Chapter Text
Sirius tripped over James’ dead body as he ran through the open door, his scream catching on his sob, rendering him silent as he stood.
“Lily! Lily?” Sirius’ voice cracked on his yell. The echoing pop of apparition had him running up the stairs. The foreboding scent of blood led him into Harry’s room.
The wall to the right was caked in blood, creating images of the highest powered sacrificial ritual ruins he had recognized in the book he had lended Lily to protect the house. Pure black magic—where his family got their name and title from. The red head had a strong affinity for the dark arts. She had promised James not to use them, for he had not understood that not all of the dark arts were bad. People only feared the dark arts because of those in the past who had misused them—Grindelwald, He-who-must-not-be-named. If only they remembered Merlin was a great dark wizard, a respectable one—he wasn’t feared.
Based on the bodies’ locations, she had spread her own blood across the wall after James’ body had been rendered lifeless, reduced to nothing but a husk. She exchanged her life for the protection of Harry’s. The plasma born of violence ran down the boy's head—he had been sitting with drops of his own blood running down his face before Sirius showed up. Both the man and the baby wept for completely seperate reasons—Harry, from the physical pain, but he was unable to comprehend what had happened with his parents. Sirius found it difficult to get a full breath in as took his godson into his arms to heal the wound. He did not succeed—the magic was too fresh, too raw, too much. Harry would need a professional healer.
With Harry in his arms, Sirius’ knees buckled below him—his body forcing him to attempt to process the deaths, the rituals, the fact that his friends were gone. He knew he had to get the one year old to hospital, but his family was gone. They got Peter. Sirius didn’t want to imagine what they did to him in order to make him give away their friend's location. He had no idea when Remus was getting back—if he would come back. Lily with her bloody hands on the floor a few meters over, James dead in the doorway. Harry fussed, reminding the pureblood that his main priority was the child's health.
Sirius stumbled his way outside with James and Lily’s son, setting Harry into the side car and heading to Hogwarts. From the pitch black open air, he flew right to the front door of the massive castle entryway. He rushed to wake Poppy, who jumped awake the moment she laid eyes on the bloody and bleeding child.
“What happened?” She took Harry in a flurry of movements, running diagnostic spells, no longer half asleep.
“Voldemort. Lily casted voluntas sacrificii tutelae.” Poppy dropped her wand and turned to the illegal animagus.
“He’s dead?” Her eyes were wide as she spoke, words voiced with raw emotion. Sirius’ eyes stung and his legs shook.
“Fix Harry.” Tone numbed and strained, the young man stared at her blankly.
Minne arrived 17 minutes and 21 seconds after Poppy took Harry from his hands to make Sirius sit down and drink water. She didn’t ask for an explanation, but it was coming—a report. But Sirius couldn’t be a soldier. At that moment, he needed a friend, a mentor, a mother.
“You know, I always thought that—that if, if they ever…I’d feel it, but I didn’t. Sure, there was this sense of forbidding when the door was open.” Sirius went quiet for a moment. “I tripped right over his body.” Letting out a sob, Sirius tried to suppress his tears, to calm down enough to continue speaking. “What if Remus is gone too? How am I supposed to raise him alone?”
A strangled gasp took Sirius out of his own breakdown.
“James? What of Lily and Harry?” She grasped his hand with both of her own in consternation.
“She casted voluntas sacrificii tutelae. The Death Eaters have lost their leader. The prophecy has come true. A greater magic—a mother’s loving soul.” The irony of Sirius giving her those tombs from his family’s house made him burst into hysterical laughter.
“My mere is going to be pissed!” His words were barely intelligible as he cackled. Minerva began to worry if he had lost his mind.
“Take a deep breath. I’m sure Remus is fine. And Lily—well, she casted a very powerful spell. Keep the heid, Harry will be fantoosh.” The regal woman sat his hand down, giving it a pitying pat.
Sirius swiped at his eyes, remembering James’ lifeless form, Lily’s sprawled body, and the blood sigil on the wall. It was as if the images were coming up again and again. He felt as if he had not stayed long enough, like he should have moved James away from the entrance to prevent anyone else from tripping over him, like he should have closed Lily’s bright green lifeless eyes—the same unnerving beauty her son had. So unique you simply had to stare. Although, Lily would have wanted Sirius to get her Bambi help. Sirius laughed harder at the nickname, tears finding their way down his face. He really was Bambi now, was he not? James’ little Prongslet, an orphan. Sirius could not possibly raise him all alone—his own parents were certainly not an acceptable illustration.
“Why is he laughing?” Albus asked Minerva. Sirius couldn’t make himself stop. His skin was buzzing from the inside, chest constricting to the point of pain.
“Stress, I think. He was the one who found Harry, and his parents.” Albus made a quiet noise of acknowledgment as the head of Gryffindor stood. “I’m going to alert The Order.” Albus raised an eyebrow.
“To inform them of Voldemort’s death.” Sirius mostly caught his breath as Minerva told of You-Know-Who’s demise. The Chief Worlock’s jaw was parted in surprise, glasses falling down to the tip of his nose.
“Sirius, Albus.” Sirius was on his feet the moment Poppy opened the infirmary door. “I was able to stop the bleeding with some Dittany. I’ve concluded he was struck with the Killing Curse.” The nurse spoke in a grim tone, leading the two men to the baby, who immediately made grabby hands at his godfather.
“Oh, fawn.” Sirius whispered, lifting the boy up. The head wound had not been closed, but the bleeding was put to a stop. The scar took the shape of a lighting strike. Starting at the top of his forehead, it went both up into his hairline and down across his eyebrow and right eye. “His eye—?” Sirius started, noticing the potential for more than a visual injury.
“Minimal damage to the right eye. He will likely need glasses as he ages.” Poppy interrupted his question with a quick response, interpreting his thoughts. A mothering person as always, the mediwitch provided a calming touch to his shoulder. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Sirius,” she encouraged softly, tears in her own eyes.
“I could’ve stayed their secret keeper. I would’ve died first. They wouldn’t have been able to torture shit out of me. But Peter…I don’t even know how they found him.” Sirius lemated, pulling Harry closer to his chest. “If it had been me, Harry would still have his parents,” the young man insisted with great deprivation. Poppy carefully took Harry from Sirius’ quivering arms as he muttered. Sirius took a seat—people from The Order of The Phoenix began showing up, which no one was happy about—school was still in session, after all.
When Sirius was calm, again, Poppy handed the half asleep toddler back to him. It was almost two in the morning by the time a quarter of the order was shuffled into the infirmary.
People were shoulder to shoulder, the room buzzing with hushed conversations, rumors being passed from wall to wall.
A loud clap made Sirius jump, his godson screaming in his arms. All attention was now on the yelling baby as the illegal animagus bounced Harry lightly, offering comforting words in French, before switching to English.
“Shshhsh. Désolé, je sais c’est bruyant. Uh—I know it’s loud. I’m sorry I woke you. Harry, I have you. You’re safe.” Arthur Weasley walked up to Sirius, arms stretched outwards towards Harry—the man had six kids and another one the way. Reluctantly, he gave over the crying child. Sirius watched as Arthur began to pace, summoning a blanket and wrapping Harry in it, almost like a swaddle. After ten minutes or so, Arthur had been able to get the toddler back asleep.
Dumbledore brought in a Pensieve, gesturing for Sirius to come hither. “I require your memory of the situation, Sirius, and I request your permission as Harry’s legal guardian to retrieve his as well.” He was far too dazed to consider rejecting the inquiry.
Sirius did not bother to watch his own memory, having no desire to relive the experience of finding his friends. He was, in fact, one of the first to watch Harry’s, along with Dumbledore and McGonagall.
The memory started with the sound of a distant door opening. James was sat in front of Harry as he sat on his mother's lap. James’ face lit up upon hearing the door. He turned to Harry, grabbing his little hands and jiggling them slightly.
“You excited to see Uncle Pads, Harry? We have to cheer him up. Uncle Moony went on a mission.” The red head laughed at her husband's antics, catching Harry’s attention as the child giggled as well—mimicking his mother as his father made his way towards the front door. Sirius swore all his organs compressed the moment he heard the man speak—James thought it was him coming through that door.
The scream James let out sent a shiver through his bones. Lily ran with Harry out of the room, dashing up the stairs with urgency, not turning back. She hurriedly flew down the hall, summoning her ritual dagger—Sirius had gifted it to her two winter solstices ago—and the tomb of protection rituals.
Harry was sat in his crib as she locked the door. She held the dagger in one hand, poitning it towards the opposite arm. It appeared she hesitated for a moment, but not out of fear of what she planned to do to herself. Her gaze that met her son's spoke a thousand words. Her eyes glossed over with tears that wouldn't have time to fall, and her face was filled with regret for what she hadn’t yet done. She dragged the dagger down one of her arms, smearing her blood on her palm once it had begun to seep out of the abrasion, polluting the sky blue wall of his bedroom with coagulating crimson as she streaked her bloodied, trembling hand against it to paint ruins.
Without as much as a single glance down to her injury, she turned completely back to Harry—she gently spoke to him as if she were attempting to lull him to sleep. The calm facade she wore was strong—her mental and physical stress was barely audible in her voice, resigned and trying to calm her child. “Harry, Mamma loves you. Dadda loves you.” The ruins were completed and she turned to face her child. “Harry, be safe, be strong.” The red head bent down in front of her infant’s crib. Her speech became even more frantic as more time passed little by little. “Harry, you are so loved—so very loved. Sirius will take such good care of you.” His mother’s tears ran down her face as she spoke softly to him. The door blew open with a shout of bombarda. She stood and faced the man before her.
“Not Harry!” she wailed, “Not Harry, please not Harry!” Sirius wished she hadn’t performed that rite—her magic was draining with the blood she continued to lose. Voluntas sacrificii tutelae required four things to work—the ruins painted by the blood of a fatal wound, love for the one whose life is protected, willing intent and knowledge of what the ritual does, and death. The way the person died did not have to be succumbed of the ‘fatal wound.’ The wound just needed the ability to kill.
“Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now.”
Lily didn’t stop her pleading. “Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead“
“This is my last warning.” He interrupted her. She didn’t stop.
“Not Harry! Please have mercy! Have mercy!”
Sirius wondered why he did not kill her upon stepping foot into the room—how he had not seen the ruins. Perhaps Lily was stalling or the blood loss was getting to her head. Maybe he had noticed the ruins—maybe that was why he was avoiding killing—Sirius’ thoughts were interrupted as You-Know-Who continued to speak.
“Avada Kedavra.” Sirius flinched as the ritual was completed. Harry was now protected by Lily’s soul. When Voldemort casted the spell anew at the child, it reverberated, turning him to dust.
Sirius collapsed outside the Pensieve as the memory faded—his legs shook as if hexed with a Jelly-Legs Curse.
Frank helped Sirius off the ground, and sat before taking Harry back. He watched in silence as order members came out of the Pensieve and cried, cheered, apparated away to go tell their families. Sirius’ stomach turned—those tears weren’t ones of morning, but of alleviation.
People were going home to their families, so many people were gone, and people were already celebrating. They watched Lily and James’ deaths and were celebrating the death of Voldemort, but none of them even gave Harry’s parents a moment of silence. Lily had sacrificed her own soul for the life of her child, Peter was dead—or worse—and Remus was M.I.A. Sirius’ entire life had fallen apart in a matter of hours—he had to raise his best friends’ kid, his brother had died years ago, his parents wanted him back—wanted their heir back—and now, he had something to protect.
Sirius needed to go get that tomb. He needed Remus, or someone without his blood to perform the rites. He’d never be able to keep Harry safe by himself, half his Death Eater family could walk right through the strongest wards he could create.
“May we stay here a few nights?” Sirius whispered to his former head of house, “I possess nowhere safe to frequent with him at the moment.” The woman tucked a protective arm around Sirius’ shoulder. She was still crying. She cared. She was safe—she always had been.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Minerva promised, her Scottish accent thick with grief.