Chapter Text
Four-year-old Harry Potter quite liked to tend the garden. It didn't yell at him like Uncle Vernon did, and it didn't force Harry to do anything like Aunt Petunia. Mostly, he liked the tiny green shoots that pushed through the soil. He had a knack for making things grow, even when the hot July sun tried its best to wither the Dursleys' precious hydrangeas, but Harry loved to grow lilies the most. He didn't know exactly why he loved lilies that much, but he knew that his mother's name was Lily.
He was tightly clutching a plastic trowel, his small hands covered in mud, when he felt the distinct sensation of being watched.
Down the street, hidden under the deep shade of a suburban oak tree, two men stood arguing in hushed, furious whispers.
"How dare they?" Sirius Black hissed, his grip tightening so hard on his wand inside his pocket that the wood groaned. His eyes were locked on the tiny, frail boy kneeling in the dirt, wearing clothes three sizes too big. "How dare they let him do all the work? He's four, Remus! He shouldn't be scrubbing porches and digging up weeds!"
"Sirius, calm down," Remus Lupin whispered, his voice tense but steady as he grabbed Sirius's elbow to pull him back into the shadows. "You do know that if Dumbledore finds out we are here, he will literally kill us. We cannot risk a scene."
"Fine, Moony," Sirius grumbled, his chest heaving with frustration as he muttered continuous curses under his breath. "But if we can't talk to him in person right now, I'm not just standing here. I'm going in as Padfoot."
Before Remus could stop him, a massive, shaggy black dog bounded out of the shadows.
For the next two weeks, it became a secret routine. Every time Harry was sent out to tend the garden, the giant dog would slip through the gap in the backyard fence. At first, Harry had been startled, but the dog was incredibly gentle. It would sit right next to him, nudging Harry’s muddy hands with its wet nose and letting out low, comforting huffs while Harry happily talked to it about the different types of soil.
On the fourteenth day, the routine changed.
Instead of sitting by the flowerbeds, Padfoot caught the hem of Harry’s oversized shirt in his teeth and gently, insistently pulled. Harry blinked, wiping sweat from his forehead with a dirty forearm, and followed the dog through the hedge to the quiet alleyway behind the house.
Waiting there was a tall man with a scarred, kind face and amber eyes.
When the man knelt down to meet Harry's eye level, his expression softened with an immense, painful wave of nostalgia. He looked at the wild, untamed black hair and the bright green eyes, and his voice trembled slightly when he spoke.
"Hi, thambi," Remus whispered gently, using the familiar Tamil word for little brother or young boy that he hadn't spoken since a flat in London years ago. "We are your appa's friends. Your dad's friends."
Harry tilted his head, his small heart hammering. No one from Privet Drive ever spoke about his dad.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully," Remus said, placing a warm hand on Harry's tiny shoulder. "Pack all of your belongings tonight. Everything you care about. When it gets dark, Padfoot will come to the garden and get you."
Harry looked from the kind man to the big black dog, who let its tongue loll out in a happy dog smile. For the first time in his life, Harry felt like a seed that had finally found the right soil. He nodded quickly.
"Okay," Harry whispered.