tucked inside Harry’s cupboard, taking up space.

He glares at it just like he had the old one. And even though it isn’t true, he sort of thinks of the vacuum as his Christmas present. Afterall, he will use it a lot more than his aunt will.

December, Remus and Sirius

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

His guardians stand at the bottom of the steps with bells on.

Literally. Sirius has a sweater that looks more like a suit of armour, a hundred or so bells hanging and clanging against each other.

Remus has far fewer, but still enough that he jingles. He’s assuming that was a compromise between his guardians.

Harry takes the stairs as quickly as he can, throwing his arms around Sirius’s waist.

“Happy Christmas,” he says into the bells.

“Sprog, food or presents first?”

Harry pulls back and looks up at his godfather.

“I’ve got presents?” he asks.

Sirius smiles, hating the tightness behind it.

“Yes, Harry,” Remus puts a hand on the young boy's shoulder, pointing past him with his other hand.

Harry turns and looks towards the tree in the family room, shocked to see mountains of presents.

He walks slowly into the room and sees his own presents for Remus and Sirius. 

He wishes that he could have done more for them.

Though he was incredibly proud to say that he’d wrapped them himself. He’d learned how to do it from Aunt Petunia.

“And I’ve got a stocking?” Harry asks, looking at the red sock stuffed full of small parchment wrapped gifts.

“Of course! Father Christmas must have known you moved,” Remus says, sitting on the couch and summoning a tray of breakfast.

“Father Christmas isn’t real,” Harry whispers.

Remus and Sirius had done all of this for him. They really care about him.

“What do you mean? Of course Father Christmas is real!” Sirius encourages.

Harry thinks about playing along, but he knows how important they think being honest is. How far he’s come since October.

“No, he’s not.” It comes out sharper than he intended.

“Why do you say that, Harry?” Remus asks.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it and he just can’t be. Dudley always got loads of presents from him and I never got any. And then a girl in my class said that he wasn’t real and that made sense. My Aunt and Uncle got Dudley gifts, and not me. It had nothing to do with being naughty or nice.”

“Did you think- Harry, did you think that you were on the naughty list?” Remus asks.

Harry nods, hating that he is sad on Christmas.

“I’m sorry, Harry. You didn’t deserve that. Alright, Father Christmas isn’t real. But all of these gifts are. So why don’t you pick one to open and then we’ll have a spot of breakfast,” Remus puts his hand on Sirius’s arm to stop him from getting upset.

Harry reaches for a small package and tries to smile. He really is incredibly happy.

It is a figurine of a knight on a horse. No broken leg. No missing sword. A perfect, complete figurine.

Harry tears up.

Reaches for another package. Nearly an hour later, with tears and laughter and love filling the air of the Black family den, Harry sits surrounded by presents. A new broom that goes faster than his children’s model. A small leather jacket that matches Sirius’s. A bunch of new shirts and pants. A knitted hat that Remus had made by hand. A stuffed dragon in an emerald green that Harry had seen in the store. A stuffed lion that Sirius had seen in the same store. And a slew of other toys both magical and muggle that Harry doesn’t need but is very happy to have.

Harry climbs to his feet and glances at the stairs.

“Alright, Haz?” Sirius asks.

He nods.

Harry had made Remus and Sirius gifts.

Stupid little things really. Not nearly as nice as any of the things they’d given him.

“I- um. I made you both something. Nothing really,” he mumbles.

Sirius lights up brighter than the tree in the corner.

“Oh, Harry, I can’t wait to see it, whatever it is.”

Remus agrees and Harry scurries off to his room.

He hadn’t wrapped the small photo frames he’d made.

So he just carries them downstairs and hands them over to Remus and Sirius, eyes on his feet.

Sirius cries. And hugs Harry so tight he thinks he might bruise.

Remus tells Harry it is wonderful.

“I thought maybe- if you both wanted, if we had time. Well I thought we might take a picture. Of the three of us. That we could put in the frames.”

Remus and Sirius agree immediately and Sirius starts talking about matching Christmas sweaters.

Harry loves Sirius and Remus. He hasn’t told them yet, still working through it with his mind healer, but he knows it is real. They are his family.

After presents, they make breakfast together and then mess around with some of Harry’s gifts.

Harry can’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

Chapter Text

January, The Dursleys

Harry sometimes thinks his stomach is eating itself. Gnawing is the only word that gets remotely close to describing how he feels after two whole days of not being allowed to eat.

Gnawing.

He’d spelled that word wrong on a spelling quiz last week.

It is a terrible, awful, no good word.

Just like Harry is a no good, awful, terrible troublemaker.

He really hadn’t meant to stain the rug.

Only, he had to do a diagram for his history lesson and he was trying to use whatever he could find while the Dursleys were out to lunch. He’d wanted to get the whole thing done before they came home.

Wanted them none the wiser to the fact that he was using paint from Dudley’s art kit and paper from Uncle Vernon’s office. But while he was carrying his cup of water, dirty from the paint, back to the kitchen he had tripped on the edge of the rug and spilled the water all over it.

He had been kneeling over the pale rug, scrubbing at the blue paint with everything in him when the front door opened and the Dursleys returned.

Uncle Vernon had grabbed him by his shirt and shook him like a ragdoll, screaming about what a stupid horrid boy he was. 

Aunt Petunia shrieked and moaned about her ruined rug.

Dudley laughed and then marched upstairs, getting muddy snow all over the carpet on the steps.

And then Harry was locked into his cupboard.

Harry has been in his cupboard since Uncle Vernon had calmed down enough to tell him that he would get no meals until the rug came back from the launderette.

He listened as Aunt Petunia spoke on the phone with her sister-in-law, Marge, telling her that Harry had purposefully smeared paint on her favourite rug. 

At first, Harry wasn’t too upset about his punishment. And then the Dursleys sat down for supper. The smell of the food wafting in between the vent on his cupboard door making his stomach clench and gurgle.

The next morning was worse.

He’d been allowed out of his cupboard to bathe, use the restroom, and cook breakfast.

Standing over the ham sizzling in the pan, he’d felt lightheaded.

Aunt Petunia had given him a glass of water and sent him back to his cupboard.

He spends a lot of the day sleeping. So hungry. So tired.

If it goes on for much longer, he thinks he will probably have to beg for something to eat.

January, Remus and Sirius

“Harry, up and at ‘em!” Remus calls from the bottom of the stairs, already shoving his arm into the sleeve of his coat.

Upstairs, small feet pad down the hall, a tired boy wiping sleep from his eyes.

“What’s happenin?” He asks when he spots Remus, clad in his brown jacket.

“It snowed,” Remus says, smiling brightly.

Harry blinks, still half asleep and tilts his head.

“Accio snowsuit,” Remus casts, Harry’s brand new bright red snow suit whizzes past him. “Get dressed. The snow is perfect for an igloo!”

Harry is awake now, but he is still confused. 

Sirius emerges from his and Remus’s bedroom, bleary eyed and following the sound of voices.

“Morning, Sprog,” he ruffles Harry’s hair. “What’s going on?”

“Remus has lost it,” Harry says.

“I have not! It snowed, Pads, it snowed,” Remus turns for the door, energised in a way Sirius hasn’t seen in nearly a decade.

“Ah,” Sirius says, understanding. “Harry, I think Moony wants to play outside, in the freezing cold snow.” He mutters the last few words, already thinking of the hot chocolate Moony had better make him after this.

“Oh. Um. How?” Harry asks, looking nervous, but also finally awake.

Sirius does a double take and does what he has learned to do over the last couple of months.

Ask himself what possible reason Harry might have to be hesitant.

“Do you not like the snow?” He asks, trying to be gentle.

“Aunt Petunia didn’t like to let me outside to play when it snowed. Didn’t like me bringing in mud,” Harry tells him softly. He doesn’t add that he’d been forced to shovel the drive every time it snowed, Dudley’s old gloves and hat not doing enough to keep out the chill.

Remus has deflated a bit at the bottom of the steps. 

“Well, you know I love a good mess. Besides, I believe I heard mention of an igloo?”

Harry smiles and nods, pulling his snowsuit right over his pyjamas.

“Sirius, you need something heavier than flannel pants,” Remus tells him.

Once they are sufficiently bundled up, they head out into the snow and Sirius is for once grateful that they fixed up the back yard. There are several inches of snow on the ground. Fresh and light. Remus was right, the conditions are perfect.

Sirius hates seeing how hesitant Harry is to play. How he just stands there, letting the snow pepper his hair.

“Alright, so we should start with a snowman!” Remus announces, already rolling a small ball of snow across the lawn.

“He’s going to need a lot of help, Harry. He gets winded pretty quickly nowadays.”

Remus objects, but they do all join together to roll the biggest snowman they can, and Harry gets to pick the arms, and the buttons and the nose. 

Sirius charms together a fantastic Igloo, only outdone by Remus’s charmed ice castle.

And then Harry throws a snowball. Not very hard and not with any ill will. Just because he’d heard about snowball fights, but never had one.

Sirius fires back and Remus takes cover and the three of them launch into a full battle, laughing and chasing each other around, noses pink and hair damp.

Chapter Text

February, The Dursleys

On a cold February morning, Harry had felt every bit like the horrid little boy his Aunt told him he was. Only a bad person would feel so pleased at someone else getting sick.

When Dudley woke with a fever and vomited on the floor of his bedroom, Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself as he flipped the bacon.

Dudley wouldn’t be going to school.

Which meant that Harry wouldn’t have to run away from him and his friends. He wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder on the bus. And he wouldn’t have to give Dudley most of his school provided lunch.

By four o’clock, Harry is faced with his just desserts for being happy his cousin was home sick. Just desserts was a phrase he’d heard Uncle Vernon use countless times. The Boy’s parents got their just desserts for being such drunken layabouts if you ask me.

Aunt Petunia has forgotten to pick him up.

His teacher, Miss Davis, is sitting on the wall of the school, sighing every so often to make her irritation clear.

“Are you certain your aunt didn’t tell you to ride the bus, Mr. Potter?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“She always picks us up in the afternoon,” Harry answers.

She always picks her Ickle Diddykins up.

Aunt Petunia forgot him.

They ride the bus in the morning so that she can go walking with her friend Angela. And she picks them up in the afternoon because Dudley likes to ride in the car.

“Perhaps you forgot that she told you to ride the bus?” Miss Davis asks again.

Harry shrugs.

He knows she didn’t tell him to ride the bus.

But he should have realised she wouldn’t be coming to get him.

“I can walk. It isn’t very far.”

Miss Davis is a fine teacher. She makes the times tables fairly clear and she usually puts a smile on Harry’s spelling tests.

But she doesn’t really want to wait around until someone realises Harry isn’t home. He can understand that.

And she doesn’t realise that Harry isn’t exactly old enough to walk himself home. Afterall, Harry is good at making other adults think he is just fine on his own.

So she stands up and tells him to be careful and then she walks to her car.

A car she could have used to drive Harry home.

He wasn’t lying. It isn’t very far. Maybe twenty minutes. Twenty-five.

But he’s tired. And hungry. And mad.

So he walks slowly, with his backpack pulling on his shoulders and his sneakers rubbing at the backs of his ankles.

When he reaches Privet Drive, he is exhausted. And he can’t hold back the tears in his eyes.

The front door is locked.

He knocks. Too softly at first.

And then again, loud enough that his uncle marches to the front door and pulls it wide open.

“What the devil are you doing, Boy?” He demands, looking down at the trembling boy angrily.

“I didn’t have a ride home,” he says, trying not to sound accusatory. 

“Why didn’t you ride the bloody bus?”

Harry stammers, tears coming in full force now. He’s just so angry. He can’t help it.

“I didn’t- no one said- I thought Aunt Petunia would pick me up,” he whispers, choking on the lump in his throat.

“Stupid boy! Get inside,” Uncle Vernon snaps, grabbing Harry by the strap of his backpack and hauling him into the house before slamming the door shut.

Harry stumbles over to the cupboard door and opens it, shrugging out of his backpack and tucking it on a shelf next to a box of linens.

When he closes the door, his uncle is still there.

He clips him around the ear and then tells him to get dinner started. Aunt Petunia is already feeding Dudley a bowl of soup.

Tucked into his bed, loved and cared for by his mum.

Harry wipes at his face and does as he is told.

He cooks, eats, and cleans up before crawling into his cupboard and going to sleep.

The next morning, Harry wakes up with a fever.

Aunt Petunia keeps him home.

She brings Dudley toast and jam for breakfast. She tells Harry to stay in his cupboard. She doesn’t want Harry passing the flu back to her precious Dudders.

She reads to Dudley, Harry listening faintly, unable to differentiate the words enough to know what she is reading.

Aunt Petunia cares for Dudley, cooing at him and coddling him all day.

Harry spends the day trying not to vomit. He doesn’t want to have to clean it up.

February, Remus and Sirius

For months before Sirius and Remus went to Privet Drive and saved Harry Potter from his nightmarish blood relations, they had renovated Grimmauld Place.

They couldn’t give the Ministry any reason not to let Harry stay with them. 

Sirius had spared no expense in transforming his childhood hell into a massive, beautiful, open concept home.

Home. It was something Harry had never had.

Something Remus hadn’t had since he was just a kid.

Something Sirius had found at 15 when he moved into the Potter’s house.

Once they have Harry under their roof though, they don’t really take advantage of all of the things they’d added. Harry is a quiet kid. A kid just learning how to play for the first time in his life. 

So by February, Sirius decides that he has to mandate fun. Otherwise his nerdy Moons and shy Prongslet would have them sitting in the den watching movies and reading books all the time.

“What on Earth have you done?” Moony asks when he finds Sirius standing at the base of a grand staircase that now resembles a giant yellow slide.

“Mattress surfing,” Sirius says, as if that is enough explanation.

“What?”

“Well I wanted to come up with something safe that all three of us could do. It won’t be hard on your joints and it won’t make Harry anxious because there is no way for him to get hurt on a giant mattress.”

As far as plans go, it is one of the more thought out.

“Whose mattress will we be using?” Remus asks, resigned to the way he’ll be spending his morning.

“Two of the guest room ones! Not like they’ve had any use,” Sirius answers.

Remus had been thinking about that. He could invite his dad to visit, only he didn’t want Harry to hear how Lyall spoke to his son.

They could maybe have the Weasleys over but there were so many of them. Harry might get overwhelmed.

“Do you think we have kept him too sheltered, Pads?”

Sirius stops smiling.

Opens and closes his mouth.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Well we wanted to make him feel safe. Loved. And we have. I just worry he doesn’t have any friends his own age. In either world.”

Their conversation is interrupted by Harry appearing at the top of the slide.

“What’s going on?” He asks, still in his pyjamas. They’ve got little golden snitches on them. That was the only reason Sirius let them into the shopping cart, despite the rest of the fabric being emerald green.

The colour had been slowly weaving itself into their lives. It was Harry’s favourite. They now had green pillows on the couch in the telly room, green slippers that look like snakes, and green jumpers they had worn in their Christmas photos.

“Mattress surfing!” Sirius exclaims, once again making it clear he thinks that is enough explanation.

“What?” Harry echoes Remus’s confusion.

Sirius apparates to the top of the slide in a crack that makes his godson jump.

“Merlin, Harry. You are a smart lad. Surely you can figure it out,” Sirius teases gently.

“We’re going to go down the stairs that are now a slide on mattresses?”

“Precisely, Prongslet.”

Remus helps Sirius retrieve the mattresses and Harry goes first.

They help him sit on the middle of the large mattress and Remus tells him he doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.

Only Harry is really excited to go down the slide on a mattress.

“I want to, Moony.”

Remus nods and Sirius and him bend down to push him towards the edge of the slide.

As he is pushed forward, Harry has to focus on not shutting his eyes, intent on enjoying every second of this barmy activity.

“There you go!”

As he flies down the slide, he shouts joyfully, loudly. Not a care in the world who hears him.

Sirius follows, standing up. Always the show off.

And then Remus, fully laying down.

Harry again, on his knees this time.

Remus and Harry, with Harry’s hands over Remus’s eyes.

The three of them, all laughing and shrieking as they fly down faster with the extra weight.

Afterwards, with Harry scarfing down an impressive amount of muggle pizza, Remus and Sirius return to their conversation about finding Harry friends.

A week later, three Weasley boys, a Longbottom, and a Finnegan are sliding down the transfigured stairs on mattresses with Harry demonstrating how to do it standing up.

Chapter Text

March, The Dursleys

His knee is bleeding. Not terribly. All he’d done was trip and scrape his knee on the drive.

But there is a stream of blood rolling down his shin as he sits on the asphalt, blinking through his tears.

He glances behind him, wondering if Aunt Petunia saw him fall. She’s watering the back garden, maybe five metres away.

From the way she is standing there, it doesn’t seem like she’d noticed.

Harry isn’t a very hopeful child. He knows a lot about the world that other kids his age don’t.

His parents are never coming back.

Santa isn’t real.

And your family doesn’t have to love you just because you share the same blood.

Still, part of Harry will always hold onto small bursts of hope. Pointless as it may be.

Like the hope that Aunt Petunia would put down the hose, dash over to her nephew and show him the same concern she would have had it been her son who had fallen.

She isn’t paying attention.

Aunt Petunia won’t notice that Harry is hurt unless he goes and tells her.

And he isn’t going to do that because he knows what would happen if he did.

She would tell him to stop dilly dallying. To be more careful. To clean up the scrape and get back to washing the car.

Harry sniffles, poking the skin around the scrape and wondering how big the bruise will be.

He doesn’t like to hope. It mixes in his stomach with the feeling of disappointment.

What is better is to pretend.

So even as he stands up and walks over to the bucket of water he's supposed to use on the car, washing his shin and wiping at the cut with a clean cloth, Harry imagines Aunt Petunia loves him.

He pretends that he’s only just tripped and she gives out a loud gasp, dropping the hose and running to his side.

He pretends that she wraps him up in her arms and coos calming words, telling him that he will be okay. Running a hand through his hair so gently it makes his whole body feel lighter.

He pretends that she helps him inside and sets him up on the couch, turning on the telly and rushing off to find a plaster shaped like a crayon. One of Harry’s classmates had had a plaster like that after going to the doctor.

He imagines that she gently cleans the cut, presses the bandage on and then kisses his forehead, asking if anything else hurts.

She brings him icecream and sits beside him on the couch laughing at the cartoon on the telly and telling him what a brave little boy he is.

“Stop dilly dallying!” His real Aunt’s voice interrupts his pretty imaginings.

He looks down at his leg and then reaches for the soap, squirting it in the bucket and getting to work washing the car.

March, Remus and Sirius

It had actually been an accident. Not like when he’d gone to school with a black eye and told his teacher that he’d walked into a door.

Harry had been running down the third floor corridor when he tripped over Kreacher's nasty metal bucket. He pitched forwards and caught himself on his right arm, hurting it.

He'd sat on the carpet in the hall for almost ten minutes before he was brave enough to call for Remus and Sirius. He still struggled with believing that they wanted him to be happy and healthy.

Sirius panicked. As in, ran down the hall and smacked into the wall, panicked.

Remus was the calm. Always the calm.

He took a look at Harry's arm and helped him up off the floor, telling him everything would be okay and that he was a brave boy.

Two months ago, Harry would have thought he was patronising him. Now, he believes that Remus thinks him asking for help is brave.

To Harry, Remus is the bravest person he has ever met. Sure Sirius liked to do dangerous stunts on his motorbike and his broom. And he tended to run towards danger rather than away from it.

But Remus had spent nearly his whole life as a werewolf. His whole life being torn apart from the inside. Worrying about how people would react if they found out. How they would treat him once they knew.

And he told people anyway. Had told Harry straight away. Had been ready for whatever reaction he had.

“Moony! We’ve got to get him to a healer!” Sirius cries.

Harry shakes his head even as his arm throbs.

“I’m alright. I don’t need a doctor,” he insists.

Sirius and Remus might pay Harry more attention than his Aunt and Uncle ever did, but that didn’t mean Harry liked to burden them with silly things like this. He’d gotten hurt loads of times before. He’d be alright.

“You do, Harry. You need a doctor to look at your arm,” Moony explains, ever so patient.

Harry gnaws at his lip.

“Sure.”

Once that is settled, they all get in the car and head to St. Mungo’s. Sirius sits in the back with Harry like he had last year when they’d driven away from the Dursleys.

It actually makes Harry feel better.

When they reach the magical hospital, Harry lets Sirius get the doors for him, fussing over him. Remus at least manages to convince Sirius that Harry doesn’t need a wheelchair to get around.

“My godson has hurt his arm, we need to see a healer.” Sirius explains to a pretty witch behind a counter.

Soon enough the three of them are in a waiting room.

If he’s being honest, Harry’s arm actually really hurts. Worse than it had when Dudley had wrenched it behind his back after catching him during an early game of Harry Hunting.

A knock at the door makes Sirius stand up, all nervous concerned energy. Remus sets a comforting hand on his arm.

“Hello, I am Healer Singh. I’m told young Harry has hurt his arm?” A tall woman enters, smiling.

“Yes. He tripped over a bloody bucket,” Sirius says, still a bit panicked.

Harry feels awful for making his Godfather worry so much.

“It’s okay. It really doesn’t hurt very much,” Harry says, hoping it calms Sirius down.

“Well I’m just going to take a look at it and see what I can do,” Healer Singh says.

Harry lets her look at his arm, relieved that she doesn’t hurt him at all. Just uses her wand to cast some sort of spell.

“Well, it is broken. Only, well I’m a bit hesitant to just spell it better. Harry, have you hurt your arm before?”

He isn’t sure what the right answer is. Yes, he’d hurt his arm before. When he’d fallen out of a tree that Marge’s awful dogs had chased him up into. When his uncle had shoved him aside when Harry hadn’t moved out of his way fast enough. Once when he fell on the drive in the snow.

“Yeah, I think so,” he mumbles.

The healer talks over his head a bit to Sirius and Remus and Harry kicks his feet, waiting for her to ask for more details.

“We would be more than willing to provide our own memories,” Remus says, voice tense. It surprises Harry, to hear him so grim.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, I just wanted to make sure that the old injuries were not a result of Harry’s current living situation.”

Oh. Harry should have been paying attention. The healer thinks that Sirius and Remus did this.

“I tripped over a bucket! They weren’t even there! Please don’t take me away from them,” he begs.

Now all three of them are panicking.

Sirius because he hadn’t been able to protect his godson. Remus because his being a werewolf makes him a less than desirable guardian. And Harry because the healer thinks that he is being harmed by the only two people who have ever cared about him. Insinuating that they would ever hurt him makes anger flash.

Luckily, the healer assures all of them that she was merely following procedure. That she could tell Harry was in a very loving and safe environment.

They all calm down. Mostly. Sirius asks if he can smoke in the patient room.

Unfortunately, Healer Singh isn’t able to heal Harry’s arm straight away because of the old injuries he’s had. Something about his arm having previously healed all wonky. All wonky were not the words she had used but that was the gist.

Instead, she wraps Harry’s arm in a cast, much like a muggle doctor would have. Though this one is charmed to help the bones in his arm shift around so that he can come back and have it set.

He chooses a bright pink cast.

“Are you sure you are alright? She can give you a pain potion, Haz,” Sirius says, running a hand over Harry’s hair.

“Could we take one just in case? I’m alright for now,” he says, enjoying Sirius’s gentle touch.

Healer Singh sends them off with a couple of different pain potions as well as instructions to charm the cast when Harry showers and not to fly, apparate, or use the floo until after the cast comes off.

“Well I don’t know about you two, but I need some ice cream,” Sirius declares as they leave the hospital.

They go to Fortescue’s, Harry wearing a notice-me-not while he eats his raspberry cone.

“Would you draw on my cast, Padfoot? Like your tattoos? It’s a muggle thing. You don’t have to.” 

“Of course I will. I’m thinking of a shark jumping through a ring of fire. Or maybe a hippogriff wearing rain boots.”

Harry giggles.

Even though he’d passed on the pain potion, he can’t stop smiling. 

Chapter Text

April, The Dursleys

Aunt Petunia had spent most of Uncle Vernon's bonus check on bulbs. Delicate things that Harry was meant to plant in the beds around the house so that they grew into beautiful flowers that Aunt Petunia could boast about to her neighbours.

He was nervous about the whole process. What if they grew too close together? Or worse, too far apart? What if he put the bulbs that need more light in the darker part of the garden? What if it rained too much and none of them grew at all? What if a gopher got into the yard and destroyed the beds?

He was sure his Uncle would blame him and take out his anger in the way that was becoming more and more common. With heavy fists and scary shouting.

So even as he bends over the soil, taking care with each bulb and making sure to pull stones and position the bulbs upright, he tries to figure out what he can do to prevent the garden from getting messed up.

Of course, like the rest of his life, he can’t control what happens. But that doesn't stop him from feeling anxious. Scared.

“I want the crocuses along the fence,” Aunt Petunia instructs, setting a glass of water down on the front steps.

Then she turns around and heads back inside.

Harry sips the water greedily and then sets the crocus bulbs into the beds along the fence.

Everything feels like life or death lately.

What to say at the dinner table. When to ask his aunt for lunch on a saturday. How to vacuum the carpet in the living room or fold his uncle’s shirts.

Harry feels like everything in the world is impossibly hard.

For him.

Not for everyone else.

His cousin certainly doesn’t struggle with asking for things. He demands them. And gets what he demands.

His aunt knows exactly what to say, knows what conversations are important and interesting and necessary.

His uncle has such a perfect grasp on the way things are meant to work, he seems intent on beating the answers into Harry.

How could Harry not understand that he was lucky to be living at Privet Drive?

How could he not feel obligated to make up for what a burden he was?

Sometimes, more often than not nowadays, Harry thinks that maybe he really is a freak.

He doesn’t understand anything. Doesn’t fit in. Can’t seem to figure out what he is supposed to be doing.

“Why are you just sitting there?” Dudley asks, tilting his head to look at Harry like he is some weird anomaly.

It only adds to Harry’s dread.

“I was only resting,” he defends himself.

“You look stupid,” Dudley sneers.

Harry bites his tongue.

Stands up and brushes his knees off.

“I got distracted,” he says, walking away from his cousin.

“Where are you going?”

Harry doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t want to talk to his cousin. Ever. 

“Wales,” he answers, grabbing the crate of crocus bulbs and heading for the fence.
“Shut up!” Dudley says, suddenly right behind Harry.

Harry should be ready for it. The punch that his cousin sends into his side with surprising force for an eight year old.

Harry groans and grips tighter to the crate of bulbs, focusing on not dropping them.

“You are such a waste of space!” Dudley shouts.

Harry knows that.

He sets the crate down next to the fence and sighs.

“Isn’t Aunt Petunia making pudding?” Harry asks, hoping to dangle a carrot shaped like pudding in front of his bully of a cousin’s face.

Dudley looks back towards the house and then punches Harry- hard- in the arm before stomping back into the house.

Harry rubs at his arm and then kneels down in front of the garden beds, his chest tight.

As he digs into the soil and plants each bulb, he can’t help but ask himself what the point of it all is.

All this work. The garden, the chores, the cooking.

Still, he plants the crocuses in a perfect line, waters them just enough and puts everything away neatly in the shed.

April, Remus and Sirius

April Fool’s Day. Harry isn’t sure it is a magical holiday, but he is certain it is one that Sirius, Remus, and his father celebrated while at Hogwarts.

He’d overheard Remus telling Sirius that they would be skipping the holiday this year. Something about not wanting Harry to feel his trust was misplaced in any way.

Harry was determined to ask them all about the Fool’s days past, but first- he is going to play a prank on his guardians.

His Godfather and his Uncle Moony.

Now, Harry doesn’t have a lot of skills beyond vacuuming, scrubbing, and cooking. So it takes him a while to decide on what he wants to do.

Once he does though, it is easy.

A carton of eggs, some boiling water, and fifteen minutes.

When he is done, Harry sneaks back up to bed and lays there until the light is streaming through his window and Sirius is calling his name from the other side of the door.

He is so giddy he has to cover his giggles under his blankets before he calls back.

“Be right down!”

Most mornings, Kreacher is too busy polishing his mistress’s portrait to make breakfast. Sirius says it is because he is lazy. Remus says it is because his old hands struggle with cracking eggs.

So Sirius and Remus usually cook. Eggs on toast with sausage. Easy and filling. For a growing boy, Sirius always says.

Remus usually asks Sirius when he will be done growing. Standing at well over four inches taller than his partner, Remus likes to poke fun.

Harry likes it too. None of Remus’s snarky comments make Harry feel the way the Dursley’s words had.

When he hears Remus shuffle down the hall, Harry pushes back his blankets, shoves his feet into his lion slippers and follows after him.

Once he reaches the kitchen he sits at the table and watches. Usually he helps set the table or pull the orange juice out of the fridge. Not today. He wants a front row seat.

He can barely keep his excitement hidden as Sirius asks Remus to grab the eggs.

“Sure, and some cheese?” Remus asks, standing in front of the refrigerator.

“Extra protein! Of course,” Sirius says, casting a short spell that sets the stovetop alight and begins heating the pan.

“How did you sleep, Harry?” Remus asks, fishing around in the fridge.

“Great!” He says just a little too loudly. Both men turn to look at him but he just smiles shyly.

“I was thinking we could go to the park after breakfast,” Sirius offers, the pan in front of him preheating.

Harry has watched Sirius cook breakfast dozens of times.

Which is why his prank is perfect.

Remus sets the carton of eggs on the counter.

Sirius kisses him quickly.

And then Harry watches as his Godfather picks up an egg, cracks it on the side of the pan and drops the yolk into the pan.

He covers his mouth to muffle his laugh.

Another egg.

Raw.

And then… when he cracks the egg, the shell breaks but the boiled egg just sinks down on the rim of the pan.

“What the?” Sirius asks, lifting the egg and blinking at it.

Harry laughs.

Remus asks Sirius what’s the matter.

Harry’s laugh draws their attention.

“What did you do?” Sirius asks, his face hard to gauge.

Harry interprets it as cross when he should have interpreted it as incredulous.

“I’ll eat them! I promise they won’t go to waste!” He stammers. Panic crawls up his spine and tears spring from nowhere. “It was just a prank. I thought- I don’t know, I'm sorry!”

“Harry, Harry, breathe. I love your prank. Truly,” Sirius comforts him.

He hadn’t meant to cry.

Harry sniffles and wipes at his face.

And then Remus bursts out laughing. Followed by Sirius laughing. Harry joins in, remembering who his guardians are.

“Brilliant. You’re brilliant,” Remus says, leaning against the counter and pointing at the hard boiled egg in Sirius’s hand. “When did you even manage to do that? We hardly give you a moment’s peace.”

Sirius shoves Remus.

Harry shrugs.

“This morning. I woke up early.”

The eggs in the pan burn, Sirius insists they try and guess which ones left in the carton are boiled and which are still raw.

The three of them push breakfast back in favour of going outside and throwing the eggs against the garden wall.

Harry laughs so hard his side hurts.

And Sirius declares that it is now open season on pranks.

Chapter Text

May, The Dursleys

Miss Davis brought in a giant tub of art supplies and set it on her desk, telling the class that Mother’s Day was that weekend.

“I want each of you to make a card for your mum, to show her how much you appreciate everything she does for you.”

The students line up and pick through the box, selecting stickers and paper and glitter to make their cards the best of the bunch.

Harry stays in his seat, doodling on the page of a notebook. The first half of the notebook is filled with Dudley’s fat letters, having been his the year prior.

Harry likes to go through those pages and cover them with his drawings. Silly doodles of snakes and flowers and rabbits. All of the things he sees in the Dursley’s garden.

“Mr. Potter, you should get in line before all of the good stuff is gone,” Miss Davis says, stopping at the corner of his table.

“I’m not going to make a card,” he says, shrugging and not looking up from his doodling.

She bends down to Harry’s eye level and takes his pencil out of his hand.

“Don’t you think your mum deserves a nice card?” She asks, sounding a bit upset at Harry’s words.

“I haven’t got a mum,” Harry answers, voice thick.

He had taken to saying it that way.

That he hasn’t got a mum. Not that his mum is dead. He hates when his cousin tells people that his mum is dead.

“Oh, right. You live with your cousin. Well, you should make a card for your aunt then. She’s sort of like your mum, isn’t she?” 

Harry doesn’t think he likes Miss Davis anymore.

She seems sort of stupid. Not that he would tell her that.

“She’s my aunt,” he says dumbly.

“I know that, Harry. But you should still be grateful for everything she does for you. Everyone else is making a card. You have to make one too.”

Harry has a response for that as well.

My Aunt will be the first person to tell you that I am very ungrateful.

“Okay,” he says instead, pushing back his chair and going up to the art supplies box.

He picks a piece of yellow paper, because he knows that is her favourite colour. And he picks a sticker of a purple flower because it sort of looks like the flowers she’d had him plant in the garden.

Harry works alongside the rest of his classmates for the whole hour, putting together a very nice card for his Aunt Petunia.

He even writes a very nice note on the inside.

Thank you for taking me in when I was a baby. I am grateful for everything you have done for me.

He doesn’t sign it, Love Harry because even he knows that would be too much.

At the end of the day, he tucks the card into his bag gently, stomach churning at the idea of giving it to her.

He’d brought her a flower once, on Mother’s Day. 

Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley out to buy Aunt Petunia a card and flowers and a lovely dress and then she had wept happily when she had opened it.

Harry had felt awful for not getting her anything.

So he’d gone outside and picked the prettiest flower in the garden.

He’d marched himself inside, presented it to his aunt and told her Happy Mother’s Day.

Aunt Petunia had sneered, thrown out the flower, and told him not to rip out the garden.

Ever since then, Harry has tried to make himself scarce on Mother’s Day. 

Dudley doesn’t even wait until they are home to pull his card out and give it to his mum. Never mind that Mother’s Day isn’t until Sunday.

She cries, and tells him she loves him, and brings him for ice cream.

They ignore Harry, leaving him in the backseat while they enjoy their cones.

Harry leaves his backpack on the floor between his feet.

By Sunday, he has twisted himself up about it so much that he vomits in the shower.

He cooks breakfast, careful not to make any mistakes. Then he waits for them all to come back from a visit to the local botanical gardens.

He eats dinner with them, every once in a while thinking of excusing himself to go get the card.

And then Harry goes to bed, curling up in his cupboard, the card still sitting in his backpack.

Aunt Petunia isn’t his mum.

She isn’t even sort of his mum.

He isn’t particularly grateful to her and he wishes she hadn’t taken him in as a baby.

Uncle Vernon reminded him constantly that they could have taken him straight to an orphanage. That it was only out of the goodness of their hearts that they kept him.

Harry wishes they had taken him to an orphanage.

No one would have made him make a Mother’s Day card if he was at an orphanage.

May, Remus and Sirius

Last August, when Remus and Sirius had come to save Harry from the Dursleys- and Harry does think of it as being saved- he had taken his school bag with him. With Remus homeschooling him and Sirius buying him what felt like hundreds of new possessions, Harry hadn’t had any reason to open it since then.

But then Remus asks him if he’s got a phone number or name for his last school teacher. Something about making sure there weren’t any gaps in his studies.

His book bag was the only place he could think he might have something with that information on it.

Except Harry had forgotten what else was in his book bag.

While he is emptying out the pockets, he finds the card he’d made for Aunt Petunia last year.

The stupid flower on the front sends a spike of anger through him.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Harry only knows because of the muggle cat calendar Remus had put on the fridge to tease Sirius.

Harry forgets his backpack and takes the card over to the small table he’s been using as a desk.

He just sits there for a few minutes staring at it.

Thank you for taking me in when I was a baby. I am grateful for everything you have done for me.

Harry is glad he never gave it to Aunt Petunia. They are lies.

He isn’t grateful to his Aunt at all.

Some days, when he is feeling particularly angry, he thinks that he hates her.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and he still has no one to give a card to.

Sirius and Remus are amazing.

But they aren’t his mum.

Lily.

Harry’s seen hundreds of pictures of her now.

Her bright red hair, brighter green eyes.

Eyes that he could see in his own reflection.

His mum.

Without thinking, Harry tears up the card in front of him.

Then, he grabs a piece of paper and starts writing.

Half and hour later he has a Mother’s Day card that he is actually proud of.

Dear Mum,

As much as I wish you were here, I know you will always be my mum. I dream about you. Your smile. I love you. -Harry

He’s drawn himself next to her and his dad, James, on her other side. He’s drawn lilies too, a dozen of them along the edge of the paper. 

And then he gets up from his desk and runs through the house looking for Sirius and Remus.

He finds them both in the back garden, hand in hand as they smoke on the patio.

“Harry!” Sirius coughs, putting the cigarette out and waving the smoke off with a hand.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, reading Harry’s face easily now.

“I want to visit Mum,” Harry says.

He holds the card to his chest, not wanting to show them.

Harry had made it for his Mum. No one else.

Sirius and Remus share a long look and nod.

They haven’t brought him to Godric’s Hollow before. They nearly did at Halloween, but Harry had still been adjusting to his new situation. They’d been worried it would only make things worse.

But since then they’ve talked about James and Lily a lot. Shared mementos and stories and pictures.

“Now?” Sirius asks.

“Tomorrow. For Mother’s day,” he says.

Sirius and Remus are quick to agree. Remus offers to take Harry to the florist in the morning so he can pick out a bouquet for her.

“Thank you,” Harry says softly, still holding his handmade card to his chest.

“We’ll have to floo. I think Mary’s mother still lives over there. I can try and call tonight,” Remus says to Sirius.

“Could we bring her flowers too? If she’s a mum?” Harry asks.

Remus nods proudly.

********

The next morning, Harry and Remus walk to the florist. Harry picks the biggest bouquet he can carry and a balloon with a really pretty picture of a garden on it that says Happy Mother’s day.

And then the three of them floo to Mary’s mum’s house.

She is older now, with deep lines in her face. But she is kind and ever so grateful for the flowers that they bring her.

They don’t stay long, Harry clearly itching to visit his mum.

They walk past his old house.

The first place he was meant to call home.

Remus doesn’t let them linger there either, even if Sirius has to wipe tears from his cheeks.

The cemetery is quiet.

Most of the stones are really old, ancient really.

And then Harry is standing in front of two headstones.

James Potter, a loyal friend and proud father.

Lily Potter, a kind friend and loving mother.

Harry cries.

Sets down the flowers in front of his mum’s stone.

Reads her the card through blurry eyes.

And then releases the balloon, sending it up into the sky for his mum.

“Love you, Mum. Love you Dad,” he whispers into the air.

Remus and Sirius keep their arms around his shoulders as the three of them stand there and grieve.

Chapter Text

June, The Dursleys

The Dursleys are going on holiday. Five days at some beachside cottage that Vernon had found out about from his coworker.

Harry would be spending the whole time at Mrs. Figg’s house.

But today, he is locked away in his cupboard while Aunt Petunia runs around the house packing.

Harry sits on his cot with a book in his lap, squinting at the words and trying to ignore the flurry of his family members.

“Vernon, dear, we need to find a new bathing costume for Dudley. And I want to buy a better pair of shoes for you, for on the sand,” Aunt Petunia calls as she rushes down the steps.

Harry rolls his eyes.

“Of course, darling. We can get dinner someplace too. Start our trip early,” Uncle Vernon answers from the living room.

Harry’s stomach growls.

Dudley bounds downstairs and begs to go to Francis’s Chicken Shop.

It is his favourite because they have a kids meal that includes chips, chicken, and fishsticks.

Harry had never had it, but he couldn’t imagine it was worth so much begging from his cousin.

Of course, when your begging actually results in getting what you want, Harry supposes it makes sense to keep doing it.

He can’t focus on his book. He isn’t looking forward to spending five days with their crazy cat lady neighbour.

Last time he’d stayed with her it had only been for one night and he’d been able to spend most of it hiding in her spare bedroom.

“Dudley, grab your shoes, we are going to go shopping for some last minute bits and bobs. And yes, we can go to the chicken shop,” Aunt Petunia answers, kindness in her tone.

Uncle Vernon stops in front of Harry’s cupboard door.

He doesn’t say anything to Harry.

Not that Harry can come with them to dinner.

Not that Harry is allowed out of his cupboard while they are gone.

Not that Harry should get together a bag to take to Mrs. Figg’s the next morning.

He just slides the lock shut on Harry’s door and rounds up the rest of his family.

Harry doesn’t understand why he needs to be locked in his cupboard while they go to the shops and then to dinner.

Probably because his aunt and uncle think he is going to break something or spill something or set something on fire.

He rests his chin on his hand and reads his book until he hears the car pull away.

Then he closes the book and sets it aside.

He reaches under the shelf behind him and pulls out the broken fragment of a clothes hanger that he had stolen nearly a year ago from a dry cleaning service bag.

It takes some finagling but he manages to pull the sliding lock enough that the door pushes open.

No longer trapped, Harry climbs out of the cupboard with a bright smile.

He should have a few hours to himself.

Starting in the kitchen, Harry takes a roll of crackers from the cabinet next to the refrigerator and then some peanut butter from a jar in the back of the pantry.

He sits on the floor in front of the TV and watches a program he’s never seen before.

Harry doesn’t understand why the Dursleys are so obsessed with the TV, but he knows he is not going to miss his chance at using it.

After an episode of the program, he hoovers the carpet, just in case of crumbs, and hides the wrapper to the crackers in the bottom of the trash.

Then he makes a decision to sneak into Dudley’s second bedroom and see if he can find something small he could hide in his cupboard to play with.

There are countless model cars and aeroplanes lying broken around the room, but Harry ignores those.

He picks a small figurine of a knight astride a horse and then rifles through the many books Dudley had received as gifts but never read.

Harry is pleased to find a book that has a picture of a knight a lot like the figurine on its cover.

“The Once and Future King,” he reads the title aloud, excitedly.

Harry likes to talk aloud when he is left home alone. It is the only time his mouth can’t get him in trouble.

Harry marches back downstairs and sits on the couch, resting the figurine on the arm of the couch and opening the book.

It’s interesting. It is all about a far off land where men of honour fight to protect a land called Gramarye. It sounds incredible. Harry can picture the glorious castle and the lives of the townsfolk. He especially likes Merlyn, a man with the ability to shape shift and perform magic.

Magic. Harry knows that it isn’t real. Afterall, his uncle had beaten the knowledge into him.

But there is something so wonderful about the ability to change reality.

Yes, Harry quite likes this book.

He must be very careful not to be caught with it. Which means that he stops reading it after just an hour and returns it to Dudley’s room. If it were found in his cupboard, he would receive more than a cuff round the head.

Harry looks at the other toys in the room but decides he doesn’t want to play with any of them.

So he wanders the house a bit, stepping foot in the guest room which he is not allowed in.

He goes into his aunt and uncle’s room and makes funny faces in the mirror.

He even goes into Dudley's room which has a KEEP OUT sign posted on the door and lays on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

In his cupboard, he has the frame of the stairs to look at, and the spider webs, but he can’t really see much at night.

Dudley has stars on his ceiling that glow in the dark. 

Harry imagines what it might be like to sleep in this room, under these stars.

“It’ll never happen,” he reminds himself out loud, pinching his arm.

The trespassing doesn’t make him feel good. If anything, it just makes him more anxious.

Harry goes back to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He is still hungry. He could probably get away with eating a bit of cheese. Or maybe some of the grapes in the drawer. They’ll most likely go bad before any of the Dursley’s eat them.

He closes the fridge without taking anything out.

Glancing at the clock on the oven, Harry figures he has another two hours before there is any chance of his family returning.

He looks around, at the TV, then at the fridge, then out the window.

It’s a beautiful autumn day outside.

The back door overlooking the garden is unlocked.

Making another decision, Harry heads outside, ignoring the bucket of garden tools and running across the small grass yard. It doesn’t take a lot to make his chest heave and his face warm, but he pushes past the exhaustion, enjoying moving around beneath the warm sun.

He ignores the few leaves laying amongst the grass, knowing that he’ll have to rake them up soon enough, but not today.

Checking the bottoms of his feet, he washes the dirt off before sitting and waiting for them to dry so he can go back inside.

“Harry?” a voice calls from the fence,

He feels like he has been plunged into the freezing cold bathtub all of a sudden.

Mrs. Figg is standing on the other side of the fence.

“Harry, is that you?”

He could run inside and hope she doesn’t think anything more of it. That she doesn’t think to mention seeing him when his aunt and uncle drop him off tomorrow morning. 

But Harry is a very unlucky child so he knows the odds of that happening are pretty low.

“Yes, Mrs. Figg. It’s me,” he calls back.

“What are you doing?”

What is he doing?

“Nothing,” he blurts.

His mind is panicking.

“Would you get your aunt for me?”

“She’s napping… before the trip,” he lies. He hates lying. It never helps.

“Oh, alright. No bother. I just wanted to tell her that I’ll have to leave you alone for a bit tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment. You’ll let her know, Dear?”

No. 

“Yes, Mrs. Figg,” he says dutifully. “I should go inside now.”

He is closed behind the back door before she can say goodbye.

Harry should never have gone outside.

He pulls his shirt off and wipes dry his feet, knowing his aunt will notice any dirt left behind.

He’d thought perhaps he’d watch some more TV or maybe nick an old pair of shoes from Dudley for school.

Instead, he closes himself back into his cupboard, sliding the lock shut with his hanger.

His chest is tight and his breathing is shallow. He hates when this happens.

When his brain goes all fuzzy and his body begs for comfort.

When the Dursleys finally come back, they are laughing and Harry holds his breath.

Dudley runs upstairs and dust flitters down from the wood.

Uncle Vernon ignores the door as he walks towards the living room, probably to turn on the telly. Had Harry put the remote back in the right spot?

Aunt Petunia stops outside the door and he listens as she slides open the lock on the door.

“Bathroom and then dinner,” Aunt Petunia steps to the side, giving him a quick once-over.

He scurries around her towards the bathroom, trying to keep quiet and hoping that she doesn’t take inventory of the pantry.

He listens as she clunks round the kitchen and washes his hands for too long, letting the hot water soothe him.

When he enters the kitchen, his aunt is closing the microwave.

“You’ll need to put together a bag of clothes for the next few days. The house is going to be locked,” Aunt Petunia tells him as she opens the door and pulls out a plate with fish fingers on it.

She adds an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and sets it in front of him.

“Thank you,” Harry says softly.

He eats quickly, the fish sticks still half frozen and the apple mealy.

He should have taken something else from the fridge earlier.

After he eats, he helps carry their luggage out to the car, packs his own bag, and then heads to bed.

He falls asleep thinking of the bed in Mrs. Figg’s spare bedroom.

Sure it will be covered in cat hair and smell a bit like piss, but it is a real bed.

The next morning, Harry stays out of the way as much as possible until 10 o’clock when he is marched over to Mrs. Figg’s doorstep and left- a lot like he had been as a baby.

Mrs. Figg is nice enough to Harry, lets him watch telly and cooks him dinner.

But she has so many cats. And so many pictures of cats. He can barely walk around her carpeted house without walking into one of them.

He is standing at the window when the Dursleys leave for their holiday. 

It hurts, watching them drive away.

June, Remus and Sirius

Harry’s first time on an aeroplane is awful. His ears pop and his nose runs and the woman who sits in front of him puts her seat all the way back. Luckily, it isn’t a terribly long flight.

“Here, chew on this. It will help your ears,” Remus instructs, handing him a piece of gum as the plane begins its descent.

Harry does as he is instructed and is relieved when it worked. Take off hadn’t gone so smoothly.

“Can you believe Padfoot slept the whole time?” Remus asks, smiling playfully.

Harry grins.

In fact, he could believe it. He’s been living with Sirius for almost a year. The man could sleep standing up if he had to.

“Do you think he’s going to be cranky?” Harry asks.

“It’s a fair bet, Haz. We’ll just have to pump him full of caffeine and tell him he passes for a frenchman.”

The landing is smooth, Sirius remaining asleep until Remus is forced to jostle him awake.

“Mhm. No,” Sirius groans.

“We’re in France, Padfoot!” Harry bounces in his seat, already craning his head to try and see the Eiffel Tower. They’d purposefully flown into Paris even though it was hours away from the Black family compound so Harry could see it.

They’d be spending the night in Paris before flooing straight to the French town that Harry can’t pronounce.

“Come on, Sirius. There is an incredibly old and surprisingly comfortable bed waiting for you in Le Château non Empoisonné.”

Sirius buries his face in Remus’s shoulder.

“Can we go swimming, Moony?” Harry asks.

He’d been learning in the pool at Grimmauld Place. 

“Absolutely.”

Harry is so excited, he bounces in his seat until everyone else disembarks and then drags Sirius by the hand off the plane and through the airport.

As cranky as Sirius is, he manages to smile when Harry explains that while he had been asleep Harry had finally managed to turn his matchstick into a needle. His children’s wand made it through airport security with no problem.

Sirius promises to show Harry a spell for tying shoelaces.

The journey from the airport to the hotel is short and by the time they get there Sirius’s French is less rusty and he is able to order the three of them lunch in the room along with what Remus tells Harry translates to a vat of coffee.

Harry can’t stop grinning. Everything is so new and beautiful and exciting.

He wondered if this was how Dudley had felt when the Dursleys had gone to Cornwall.

It wasn’t very nice, but Harry felt a bit smug that the Dursleys had never been on a holiday abroad.

The room is amazing. With two gigantic bedrooms and a salon and a living room and a bathroom with a tub so big Harry could probably keep practising his swimming in it.

They eat together at a big table, Sirius opting for a glass of wine instead of the coffee Remus had tried to sell him on.

After, Sirius says he is just going to have a quick nap which Remus knows means he’ll be out for hours. So he and Harry head out into Paris. Padfoot won’t be upset to miss Harry’s first day in France, he hates Paris.

Harry and Moony do a lot of walking. A lot. As well as a bit of apparition. Just a bit. Harry is glad for it though, because Remus’s hip seems to be bothering him more and more as the day wears on.

They see the Eiffel Tower and the Arc De Triomphe and Notre Dame and a woman playing the violin that Harry stands and stares at for nearly a half hour.

They eat cheese on bread and Harry tries a bit of Moony’s wine, face screwing up at the taste.

Remus takes Harry by the wizarding district, pointing out a couple of shops but not bringing him into any of them.

Harry’s fame was still an unknown entity that none of them wanted to mess with.

After a long afternoon of walking, they wind their way back to the hotel.

“How is he still asleep?” Harry asks.

They wake him up and go for dinner. A private little spot on the top of a beautiful building that has a gorgeous view of the Eiffel tower.

Harry tries snails, to little success, and then polishes off a creme brulee while trying to ignore how lovey dovey Sirius and Remus are together. 

When they go back to the room, he scurries off to bed, hoping they take advantage of the night together.

*****************

The next morning, Harry emerges to find Sirius hand feeding Remus a chocolate croissant. He loves how much they care for one another. He hopes one day he has someone half as special as they are to each other.

“Will we go to the beach today?” Harry asks. It is the part he is most excited for. He’s never seen the sea before.

Of course, Sirius and Remus probably would have taken him back in August when they’d come to get him from the Dursleys. Only, he hadn’t mentioned it. And then Remus had asked about holidays. 

It had been his first suggestion. Sirius had declared they were going to France in his next breath.

“I’ve already got the floo open. Been over this morning. As soon as you are ready.”

Harry nods at Sirius and runs to his room, shoving his belongings back in his travel bag and running back out.

“I’m ready!”

So Remus and Sirius use a couple of quick charms to set the room right and pack their own things and then they are all stepping through the floo.

Harry barely notices how grandiose the Black chateau is. Rather, he rushes off to change into his swimming costume and then sprints down the stone path that leads to a private beach.

Sirius, well Padfoot really, runs after him until they reach the water’s edge. It is so blue.

And then Harry stops.

Takes it in.

What his life has turned into.

A vacation in the south of France. 

Two parents who love him.

A safe environment where he knows he can express his needs, his wants.

Everything he’d ever wished for from the dark of his cupboard.

“Harry, don’t go out too far,” Remus cautions, setting a chair down on the warm sand. 

He nods and then Padfoot bounds into the water, splashing him.

Following him in, Harry is every bit the eight year old boy Sirius and Remus have spent nearly a year teaching him to be.

Chapter Text

July, The Dursleys

Harry’s favourite food is pancakes. They are sweet, and filling. So when he wakes up on his birthday to find that Aunt Petunia is cooking pancakes, he thinks that maybe she has remembered his birthday.

Usually she waits for him to get up and help her with breakfast, so he thinks that she did it as a surprise.

But when he walks into the kitchen he remembers that Dudley had had his friend Piers Polkiss over for a sleepover.

They are both already at the dining room table, eating precut pancakes with syrup, and hundreds and thousands, and chocolate chips.

“Good morning, Aunt Petunia,” Harry greets his aunt, hoping that she is making a plate for him too.

He’d be fine sitting at the table and having food flicked at him by his cousin and his mean friend if it meant he could have pancakes on his birthday.

“Lazing about, were you?” She asks. “Go on, eat your breakfast and then you can start on the laundry.”

She points to a plate of pancakes.

They don’t have any syrup on them, but there are chocolate chips.
“Thank you,” Harry smiles, taking the plate to the table and using the butter knife to cut up his pancakes.

It isn’t easy and he mangles them a bit more than he means to, but it doesn’t make them taste any less delicious.

After breakfast, Aunt Petunia takes Piers and Dudley to the park, leaving Harry to wash the dishes and start on the laundry.

He manages to avoid upsetting his Uncle, who spends the day ordering Harry about from his spot in the living room. Running Harry ragged and coming up with chores that don’t even make sense. Polishing the legs of the dining room table and organising the pantry by alphabet and then undoing it because Uncle Vernon didn’t like it that way after all.

Harry doesn’t mind it much as by the time Aunt Petunia and Dudley are home, the house is in excellent condition. Aunt Petunia actually lets him eat dinner too, baked chicken and veggies over rice. 

There is no birthday cake, or song, or present, but Harry doesn’t mind. His Uncle hadn’t hit him. His aunt had fed him two whole meals. And Dudley had been so distracted by his friend that he’d basically ignored Harry all day.

As far as birthdays, this one has been alright.

Still, as he lays on his cot and stares up at the lines of the stairs, Harry can’t help but make a wish.

Please please please, take me away from here.

July, Remus and Sirius

Pancakes. There are maybe a hundred pancakes sitting on plates on the low table.

Harry stands in the door watching as Sirius moves from one foot to another, still adding to a stack beside him.

“Sirius?” He asks.

His godfather turns, a bright smile on his face.

“Harry! Breakfast! I may have gotten a bit carried away but I added too much flour and then had to compensate with more milk and then I ended up with way too much batter. We don't have to eat them all, I figure some of them could be fun to use as frisbees. Several of them are fairly solid.”

Harry laughs, light and hearty.

“Why don’t you tuck in and I’ll get something to drink for both of us? Remus should be up in a couple of hours.”

The moon had been hard on Remus.

Harry nods, picking the most evenly stacked plate of pancakes. Only one of them seems to be burnt.

He loves the chaos of living with Sirius more than anything else.

“Did you sleep alright, Pronglet?” Sirius asks.

“Yes,” Harry responds, accepting a glass of orange juice from his godfather.

“Did you dream?”

For a moment Harry feels the familiar feeling of panic rushing up his spine.

“I often dream of your father. Our days on the quidditch pitch,” Sirius says, picking up a pancake and dipping it in what Harry assumes is a bowl of maple syrup.

“I have the same dream every once in a while. There is a green light and then it is like I am flying. A flying motorcycle actually,” Harry whispers, as though he is revealing something secret.

“Flying motorcycle you say?” Sirius sounds all of a sudden choked up.

“Uncle Vernon told me that was impossible. I wasn’t allowed to talk about it.”

Sirius swallows the curse he has in his mind whenever Harry’s non guardian comes up and forces a smile.

“Well it is very much possible. In fact, I had a flying motorcycle of my own, way back when.”

Harry’s eyes light up.

“Really? Where did you get it? How did it fly?”

Sirius launches into a full explanation of the bike he’d been obsessed with. Perhaps he could get a new one.

After breakfast, Remus appears, tired but happy.

“Happy Birthday, Haz,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

“Thanks, Moony,” Harry replies, blushing a bit.

“Oh right, Happy Birthday, Prongslet,” Sirius says, mouth full of a bite of Remus’s late breakfast.

“He didn’t wish you a Happy Birthday yet?” Remus asks Harry.

Harry shakes his head. It didn’t even really occur to him to be sad about it.

The Dursleys never wished him a happy birthday.

“You wanker,” Remus scolds.

Harry bursts out laughing.

“I was waiting for you, Moons! I thought you’d want to give him out present together. You know I wouldn’t have been able to wait if I acknowledged the miracle of his birth straight away!” Sirius defends himself.

Harry can’t stop giggling.

And then a giant box comes out.

It is about a metre high and wide with a big bow on top.

“Go on, it has a bit of a time requirement on it,” Sirius hints.

Harry pulls the bow off and then the top of the box.

Inside is a glass container.

Remus helps him lift it out of the box.

And then Harry gets a real look at his present.

It is a snake.

A small thing, with really pretty colouring.

“It’s a Python,” Sirius tells him.

Harry opens the top latch and smiles as both Remus and Sirius step back.

“ Hello, I’m Harry,” he tells the snake, his parseltongue clearly a surprise to the small creature.

“ You can speak to me,”  the snake answers, emerging from an arched piece of wood to get a better look at Harry.

Harry just nods and lowers a hand into the tank.

The snake is clearly shy, Harry can tell, but eventually he wraps himself around Harry’s hand and wrist.

“ What’s your name?” Harry asks as he pulls him the rest of the way out of the tank.

Remus and Sirius are now leaning against the kitchen counter, nearly five feet away.

“ I am Kai, snakelet. Pleased to meet you,” Kai, the python, answers.

Harry and the snake have a long conversation, clearly intent on getting to know one another.

Sirius was reluctant to get Harry a snake. He’d wanted another dog in the house. Or even a cat if he had to. Maybe a toad. Definitely not a snake.

But he could see how happy it made Harry, so he could tolerate the thing. For his godson.

“Dad, could I take Kai and show him the garden?” Harry asks, switching back to a language Sirius is much more comfortable with.

“‘Course,” he nods.

And off Harry goes, the Python wrapped around his arm.

Remus takes Sirius’s hand in his and lifts it to his lips.

“He called you Dad,” Remus points out.

So he did.

After Harry exhausts Kai, he sets him back in his tank, promising to show him his room later. Then he thanks Sirius and Remus and the three of them go out for a very special birthday lunch. Then, when they get back, all of Harry's friends are waiting in the garden with a cake and more presents and a party like Harry could never have dreamed for himself.

"I'm so happy," Harry says to his Godfather and his Uncle Moony.

A year ago, he never could have dreamed of a life has as magical as this one. This time, when it comes time for Harry to make a birthday wish, he can't think of anything he doesn't already have.

He's always wanted a family that loves him. And if the last year taught him anything, he always had. They just took a while to find their way back to him.