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On the morning of the blood adoption ceremony, Sirius woke Harry with breakfast in bed.
“We made all your favorites,” Sirius said while Harry was still scrubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Moony even got you coffee, even though you’re a heathen for drinking it.”
“Morning to you, too,” Harry muttered.
Sirius took Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him on the head. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine?” Harry put on his glasses, bringing his godfather into focus. Sirius was already showered and dressed, his beard neatly trimmed, his short hair smartly styled with Sleakeasy’s.
“He wants to know if you’re having second thoughts.” Remus came into the room, carrying a steaming mug. He handed it to Harry. “He’s nervous.”
“No! Why would I have second thoughts?” Harry had been waiting for this day for ages, and had been disappointed it couldn’t be done sooner.
“If you are, you know you can tell me.”
“I know,” Harry said. “I can tell you anything.”
Sirius beamed at him. “Yes, you can.”
“I’m not having second thoughts. I want to do this.”
“Our appointment is at ten,” Remus said, stealing a piece of bacon off of Harry’s plate, “so we’ve got time. Eat your food. It’s best to do a ceremony involving blood magic on a full stomach.”
“Well, I would, if someone didn’t keep stealing it.”
Remus winked at him. “We’ve got more downstairs in the kitchen. Eat up.”
***
The blood adoption ceremony needed to be performed at Gringotts, for a number of complicated reasons Harry hadn’t paid much attention to. The only thing that mattered to him was that it was finally happening. Sirius had been his legal guardian on paper since he was thirteen-going-on-fourteen, but he couldn’t blood-adopt Harry until right before Harry’s seventeenth birthday.
Remus was there as their only witness. Harry and Sirius, both dressed in their finest robes, stood facing each other, a bowl sitting on a pedestal between them. The liquid inside shimmered.
The goblin conducting the ceremony handed Sirius a thin knife. Sirius drew the blade across his palm, and a few drops of blood dripped into the liquid. He handed the knife to Harry, who did the same. Then, Sirius took his hands, while the goblin chanted in a language Harry didn’t recognize.
A dull pounding had taken root behind Harry’s eyes. He’d stayed up too late with Ron on the mirror last night, and now he was paying for it.
“There.” Sirius squeezed Harry’s hands. “It’s over.”
“It’s done?”
“It’s done,” Sirius confirmed.
“I’m your.” Harry swallowed. “I’m your…son?”
“In every way. Yes.”
Harry threw himself into Sirius’s arms. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?” Sirius didn’t let go of him, but pulled back enough to look him in the face. “The honor is mine, Harry.”
***
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, but then he grimaced. Sirius gave him a look. “Bit of a headache, that’s all.”
“That’s not an unusual reaction to blood magic,” Remus said. “Go on up to bed. We’ll bring you a pain reliever potion and some lunch.”
“But Moony--”
“The party isn’t until tonight,” Sirius said. “You can rest for a few hours. Go on.”
“I want to see the tapestry first,” Harry said. “Please?”
As if Sirius could deny him that, especially when he wanted to see it himself. “All right, but we’ll make it fast.”
Harry took off down the hallway, Sirius and Remus following close behind. When they entered the tapestry room, Harry was already kneeling on the floor, tracing the lines with his fingers.
“There!” he said triumphantly. “Look! It worked!”
And there it was--a silver thread connecting Sirius’s name to a brand new name on the tapestry. Harry James Potter-Black.
“It worked.” Sirius knelt next to Harry and drew him into another hug. “Welcome to the House of Black, Harry.”
***
The pain reliever potion lessened Harry’s headache enough to let him nap that afternoon, but by the time the party rolled around, it had returned in full force.
***
Harry vomited after breakfast.
“You kids didn’t sneak any Firewhiskey last night, did you?” Sirius asked as he felt Harry’s forehead.
“No,” Harry said. He and his friends had learned that lesson the summer after his fourth year.
“No, you didn’t,” Sirius said, frowning. “You’re definitely running a fever. Go on, back to bed. I’ll raid Remus’s potions stash and see what I can find for you.”
Harry brushed his teeth, changed into fresh pajamas, and crawled back into bed. His head pounded like he was hungover, and his stomach felt the same, but he had stuck to water all night.
Sirius brought him potions and toast, and then he fell into a restless sleep. When he woke up, Padfoot was sprawled out on the rug by the side of his bed, paws twitching in his sleep. Remus poked his head into the room, and he gave Harry a small smile.
“How are you feeling?”
Harry could only shake his head.
***
“Would you be upset if.” Harry picked at a thread in the blanket. “Would you be upset if I called you my dad?”
Sirius’s breath stuttered in his chest. “Your…”
“Like, I would still call you Sirius,” Harry said quickly. “But if I was talking to one of my friends, and they asked what I did this summer, and I said my dad took me to the World Cup, or I went on holiday with my dad and Professor Lupin to Japan…would you be mad?”
“Oh, Harry.” Sirius smoothed Harry’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “You can call me whatever you want. If you want to refer to me as…as your dad, I’d be honored.”
“And you wouldn’t be mad.”
“And I wouldn’t be mad.”
“Okay.” Harry burrowed further into his blankets, a content smile on his face. “Thanks, Sirius.”
***
Harry was worse in the morning. He couldn’t keep anything down, not even water, and his fever had spiked. Remus stayed with him while Sirius went to St. Mungo’s to fetch a Healer.
“Has he been subjected to dark magic in the past week?”
“What? No!” Sirius shared a bewildered look with Remus.
“Not that we’re aware of,” Remus put in. “There’s nothing dangerous in this cottage, and he’s only been here or outside flying.”
“He’s having an adverse reaction to something magical, which makes me suspect dark magic,” the Healer said. “It’s not life threatening, but it will present as a serious illness for a while. Like the Muggle flu.”
“It’s something that will have to run its course, you mean.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You can’t tell us more than that?” Sirius asked.
“I’m sorry, Lord Black. You’d have to consult an expert on dark magic itself to find out what Mr. Potter was exposed to. All I can tell you is that his life isn’t in danger.”
***
After some discussion, Sirius and Remus decided to ask Bill to stop by the cottage. Remus’s expertise lay in defense and magical creatures. While he encountered the dark arts and knew a good deal about them, he wasn’t an expert. Bill, on the other hand, had been curse-breaking for almost a decade.
“Harry.” Sirius ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, rousing him. Bill lingered on the threshold with Remus. “Bill’s here to take a look at you. Can you answer some questions for him? No, you don’t have to sit up. Just lay here. He won’t take long, I promise.”
He then retreated to the hallway with Remus so that Bill could conduct his examination and Harry had some privacy.
“It’s going to be okay, Padfoot,” Remus said, smoothing a hand down Sirius’s arm. “The healer said it wasn’t fatal.”
“I know,” Sirius said. “But there are a lot of terrible things it could be besides not fatal.”
***
“It’s not a curse,” Bill said. “I’m almost certain it’s because of the blood adoption, though.”
“How?” Sirius demanded.
Bill looked supremely uncomfortable. “Rituals like these are customized for the people performing them. This one was designed specifically to unite the Potter and Black bloodlines.”
“Yes,” Sirius said impatiently, “what does that have to do with--”
Remus sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”
“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Bill said. “For Harry to be reacting this way…either you’re not a Black, Sirius, or he isn’t a Potter.”
Sirius turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
***
Remus found Sirius in the tapestry room.
“How’s Harry?” was the first question out of Sirius’s mouth.
“Asleep,” Remus said. “He asked for some water, and then he passed out almost immediately after Bill left.”
“Good.” Sirius scrubbed his hands over his face. “Bill’s wrong.”
“But.” Remus swallowed hard. “But what if he isn’t, Sirius?”
“Lily never would have cheated on James.”
“I agree,” Remus said.
“But the tapestry doesn’t lie,” Sirius went on. “I am a Black. And Harry looks so much like James and Fleamont…”
“Maybe there’s another explanation,” Remus said. “Maybe Bill is wrong.”
“If Lily never cheated on James, and if you are absolutely a Black…” Remus’s mind was spinning, reaching for increasingly outlandish explanations. “What if…James was infertile? If he couldn’t have biological children of his own? Maybe they sought out a donor.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed. “Is that something Muggles do?”
“Sometimes,” Remus said. “Mum and Dad almost went that route. They had been married almost a decade before she got pregnant with me. They thought it would never happen without a sperm donor.”
“Sperm donor,” Sirius repeated to himself, the concept completely alien. “But…James would have told me.”
He would have. Remus wanted to believe that maybe it was possible, that maybe James would have kept something from Sirius Black, but he knew it was impossible. Especially not something that monumental.
“So what’s the other option?”
***
Harry’s fever broke two days later, and the next afternoon, he felt well enough for a shower and a light lunch. Sirius and Remus ate upstairs with him, Harry tucked into bed in clean pajamas while they settled themselves in armchairs nearby.
After they finished eating, Remus levitated their plates to the kitchen, and Harry looked ready for a nap.
“We should let you rest,” Sirius said, “but before you do, there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Yeah?”
“Harry, it was unusual for you to become so ill after the blood adoption. That shouldn’t have happened,” Sirius said. “We talked to Bill, and he thinks that Gringotts can give us some answers. Would you be willing to come with us and speak to the goblins?”
“Answers about what?” Harry asked. “Could I get sick again?”
“No,” Sirius said. “It’s just that…for you to become so ill, it might be because I’m not actually a Black. If my blood lineage is incorrect, it could have affected you. I just want some answers, is all.”
“You mean your dad might not…” Harry trailed off, blushing slightly. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Yes, it’s possible that Orion Black wasn’t actually my biological father. It would help us all to have some answers, I think. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry said, and Sirius’s chest twinged at the knowledge that Harry would do just about anything Sirius asked of him. “We can go right now, I’m--”
“Harry.” Sirius pressed him back down against the pillows. “Rest. This isn’t urgent. We’ll go when you’re feeling your usual self.”
***
They traveled back to Gringotts at the end of the week. Sirius had sent a confidential letter to the goblin who had performed the ceremony two days earlier, outlining their concerns. He didn’t want to repeat his true fears in front of Harry, that it wasn’t his parentage that he was worried about, but Harry’s own.
He hadn’t slept the night before, his mind too unsettled for sleep. He had spent most of the night reminding himself over and over that it was almost impossible for Harry to not be a Potter. He was the spit of James, for one. He had Lily’s eyes. He had Fleamont’s smile. Voldemort had been after him since before he was born--surely if Harry wasn’t actually a Potter, the most powerful wizard in a century would know it?
There was another answer, there had to be.
“We will settle the question that is on your mind,” the goblin said. “You are the legitimate son of Orion and Walburga Black.”
Sirius’s stomach plunged. “Then--”
“You,” the goblin said, turning to Harry, “are not the blood child of James and Lily Potter.”
A horrific silence fell.
“That’s not possible,” Sirius said immediately. “He’s the spitting image of them both! And what do you mean, and Lily? I was there when she gave birth!”
“James and Lily Potter did have a child, a son. They named him Harry James Potter. He has been deceased for sixteen years.” The goblin nodded at Harry. “You have borne his name since Halloween of 1981, but you are not the same child.”
“Explain,” Remus said, his voice hoarse. “Explain. You seem to know a hell of a lot more than we do, so explain, right now.”
“I have told you most of what I know,” the goblin said. “The rest is this: James, Lily, and Harry Potter died at Godric’s Hollow that night. Albus Dumbledore could not abide that, and needed to see the prophecy fulfilled. He procured another child, one who was also fifteen months of age, and performed a ritual with the aid of the goblins to alter the child’s appearance and lineage--on the surface.”
“That’s idiotic,” Remus said. “Why would he do that? Neville Longbottom--”
“The Longbottom child was another possibility for the prophecy, yes, but you forget that his parents did not defy Lord Voldemort for the third time until 1984, when they were finally tortured into insanity,” the goblin said. “Albus Dumbledore made a quick decision that night, a decision to install an imposter in the place of baby Harry Potter.”
“Why are we only finding out about this now?” Sirius demanded. “It’s been sixteen years--”
“We were bound by a powerful spell,” the goblin said bitterly. “The truth could not be revealed voluntarily. We could not choose to tell anyone what we knew. However, should someone ask, then all could be revealed. You have asked. Now you know the truth.”
“Harry,” Remus said suddenly, and Sirius’s attention snapped to the boy. Harry was white as a sheet, and Remus reached for him. “Harry, breathe.”
“They’re not my mum and dad?” Harry wrapped his arms around himself. “It was all a lie?”
“Yes,” the goblin said.
“But. But then who--?”
“I do not know,” the goblin said. “That knowledge died with Albus Dumbledore.”
“Sirius.” Harry swallowed hard. “Sirius isn’t--he isn’t my godfather?”
“No.”
Harry turned on his heel and ran from the room.
“Harry!” Sirius raced after him, Remus on his heels, but Harry was faster. They followed him through the winding corridors but lost him in the vast lobby amid the crowds of people. Sirius grabbed the nearest goblin. “Where did he go?”
“Mr. Potter went through the Floo,” the goblin said, yanking themself out of Sirius’s grip and giving him a disdainful look.
“Where?” Remus demanded.
“I believe his destination was a place called the Burrow,” the goblin said. “If you will excuse me.”
***
Sirius sat on the floor of the bedroom, surrounded by photographs. Harry’s birth, his first steps, his first Christmas, first birthday…a series of firsts and lasts. The baby Sirius had cradled, the one whose chubby cheeks he had kissed, the one who had laughed whenever Sirius turned into Padfoot--
He was dead.
He had been dead all this time.
Remus came into the room with two glasses and a bottle of Firewhiskey. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“I spoke with Molly,” he said, settling next to Sirius. “Harry’s…well, they’ve got him for the night, and we can go see him tomorrow. If he wants.”
“He’s not--” Sirius broke off, shook his head.
“We don’t know who he is,” Remus said, “but he’s been Harry for sixteen years. We’ll keep calling him that until he tells us otherwise.”
“This is why the old man never tried to get me out of Azkaban,” Sirius said. “Why he never even questioned it, and made sure no one else did, either. He knew that if I took Harry in, I would have performed the blood adoption ceremony as soon as possible, and then--the truth would have come out. He had to keep me away, to make sure no one ever found out about it. About what he’d done.”
Remus poured them both generous helpings of Firewhiskey. Sirius drained his first glass, and then his second.
“It was all for nothing, Remus. Harry died. Harry died. I spent twelve years in Azkaban, hanging on for him, but it was for nothing! You suffered with the packs and you suffered with everyone gone, and it was supposed to mean something! It was supposed to be worth it. We suffered, but it meant that Harry survived. But he didn’t! He’s been dead all this time! James’s entire family was wiped out, and we didn’t even know. I promised--I promised to protect them, and I failed.”
***
Remus woke at dawn and stumbled into the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach. A horrific headache pounded against his skull, and he staggered downstairs in search of a Hangover Potion. He found two vials, drank one, and carried the other upstairs for Sirius. At that point, all the strength left him, and he collapsed on the bed next to his partner.
Some time later, he woke to the sound of Sirius vomiting. He lacked the strength to do anything but listen, and eventually Sirius came back to bed and drank the Hangover Potion.
“Merlin, Remus,” he croaked, and Remus couldn’t do anything but curl around him as fresh tears leaked out of his eyes.
Hours later, they were woken by the doorbell.
Sirius was in worse shape than he was, so Remus dragged on a dressing gown and made his way downstairs. Minerva McGonagall stood on their doorstep, and Remus could only blink at her stupidly.
“Mr. Lupin,” she greeted. “May I come in?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, and brushed past him into the cottage.
“Professor, this really isn’t a good time.”
“I’ve spoken with Molly Weasley,” McGonagall said, and Remus went cold. “Would you wake Mr. Black for me, please?”
By the time Remus roused Sirius and dragged him downstairs, McGonagall had fixed them tea and was waiting in the sitting room.
“Molly Weasley tells me you learned some distressing information yesterday,” she said without preamble. “It all stems from Albus Dumbledore, yes?”
“According to Gringotts, yes, he was responsible for this,” Sirius said. “We’re still--this is all still very new to us. We’re processing.”
“Yes, I can see that,” McGonagall said dryly. “Harry is processing separately, I take it?”
“Professor--”
“He’s a wonderful boy,” McGonagall said. “It doesn’t matter who his parents are. He’s a wonderful boy.”
“We know that,” Remus said. “He just isn’t…”
McGonagall arched an eyebrow at him. “He just isn’t what, Mr. Lupin? James Potter’s son? I was under the impression the two of you have spent the past three years showing him that you do not see him as James’s son, that you see him as Harry. Why does it suddenly matter now?”
“Because it was all a lie,” Sirius croaked.
“A lie perpetuated by a dead man, not a teenage boy.”
“We didn’t kick him out, Professor,” Remus said. “It was--it was a huge shock to all of us yesterday, and Harry went to the Burrow. We wanted to give him space. And we, we need to figure out…”
He trailed off and looked at Sirius, completely at a loss.
“We don’t even know who he is,” Sirius said. “We don’t know who his parents are or where Dumbledore found him or how he managed to fool all of us--”
“I may be able to assist in that matter.” McGonagall pulled a small object out of her robes.
“What’s this?”
“This,” McGonagall said, tapping it with her wand, “is Albus Dumbledore’s Pensieve.”
The Pensieve reverted to its original size.
“We didn’t tell him goodnight.”
“What?”
“Last night,” Sirius said. “That was the first time in three years we didn’t tell him goodnight, and that we loved him.”
***
“Good morning, Sirius, Remus,” Molly said. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“We’re really not--”
“Sit down,” Molly said, in that same pleasant voice that also brooked no argument. “It will only be a few minutes. Arthur, could you take their cloaks?”
Remus and Sirius sat at the table while Arthur hung their cloaks.
“How.” Sirius cleared his throat. “How is he?”
“Devastated,” Molly said. “I’ve never seen him so much as shed a tear, and he cried in my arms for an hour last night. If Albus Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would wring his neck myself.”
Sirius’s heart lurched. He should have been the one that Harry turned to for comfort, but Harry hadn’t trusted him. He hadn’t given Harry reason to trust him. “We didn’t kick him out.”
“I know,” Molly said. “But he’s not the child you thought he was, and he doesn’t know what that means for his future now. He’s scared. He’s scared and he’s grieving. He’s lost his family all over again.”
Arthur poured them both coffee.
***
“Hello, you three,” Sirius said, and attempted a smile. It looked brittle on his face. “Ron, Hermione, could we have a moment alone with Harry?”
“No,” Ron said.
“Sorry, Lord Black, Professor,” Hermione added. “But we aren’t leaving him.”
“That’s fine,” Remus said quickly. “How about we all sit down?”
Harry sat on the sofa, with Ron and Hermione on either side of him. They each took one of his hands.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Harry asked. “My parents aren’t my parents.”
“It’s true,” Sirius croaked. What little color was left in Harry’s face drained away. “Harry Potter died that night. Voldemort killed Lily, and then he killed her baby. You…you aren’t him. You never have been.”
“Who am I, then?” Harry demanded. “You rescued me that night. Him. Whatever. You said you got to the house first, you found me--Harry--in his crib, and then Hagrid arrived. So you’re telling me that, what, someone got rid of a baby’s body and replaced him with me? Before you arrived?”
“No. Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse, and Sirius did find him in his crib that night. He gave Harry to Hagrid, and Hagrid brought Harry to Dumbledore. And then…” Remus drew a deep breath. “The spell damage was too much, and Harry died. He died at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were there. All three of them tried to save his life.”
“What happened then?” Ron asked, after a moment of silence.
“We don’t know precisely, but…Dumbledore acquired another child. One that seemed to be roughly the same age as Harry. Dumbledore fed him a potion that had been created with the assistance of the goblins at Gringotts, and then…he became an exact copy of Harry.”
“He wiped the memories of McGonagall and Pomfrey,” Sirius said.
“And he left that baby on Petunia’s doorstep.”
“The memories are fragmented and incomplete,” Sirius said. “What was the potion? Where did Dumbledore get that child--you? Why would he do such a thing? There are still a lot of questions we don’t know the answers to. This is what we know so far. I’m sorry it isn’t more.”
Silence fell. Harry finally said, “Ron, Hermione…I’m okay. Can I speak to them alone?”
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and then both of them nodded. They squeezed Harry’s hands, and then left the room.
“Are you mad at me?” Harry asked quietly.
“Of course not,” Remus said firmly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Harry said, staring at his knotted hands, “but I’ve been thinking about it, and I was wondering if I could still stay with you. Just until I can find a job. I’ll pay you back for food and everything once I have money, but if I stay with the Weasleys, I’m an extra mouth they can’t afford and I won’t have access to my vaults anymore, so…”
“Stop,” Sirius said gently, and Harry fell silent. “We’re not kicking you out, H--”
He broke off short of saying Harry’s name, and Harry flinched.
“You don’t even know who I am.”
“Of course we do,” Remus said. “You’re kind, funny, an incredible Quidditch player, a loyal friend. You’ve been living with us for three years, of course we know who you are.”
“There’s a lot we need to figure out, all three of us,” Sirius said. “A lot we need to process, and…we need to figure out a way forward. I don’t know what that looks like. But I offered you a home three years ago, and I’m not going to take that away from you.”
“If you’d rather stay here, though,” Remus said, “we’ll pay for it. We understand if you’d rather be with your friends right now. The important thing, Harry, is what do you want?”
“I want this to have never happened.” Harry rubbed a hand under his nose. “I want James and Lily to still be my parents, and I want Sirius to be my godfather, and I want my family back.”
“Do you want to come home with us?”
“Not right now.”
***
Remus had never been a morning person. Teaching eight AM classes had been the only downside of his year as DADA professor, and in the years since, he had allowed himself to indulge fully in his night owl tendencies. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay up until one or two in the morning and sleep until ten, while Sirius went to bed hours before him and rose with the sun.
It also wasn’t unusual for him to be woken in the summer or during holiday breaks by Sirius and Harry roughhousing or flying in the garden. Remus privately found it amusing that now two generations of Potters had drawn Sirius into Quidditch, a game he had very little interest in. He had joined the house team for James, who begged and wheedled until Sirius gave in and tried out for Beater. They had taken the Quidditch cup that year, and James had forced Sirius to play their sixth and seventh years as well.
Now Sirius had taken it up again for Harry, and their peals of laughter often woke Remus when Harry was home. Usually he would fall back asleep, content in knowing his boys were happy, or he would take a mug of tea out into the garden and watch them fly.
Today, he woke up to silence and a cold bed.
Sirius was chain-smoking on the patio.
“What the hell do we do, Rem?”
“I blood-adopted an imposter--” Sirius swallowed the rest of his words while Remus went cold inside.
“That was a horrible thing to say,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Sirius said, his expression pinched. “Yeah, it felt horrible to say. I didn’t mean--but he’s not Harry.”
“So do we just…give him an ultimatum? Let him stay here until he can get a job, get his own place? Or…pay for it if he wants to stay with the Weasleys? I mean, he’s seventeen now, he’s too old for an orphanage or fostering…”
“That’s.” Sirius rubbed his forehead. “We can’t just throw him out.”
“No,” Remus said. “No, that’s awful. He’s--I mean, we’ve been raising him.”
“I was raising him because I thought he was my godson!”
“And now that he isn’t, we throw him out?”
“No!” Sirius said forcefully. “No, but he isn’t--ugh, Remus, I don’t know! We’re going in circles. This is what I can’t stop thinking about. He’s not Harry, but…I’ve known him for four years now. The thought of him sustained me in Azkaban. He thought he was Harry. He’s the wrong kid, but the thought of throwing him out makes me feel sick. And the worst thing is--” He drew a deep breath. “The worst thing is…I don’t even know if I love him anymore.”
“Sirius.”
“I know.”
***
The telephone in the kitchen rang, and Remus answered it.
“Moony?”
“Good morning, Harry,” Remus said, his voice level despite his heart tripping in his chest. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. Um…I was wondering if I could come home today?”
“Of course,” Remus said. “You don’t have to ask, love. Would you like to come by Floo?”
“Yeah, after breakfast if that’s okay?”
“Sure. We’ll open the Floo at eight. You can come through anytime after that.”
***
“Remus?” Harry came into his office, carrying a stack of pictures. “Um…I just wanted to give these back to you and Sirius.”
They were the pictures that had decorated his room, that they had framed and hung on his walls last summer. Remus’s chest ached.
“Harry…”
“You should have them,” he said firmly. “Those…those are your friends, not my parents, and that baby isn’t me. So you should have them.”
“All right,” Remus said softly, taking the pictures from him. “Thank you, Harry.”
Harry turned to leave, but Remus caught his wrist.
“How are you doing?”
Harry shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Fine.”
“Sit down,” he said, and Harry took the other chair without protest. “Talk to me. Please.”
Harry looked away.
“Why?” he asked finally.
“Sorry?”
“Why? What’s the point? It’s not going to change anything. I’m not Harry Potter, Sirius isn’t my godfather, all of this…all of this is fake. Talking isn’t going to change that.”
“It’s not all fake, Harry. We’ve been so happy these past few years. Everything we’ve done together as a family, that is real.”
“But I’m not your family, am I?”
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Harry said. “All those stories Sirius told me about when I was a baby…that wasn’t me. That wasn’t my family. It…it was all a lie.”
***
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t,” Remus insisted. “It could have ended the same way for James, Lily, and Harry, and you would be dead, too! The magic of the Secret Keeper ritual plucks the knowledge of them and their whereabouts from everyone’s heads, but it doesn’t protect you. It doesn’t even protect them, not fully.”
“I never would have given them up, not even under torture.”
“I know, Padfoot, but there are other ways to get information out of someone. Dark ways,” Remus said. “The Secret Keeper spell isn’t foolproof. It doesn’t mean the information can never be given up. It just puts that information in the mind of one person, in the hopes that the Death Eaters don’t find them. And if they do, that they’ll have a hard time getting it out of that person, but not an impossible time. Suggesting Peter was the right thing to do.”
***
“There’s a part of me,” Sirius said, “that’s…relieved.”
Remus stared at him. “Relieved?”
“Because I don’t have to share him with James anymore. Everything I do with regards to Harry, every decision I make, I’ve always wondered if it’s what James would have done. How would James have handled the sex talk? Harry’s first crush? A bad grade? A nightmare? But…I don’t have to do that anymore. He’s just mine. Ours.”
***
“Do you even love me anymore?”
***
Molly emerged from the house wearing a flour-covered apron, wooden spoon in hand.
Sirius held up his hands. “I fucked up.”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’d like to talk to Harry.”
“Why?”
“I think that’s between me and--”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “I let you talk him into going home with you once already, and look how that ended. If you want to talk to him, you’re going to tell me first.”
***
Harry was sitting on the roof, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He had cast a barrier charm--Sirius could taste his magic, could feel it thrumming in the air--but it still gave Sirius pause.
Harry spotted him and immediately looked away.
“Go away.”
“I just want to talk.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Harry--”
“Can’t you just leave it?” Harry burst out. “Does it really need to be said? You don’t love me, okay, I get it. I don’t need you to say the words. Can you give me that, at least? Can you not rub salt in the wound? Fuck’s sake.”
Sirius blinked, his first thought being that Remus was absolutely going to scold him for Harry’s foul mouth, which he had definitely got from Sirius.
He got it from me.
Not James, not Lily, not Remus. Harry had got it from him, and a million other little things, too. Not his eyes or his hair or his stature, no, but his words and the way he shaved and how he flicked his wand when he cast a summoning charm. The way he tied a tie and the way he smoothed his hand down his dress robes when he was nervous. All Sirius, no one else.
“That’s not what I was going to say.” Sirius sat gingerly on the roof, a good two feet away from Harry. Too far. “I came here to say that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…any of that. It was mean and it was cruel and it was wrong.”
“Okay,” Harry said after a minute. “Thanks for the apology. You can go now.”
“No,” Sirius said. “I didn’t come here just to apologize. I came here to say that I do love you, Harry. You’re the kid I’ve been raising for the past four years. That night in the Shrieking Shack…I knew from the moment I met you that I wanted to offer you a home. That’s still true. I know…I know I haven’t handled it well, finding out that you’re not James’s son. I know you might never forgive me for it. But I wanted you to know that I love you, I always will, and I’d love for you to come home.”
***
“Remus tells me you want to keep Harry as your name.”
“I can’t imagine having a different name. I’m Harry.” Harry scuffed the ground with the toes of his trainers. He added morosely, “I’m not a Potter, though.”
“Do you know what you’d like to do?” Sirius asked. “Pick a new surname for yourself?”
“Dunno,” Harry said. “Ron said I could be a Weasley, but…I’m not one. It doesn’t feel right, as my surname.”
“I felt the same way when your grandparents took me in,” Sirius said. “They offered their name to me, but I couldn’t do it. I’m a Black. I can’t change that, and I don’t want to.”
Harry nodded. “I like being Harry James. It’s me. I don’t know who else I would be. And…and I know that hurts you, and I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Sirius said. “You know, it’s customary for wix to give their children their names as middle names. Mine is Orion; James’s was Fleamont. I never understood the tradition. If Remus and I had had children, we would have named them after someone who meant something to us. So…I would have given my son my best friend’s name.”
“You’re not James’s Harry, but you are my Harry.”
***
Harry looked at his hands. His fingers were a little thicker, and his skin a shade darker. He touched his face, startled. He wasn’t wearing glasses, and he could see perfectly clearly. Then he touched his hair--still there, still roughly the same length, but not as coarse as he was used to.
“Hi,” Sirius said softly, his eyes searching Harry’s face. “How do you feel?”
“Fine, I think,” Harry said, and cleared his throat. His voice was deeper than he was used to hearing, and it was disconcerting. “How--how do I look?”
“Your eyes are blue.” Sirius cupped his face. “Your hair is still dark, but not as unruly. Look at these cheekbones! You’re going to have girls falling all over you, kiddo. Here, stand up, let’s have a proper look at you.”
Harry found that he had grown a handful of inches--he was now slightly taller than Remus, though of course Sirius still towered over them both. His clothes still fit, so his weight hadn’t changed much, although he could do with longer jeans. He supposed that a childhood of starvation meant that his true body and his body as Harry Potter wouldn’t be much different.
“Well,” Remus said softly, “hello, Harry.”
“Look at him, Remus.” Sirius’s eyes were shining. “Look at our son.”
“Do you want a mirror, Harry?” Remus asked.
Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t--I don’t think I’m ready, yet.”
“That’s okay. You feel fine, and that’s the important part. How about we have dinner? And you can take as long as you need, I promise.”
Remus and Sirius made quick work of all the mirrors in the house, turning them opaque so Harry couldn’t see his reflection.
***
“It’s Wednesday.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Just…was wondering if you wanted to come to the garage. With me.”
It was one of their rituals, back when Harry was a Potter. Back when he looked like a carbon copy of James Potter, back when Sirius thought he was raising his godson. They’d go to the garage on Wednesday nights, and Sirius would putter around, tinkering with various bits of machinery and showing Harry how to do it himself. Sometimes he’d work on the bike; other times he would work on a car or something else someone had brought in. If it was from a wix, he’d show Harry how to blend magic and machinery and create something entirely new.
It was one of Harry’s favorite things to do with Sirius, and it was just for them.
“Are.” Harry cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
***
It was one of their traditions, watching Muggle cartoons while eating cereal on the couch in their hoodies. Harry peered into the living room, and was heartened to find Sirius already there.
“‘Bout time you got up,” Sirius said. “Come on, it’s already started.”
They ate sitting side by side, as usual, and Harry drifted off during the second episode, also as usual. This time, though, he jerked upright when he realized his head had come to rest on Sirius’s shoulder. It had never been a problem before--part of the routine, in fact, was Harry falling asleep curled against Sirius’s side, and Sirius wrapping an arm around him--but he didn’t know…
“Hey.” Sirius lifted his arm, inviting Harry to lean against him. “Come on, it’s all right. That’s it, there you go.”
Harry sank against him.
“Comfortable?”
“Mm.”
“Go back to sleep.” Sirius kissed his forehead. “Moony won’t be awake for a while yet.”
***
Remus was pulled from sleep by a sharp bark of laughter--Sirius’s laugh, loud and bright. He lay there with the comforter drawn up to his shoulders, comfortable and warm in the early summer light, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he listened to Harry and Sirius out in the garden.
“Nice one, Harry!” Sirius crowed, his voice drifting in through the open window.