Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Downton Abbey, 1925

“Please don’t go!” George Crawley demanded from the security of Thomas Barrow’s arms.

Thomas’ heart ached at the simple childish request.  It wasn’t his choice to leave Downton, but Master George wouldn’t be making hiring decisions for many more years.  He’d been lucky to find a position as a butler somewhere else, and he’d made peace at least with the rest of the Downton servants.  It was still a wrench to leave the place which had become home, even if at times it had felt more like a prison. 

“I must…” Thomas began.

“NO!” shouted George.

A bright light snapped Thomas’ eyes shut.

There was a thunderous clap and Thomas felt like his entire body had been hit with lightning.  He held onto the small boy in his arms wondering how to protect him as there were shrieks and cries and…

Everything fell silent.

He opened his eyes tentatively.  Everyone in the kitchen appeared frozen, caught in moments of alarm, their faces and bodies contorted. 

George huddled in his arms and made a sleepy sound.

There was another crack and a large man appeared out of thin air dressed in an old-fashioned suit and a robe, quickly followed by two more individuals – another older man and a woman, all in the same strange robes and carrying…sticks?

“Oh dear,” the woman said crisply.  “This is rather a mess.”  She gestured at Thomas.  “May I ask what happened?”

“And who might you be?” asked Thomas caustically, keeping a good hold on George.  The dead weight of him gave away that the young boy had fallen asleep. 

“Aurors,” the woman said in the same crisp tone of an upper-class lady.  “We’re magical police.  You’re likely a Squib since you don’t seem to be frozen.”

“I’m a what?” Thomas bristled.  That sounded like an insult.

“A person born of a magical line, but without enough magic to be considered magical,” the large man explained in a gruff London accent.  “The young chap you’re holding is magical, and by the looks of it just had a touch of accidental magic.  Happens when they’re emotional at that age.”

Finding out George was magical was not a surprise.  There had been incidents in the past around George which couldn’t be explained.   

Thomas swallowed. 

“Are you his parent?” asked the woman.  “We’ll explain everything to you, of course.”

“No,” Thomas said, “I’m…I was his under-butler until today.”  He motioned towards Lady Mary.  “Lady Mary Crawley is his mother.”

“A muggle?  Unfortunate,” the woman sniffed.  “Well, we’ll just have to make do.  Alastair, unfreeze her and let’s get this sorted out.”

The other man, young and lithe and not at all unattractive moved forward and tapped Lady Mary with his stick.

Thomas saw his own confusion and bewilderment drift over her features before she wrestled it all back behind a polite society mask even as she crossed to stand next to him, a hand placed protectively on her son’s back.

“Barrow, what is going on here?” Lady Mary demanded with all the expectation of her position that she would be answered.

“I’m not certain, m’lady,” Thomas answered honestly, “these people say they’ll explain it fully, but it appears Master George is magic.”

“Of course he is,” Lady Mary said.  Her hand cupped her son’s blond head gently and briefly, her face softening with love for her son, the lasting legacy of Matthew Crawley. 

Then, she turned back to the three intruders with all the hissy protectiveness of a mother cat protecting her kitten.

Thomas kept hold of his small charge as discussions and explanations began.  One thing was certain, Thomas mused, he had a feeling his life was never going to be quite the same again.

o-O-o

Crawley Cottage, Downton, 31^st October 1981

Sirius scouted the cottage with caution.  He really wasn’t sure if coming to Downton was the best idea, but he needed help and if anyone was likely to give him a chance to explain himself instead of just handing him over to the Aurors, he figured it would be Uncle Thomas.

He hoped it would be Uncle Thomas.

The cottage was the same as he remembered at least; a fairy-tale picture-book of grey slate walls covered with ivy and climbing roses.  It looked like the old roof had finally been replaced, but it had been done tastefully in keeping with the cottage’s aesthetic and with historical accuracy. 

Situated on an old lane at the back of the old Grantham estate, the cottage and its patch of land had been given to Thomas Barrow, the Squib grandson of Isla Black.  It was a present from the Earl of Grantham, George Crawley, partly as an apology for the magic he’d wrought which had tied Thomas to Downton, and partly out of love for a man who was a father to him in all but blood. The magical protections imbued into the cottage walls sang with George Crawley’s affection for the man inside.

By the time, a young Sirius had been introduced to Uncle Thomas, by his Grandfather Black of all people, the man had retired as butler to the Crawley family.  The death of the previous Earl had paved the way for the Crawleys to reframe Downton Abbey into earning its keep as a muggle tourist attraction for those who loved history, architecture and beautiful gardens, and they’d had no real need for a butler.

Sirius tightly held the sleeping child he carried in his arms like a talisman.  Harry deserved so much better than the events of the night.  For Harry’s sake, Sirius had to trust that Thomas would help them even if he hadn’t seen the older man for a few years.  They had exchanged the odd letter and Sirius had always felt welcome at Thomas’ cottage.  He took a deep breath and made his way up to the darkened cottage path.  He knocked on the door and waited.

An upstairs’ light went on in the cottage and a moment later the wooden door opened to reveal a tall slim man with black hair shot through with silver that was neatly styled in a way that was wildly out of fashion. He was dressed in old-fashioned blue striped pyjamas and an open dressing robe in a darker blue shade.  For all he was over ninety, Thomas looked no older than he had the day George Crawley had magicked him to stay in Downton.

The pale grey eyes that gave away Thomas’ Black ancestry swept over Sirius and took in the sleeping toddler.  He stepped back and ushered them inside.

Sirius stepped into the small front parlour with its slumbering fire hidden behind the fireguard, and waited until Thomas lit a side lamp illuminating the cramped space before he spoke.

“Sorry to disturb you like this, Cousin Thomas, I just need…” Sirius began quietly before grief, anger and terror all rose up within him again and stole his breath on a sob.

Thomas plucked a stirring Harry from his arms.  “Here now.”  He clasped Sirius’ shoulder and pulled him into a semi-embrace, allowing Sirius to crumple against his free shoulder while Harry curled into the safety of the other.

“This is James and Lily’s baby, I take it?” Thomas said once the storm of weeping subsided.

Sirius nodded, sniffling.  He eased back and wasn’t surprised when Thomas offered him a linen handkerchief.  He used it to mop up his face and blow his nose.

“Peter betrayed us,” Sirius said roughly.  Peter.  Damn it.  When he’d heard a sound outside of the Potters’ home at Godric’s Hollow his only thought had been to get Harry to safety, but the rat was out there… “I should go after him.  Nobody else knew he was the Secret Keeper and…”

Thomas hummed.  He pointed at the sofa.  “Sit down, I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me everything.”

“I should…”

“Sit,” Thomas ordered.  “You’ve had a shock.”

“But I should…”

“Run right out of the door like a reckless thing and get yourself into trouble?” Thomas said bluntly.  “You’re far too like me when I was your age, Sirius, so…sit.”

Sirius sat.

Thomas nodded.  “Can you conjure up a cot for his Lordship here?”

Sirius turned a cushion into a makeshift crib. 

Thomas gently lowered Harry into it and smoothed the hair away from his forehead.  He frowned.  “There’s a cut.  I’ll get the first aid kit when I get the tea.”

Sirius inched closer to examine his godson.  He hadn’t even noticed the cut.  He was a terrible godfather.  He cast a diagnostic charm and frowned at the results.

Thomas came back with a tea tray, the first aid kit tucked under his arm.  He left the tea to stew while he opened the kit up, ignoring the glowing numerals above Harry as though they were normal.

“How is he?” asked Thomas.

“Magically exhausted,” Sirius read the diagnostic tiredly.  “The cut’s infected with dark magic – it’s a spell hit.  He’s spell shocked.” His voice shook.  Merlin.  He’d obviously come very close to losing Harry along with James and Lily.

Thomas hummed and cleaned the cut efficiently.  “It’s probably best to leave it to the open air.  I’m not certain how to treat the dark magic infection.”

“It’ll need a ritual,” Sirius said almost absently.

“Right then,” Thomas left momentarily and came back with a towel which he wrapped around Harry like a blanket.  He noticed Sirius staring at him.  “Warm towel from the airing cupboard.  It’ll help with the shock and act as a blanket.  I don’t have anything baby-sized in the house.”

Sirius grimaced.  He’d just ran.  He hadn’t even considered grabbing any of Harry’s belongings.

Thomas handed him a teacup filled with tea just the way he liked it; strong and sugary.  He sipped it gratefully.

“Now, young Sirius, I know from George there’s been some troubles in the wizarding world, and Cousin Arcturus wrote me the same.  You’ve never mentioned it so I’m thinking you’ve all downplayed it some not wanting to worry me.  So, start from the beginning and tell me what’s been going on,” Thomas said firmly.

Sirius shuddered, but he nodded under Thomas’ caring gaze.  “The beginning…the beginning is when we were still in school with the rise of a Dark wizard with pureblood ideology…”

o-O-o

1^st November 1981

Thomas fed Harry another spoonful of mashed up banana and the centre of a piece of white bread which had been soaked in milk.  It was a poor breakfast for the little chap, but it would suffice enough until Thomas could get to the shops for some appropriate food stuffs.  Food wasn’t the only thing they required; he’d changed the poor bairn’s nappy that morning, using a clean tea towel as a substitute. 

Sirius was on the left side of the table, poking at his eggs with the desultory air of a man in mourning.  He’d looked like he’d aged overnight from boy to man.  Purple circles shadowed his eyes, and his long black hair was drawn simply back into a ponytail emphasising his pallor. 

They were all pale, the Blacks.  It had been startling to Thomas upon meeting his wizarding relatives that they looked so similar.  He’d felt a changeling in his parents’ house.  His mother had inherited the grey eyes and complexion, but her hair had been the same as his grandfather’s, bright orange red.  His sister had inherited the same orange hair along with their father’s cold blue eyes.  Once when they’d gone down to the shops, the new grocer’s assistant had thought Phyllis was his sister, not Esther.

Phyllis.

He hadn’t thought of his old friend in such a long time.  She’d passed a few years after the end of the Second World war, following her husband into the grave less than a month after he had died.  They’d been happy together.  No children of their own in the end which Thomas had always thought a shame.

He shook his head at his meandering and offered another spoonful of food to Harry.

On the other side of the table from Sirius, his other two visitors were glowering into their respective cups of tea. 

George had come down to the cottage in response to Thomas’ urgent summons as soon as it was polite enough to telephone the house that morning. 

There had been a tense moment when George had come in and seen Sirius in the cottage.  Thomas had quickly intervened before George could get his wand out to attack.  George had been good friends with Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, having attended wizarding school with them.  George had grudgingly acquiesced to Thomas’ request to hear Sirius out.

Arcturus, locked away in his damn castle since losing his wife, had been more difficult to coax into coming to help over the Floo, but Thomas had shamed him into it.

Hearing Sirius’ tale a second time had been painful.  His young cousin had paid dearly for a well-meant suggestion to trust another friend with the secret of the Potters’ location and for Sirius to play decoy.  It reminded Thomas all too well of clever schemes of his own that had gone distinctly wrong in the past.  Thomas knew there was nothing any of them could say to make it better.    

George had just relayed the news that Albus Dumbledore had already reported Sirius as the Secret Keeper to the Aurors and had accused him of kidnapping Harry.  There was a manhunt underway for him.

George pushed a hand through his hair, still blond despite the grey beginning to creep in.  At sixty, he still had the slim sturdy form of his father along with the classic good looks.  “This is a mess.”

Arcturus snorted indelicately.  “You can say that again.”

“Well, there’s no use crying over spoiled milk,” Thomas said calmly. “What’s done is done.  We need a plan to get Sirius out of the soup and to determine what’s best for this little lad.”

“If I was acting as your solicitor, Sirius, I’d advise the best way forward is to do everything by the letter of the law,” George advised.  “We should go to the Ministry and have your testimony heard under Veritaserum and your memory of last night examined in a Pensieve.  As for the kidnapping charge, who is Harry’s guardian with his parents dead?”

Sirius grimaced and pushed his plate away.  “Unless he changed it, James named me as Harry’s legal magical guardian.  The Will is in his vault at Gringotts.  I have the key in case James and Lily need…needed anything.”

“Is there any way for you to get the Will without walking in the front entrance?” asked Thomas.  “I’d assume the Aurors have the place staked out waiting for you just in case.”

“We can Floo inside to the Black Account Manager directly,” Arcturus explained.  “Ragel will help us from there.”

“For a fee,” Sirius complained, picking up his tea.

“I’ll pay for it,” Arcturus said, trying to soothe only to have Sirius bristle at his words, his pride pricked regardless.

“Money well spent if it puts the Will in your hands,” George said briskly.  “Are you comfortable with me acting as your solicitor?  When we go to the Ministry, you’ll need legal representation.”

“You’d be willing to do that?” Sirius blurted out emotionally.  “I mean, you were one of Fleamont’s closest friends, and you loved James…”

“And James loved you as a brother,” George said kindly.  “I’m sure if he were here, he’d want me to help you.”

“It is a gracious offer, Crawley,” Arcturus said stiffly.  “In the circumstances, it would likely go better at the Ministry to have such a Light wizard represent you instead of Haver and Nott, Sirius.”

Sirius bowed his head briefly.  He looked back up and nodded at George.  “Thank you, Lord Grantham.”

“Golly, I still look for my Grandfather when I hear that,” George said with a sigh.  “Barrow, will you be able to look after Harry while we get this business sorted?”

“Is it safe enough here?” Arcturus frowned.

George lifted his eyebrows in a silent rebuke.  “My whole estate went unplottable to wizards back in ‘seventy-five after the Death Eaters went after the Jeffersons, but I also warded the entire thing to the hilt.  Any Death Eater will get transported straight to the DMLE with the words ‘I am a Death Eater’ tattooed onto their forehead.”

Arcturus gave George a considering look.  “I had no idea you had that in you, Crawley.”

Thomas hid his smirk.  George’s vengeful side was all Lady Mary.  The old broad was still going strong, doing her best impression of her own granny.

“I guess we should get it over with,” Sirius said. He fidgeted with the edge of his jacket. 

“A bath and a change of clothing is in order first,” Arcturus instructed.  “Impressions are everything with that busybody Bagnold.”

Sirius sighed.

“Go on up to the bathroom,” Thomas instructed him gently.  “Your Granddad can sort some appropriate clothing for you.”

Because Lord knew the tight muggle jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket Sirius had on were not going to cut it in the Ministry.

The fashion of the young was deplorable, Thomas mused.  Give him a good three-piece suit any day.  He brushed a hand over his own pristine shirt, waistcoat, and trousers.  He’d changed out of his pyjamas before his guests had arrived unable to think about staying in his nightclothes in front of George.  Lordy, dear departed Carson would have rolled over in his grave – or climbed out of it just to give Thomas a cuff around the ear for the idea of being so undressed in front of His Lordship.

Sirius left the table and headed up the narrow stairs at the front of the house. 

“He’s going to have a fight on his hands to keep custody,” George commented quietly, motioning towards Harry.

Arcturus nodded.  “A young man on his own?  I love the boy, but even I think Sirius needs to grow-up more himself before he becomes a father.”

Thomas tutted.  “Sirius became a father last night as soon as James and Lily passed, Cousin Arcturus.  He just needs help.”  He scraped the last of Harry’s food out of the bowl and spooned it into his mouth.  “Speaking of which, is there any way to organise some food and supplies for this one?  A breakfast of mashed banana and bread isn’t going to hurt the once, but I’d prefer to have better options for him.”

Arcturus cleared his throat.  “Kibbly!”

A house elf dressed in a tea-towel bearing the Black crest popped in beside Arcturus.

Thomas tried not to stare as Arcturus gave instructions to the elf.  He’d seen Arcturus’ house elf before, but he still thought it odd that the strange creatures served their wizarding families in place of human servants.

Kibbly popped away again.

“She’ll return with supplies,” Arcturus said crisply. He discreetly pointed his wand and transfigured Harry’s makeshift nappy into something that resembled a nappy and not a tea-towel.

“Good,” Thomas said.  He listened intently for a moment, gauging whether Sirius was splashing about in a bathtub of water.  “Apart from his age, what do you think the main obstacle will be with respect to Sirius retaining custody?” 

“Albus Dumbledore,” George said immediately. 

Arcturus nodded; his face grim beside him.  “He’s the one that has levied the kidnapping charge and according to Sirius’ account, he was also the one who raised the idea of Harry being the subject of that half-arsed prophecy.  If Dumbledore thinks that the prophecy is in play, he’ll want control, he always does.”

“Surely the prophecy bit is over?” Thomas said. “If Harry was meant to face that Dark wizard, didn’t that happen yesterday?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” George shrugged.  “Prophecies are strange things, Barrow.”

Barrow.

George had always said the word like ‘father.’  It never failed to warm Barrow’s heart.

“Well, how do we box Dumbledore in?” asked Thomas.

Arcturus snorted.  “Making Sirius see that he can’t trust the old goat would be a first step.”  He sighed.  “Melania and I mis-stepped with Sirius when we let him stay with Fleamont and Euphemia after the trouble with Walburga.  We should have gone after him, taken him home with us.  He’s never trusted the family since and has been all too ready to trust Dumbledore.”  He sighed.  “I’m not to certain he won’t just hand over the lad to Dumbledore if it comes to it.”

“James was the same way with Dumbledore,” George said sympathetically.

Thomas sighed.  “Well, the lad needs treatment before he gets handed anywhere.”

“Treatment?” Arcturus’ gaze narrowed on Harry sharply.

“Sirius said there was some kind of dark magic infection in the cut on his forehead,” Thomas explained.

Arcturus whipped out his wand again and redid the diagnostic.

George breathed in sharply as the numerals appeared.  “That’s not dark magic.  It’s a soul fragment caught in a blood ward!”

“It is,” Arcturus sighed heavily.  “Well, that means the prophecy is still in play.”

“Worse than that, it means that foul bastard isn’t dead!” George retorted.

“What does it mean for the lad?” asked Thomas bluntly. 

“It creates a corrupt magical connection,” Arcturus replied.  “While Harry carries a shard of the Dark Lord’s soul, he keeps him alive and suffers the effort of doing that magically, yet at the same time, the Dark Lord won’t be able to live fully as he’s missing a part of his soul.  George is right, the man is foul.”

“It’s not like our magical entanglement, Barrow,” George said.  “Yes, I accidentally tied our magic together, but our souls are whole and our own.”

Thomas was relieved to hear it.  George didn’t need the burden of Thomas’ bruised and battered soul.   

“Can we get rid of the soul?” asked Thomas.  “Sirius mentioned a ritual?”

“Perhaps,” Arcturus demurred, “I’d have to consult the DOM or perhaps for discretion’s sake, Gringott’s curse-breaking division may be better.”

“Better for what?” Sirius asked from the doorway. 

He looked slightly damp around the edges, but he’d dressed in whatever Kibbly had brought for him and appeared the part of the young pureblood heir.  Muggle jeans had been replaced with dragonhide trousers, the t-shirt with a silk black shirt.  The leather jacket had given way to a sharp black day robe with long sleeves.  A grey silk cravat with an emerald pin completed the outfit.  Sirius had drawn his long hair into a low bun. 

Sirius all but dropped back into his chair when Arcturus explained the situation with Harry.

“Nobody else can know about this,” Sirius said, fearfully.  “If anyone finds out…the Death Eaters will want to get their hands on him to force him into some kind of insane resurrection plot, and the Light…” he grimaced.  “Dumbledore will want to use it, use Harry somehow.”

Arcturus blinked.  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say a word against him.”

“He’s…” Sirius sighed.  “He’s been overly interested in Harry since he was born.”  His fingers tapped the tabletop restlessly.  “I mean, Neville too.  James told me that he tried to convince them not to name me as godfather, but to have Frank or maybe Arthur instead; said I was too reckless, that I didn’t come from the right kind of family.”

Arcturus snorted again.

“He’s never trusted me just because I’m a Black,” Sirius admitted, a pained wince flitting across his face.  

Thomas felt a pang of empathy.  There’d been a time when he hadn’t been trusted simply because he loved the company of men.

“Lily told me maybe he was pushing his nose in just because he wanted to act like a pseudo-grandfather, but that never rang true to me,” Sirius sighed.  “When James told me about the prophecy, I figured that was the reason and if that is the reason…” 

“Then Dumbledore’s motivation is not based on what is best for Harry, but what he believes needs to happen in regards to the prophecy,” George completed sombrely.

“So, you won’t be handing Harry over to Dumbledore then?” Thomas asked bluntly.

Sirius shook his head.  “Harry deserves better than to be used as a pawn in some grand plan the old wizard has cooked up.” His features crumpled again a touch.  “We all do.”

George set his teacup down.  “Then let’s work out a plan for making sure you will have custody, Sirius.”

Thomas smiled proudly.  George would set it right, just like Thomas had known he would.  He was his father’s son, after all.

o-O-o

Sirius drank down the Veritaserum antidote and set the vial on the interrogation table.

Across the table, Mad-Eye Moody, the Head Auror, and Barty Crouch, the Head of the DMLE, both glared back at him, but neither could argue with the testimony provided under the potion’s influence.  Behind them, lurking by the wall, the Minister, Millicent Bagnold, the Head of the DOM, Archibald Croaker, and Dumbledore himself, all had looks of consternation painted across their various features.

“Do you have any other questions for my client?” asked George beside him. 

Sirius was glad of the older man’s presence to his left, and for his grandfather’s presence to his right.  He was aware that his grandmother’s death had been devastating for the old wizard and it soothed an old hurt to have his grandfather come out of his retreat to be so steadfastly in Sirius’ corner.

“Where is Harry Potter?” asked Dumbledore bluntly.  He looked tired.  His long white beard seemed straggly to Sirius, his white hair even more in disarray under the cap he wore than usual.  His bright lime robes seemed wildly out of place given two of his closest allies were dead.

“Safe,” George answered succinctly.  He tapped his wand on his briefcase and a copy of the Last Will and Testament of James and Lily Potter appeared on the table.  “James and Lily made provision for their son.  Viscount Grimmauld has full custody over their son until his majority.”

“I do not believe it would be in Harry’s best interests to have the Will executed,” Dumbledore declared.  “Harry will need protection in light of his defeat of Voldemort.  I do not believe he will be safe in the wizarding world.”

Arcturus huffed. “Really, Albus, why don’t you just admit that you don’t want the boy raised by a Black?”

Dumbledore stared at his grandfather.  “Your family has faithfully followed Voldemort for years.”

“Some of the family,” Arcturus corrected sharply.  “I’ll remind you that we lost Alphard to a Death Eater attack and Melania…I’m fairly certain Bellatrix poisoned her, I just can’t prove it.”  He blinked and his sleeves rolled up to reveal unmarked forearms before his clothing spiralled back down to cover him again.  “Would you like me to take Veritaserum?”

“You cannot deny his politics are your politics,” Dumbledore countered.

“I believe in a traditionalist agenda,” Arcturus agreed.  “However, my heir does not.” He pointed at Sirius.  “And I have never believed in killing the other side to achieve a political aim.”  He waved a hand.  “We are getting off the point.  Harry is Sirius’ ward.  He will be raised by my grandson.”

“Minister,” Dumbledore turned to Bagnold.  “I must protest and counsel you to seal the Will and allow me to see to Harry’s interests.”

“Please do go ahead and do that if you want to lose all the support of the Wizengamot, Millicent,” Arcturus said bluntly.  “I’m sure not a single Lord or Lady will trust you again if you listen to this windbag and seal the Last Will and Testament of one of its Lords in such a way.”

“Further, if you try and do this by Ministry seal here and now, I’ll have the papers filed for a legal challenge in front of the Wizengamot before the day is out,” George said crisply.  “I was James’ godfather and I fail to see why his wishes for his son are to be circumvented!”

“Mister Crawley…” Dumbledore began.

“Lord Grantham,” George corrected.  “I don’t understand why a man who professes to be in favour of muggle rights fails on every occasion we meet to recognise my muggle title!”

Dumbledore flushes red.  “Lord Grantham, surely you see the wizarding world is not a safe place for Harry?”

“It’s hardly a safe place for any of us,” George retorted.  “What I do know is that Sirius has found a place of safety for James’ son, and I fully support him to raise young Harry in his stead as was James’ wish.”

Dumbledore glared at George who glared right back.

Sirius was only pleased nobody was glaring at him – well, except for Moody who continued to glare at him regardless.  Crouch had subsided into a state of huffiness.  Sirius wondered how James had worked with the two of them when he’d been an Auror.  Frankly, all Sirius wanted to do was go back to his small garage and build another motorcycle.

Although, he considered tiredly, he probably should start thinking about proper employment with Harry to raise.  Inventing magical transportation was a tricky business with the legalities around muggle artefacts.  He’d built every part of his own motorcycle to get around it, but in a business that was costly and expensive.  Uncle Alphard’s inheritance wouldn’t last forever.  And he couldn’t go back to the flat, not with Harry.  He was very lucky Thomas had agreed for them to stay at the cottage.

“Execute the Will as per usual procedures,” Bagnold intoned with enough finality that Dumbledore stiffened.  “Now, Moody, Director Crouch – I believe we have notices to post regarding Peter Pettigrew?”

Sirius watched as she bustled the two wizards out of the room, leaving the door open behind them.

“You really won’t tell me where Harry is, Sirius?  You have to know I only have his safety in mind,” Dumbledore asked again.

He pinned Sirius with a hard look at the same time and Sirius felt a mental swipe over his Occlumency shield.  He glared back even though it wouldn’t have mattered if Dumbledore had rampaged through his mind.  They’d taken the precaution of sending the whole Grantham estate under a new Fidelius before they’d left Thomas alone with Harry.  Since Thomas was the Secret Keeper, it was unlikely that anyone would ever guess.

Sirius ignored Dumbledore and turned to Croaker.  “I assume I’m free to go?”

“You are,” Croaker said.  “I’ve secured the Potters’ cottage, and their bodies were transferred to the DOM.  I’ll be in touch once we’ve finished the forensic examinations and have released them for burial.”

Right.  A funeral.  He blinked back fresh tears.

His grandfather put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him and Sirius leaned into the touch eagerly as though he was in his Padfoot form wanting pats.

George cleared his throat.  “Send the details to my office, Director.  We’ll be handling James’ legal affairs and supporting Viscount Grimmauld through the necessities.”

“Of course,” Croaker confirmed.

Sirius allowed his grandfather and George to guide him out of the Ministry and back to the safety of Thomas’ cottage.

It wasn’t until he was bundled under a woollen throw on the sofa, Harry curled up on his chest fast asleep, that he really came back to himself.

He looked over at Thomas, keeping watch in the armchair, a book open on his lap.

“Nothing’s ever going to be the same again, is it?” Sirius murmured into the quiet of the room, only broken by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

“No,” agreed Thomas. “But you’ll have plenty of people around to help you, me included.”

Sirius nodded gratefully.  He stroked a hand through Harry’s messy hair, so like James’ it hurt to think of it.  “I loved him,” he whispered, confessing his deepest secret to the only person he figured might understand.

“I know,” Thomas said softly. 

The simple acceptance brought fresh tears, and Sirius allowed himself to grieve.

o-O-o

Downton Abbey, 31^st July 1986

Thomas looked over the playing children with satisfaction from his place on the bench. 

They were all gathered on the back lawn.  A cream canopy tent had been erected in case there was rain, but the sun was shining in a clear blue sky. 

The buffet table was heaving with sandwiches, cakes and salads, all provided by the on-site tea shop, Mrs Patmore’s.  A lot of the jams and fresh produce was supplied by Mason’s Farm which had remained in the Parker family.  The shop itself was run by Daisy’s youngest daughter since Daisy had passed away.

Thomas still missed her.  Sometimes he wondered at that.  They’d started so badly him and Daisy, with him using her to make William jealous.  Yet they’d become good friends in the years he’d been butler and she’d been head cook.  And he couldn’t forget Daisy’s husband, Andy, either. 

Good friendships were a memory to treasure, Thomas reminded himself.    

A large picnic mat had been laid out to the side of the tent.  The children were gathered there, happily munching on their lunch.  On the other side of the lawn, an abandoned cricket bat and ball gave away their pre-lunch game.

Around the rug, the adults had chairs situated in small seating groups.

Thomas looked up as Lady Mary was helped to sit on the other end of the bench by her companion nurse, Gerty. 

Her Ladyship’s dark hair had long turned a steel grey, but her dark brown eyes were still as sharply intelligent as ever.  Her hand rested lightly on the ever-present cane she used.  Her dress was floral with a flouncy bow which was all the rage, but her summer hat was in place and her demeanour was reminiscent of her grandmother all the same.  If he blinked, his vision might waver and he’d see the old Dowager Countess sat on the bench instead.

Lady Mary nodded at him as she waved Gerty away.  “How are you, Barrow?”

“Good, m’lady,” Thomas answered.  “And you?”

“Honestly, tired to hell of living,” Lady Mary said bluntly.  “I can see why Granny wanted to go in the end.”  Her gaze scoured him.  “I guess magic gives you an advantage there.”

“Perhaps,” Thomas allowed.  He never really did feel his age since George’s magic had prevented him from aging in the same way as anyone else.

“It feels so strange being the last of a generation when there were so many of us at one time.  I was the eldest.  I never thought I’d be the last,” Lady Mary said.

Thomas shared a sad smile with her.

They didn’t need to speak to know that they were both thinking of Lady Sybill, gone far too soon.

But Lady Edith had also passed away.  She’d rarely left Brancaster after Bertie had died from a heart attack near the end of the Second World war.  Her son had inherited the title and he’d settled down with an American heiress and had a gaggle of children.

Thomas knew that George had tried to maintain something of a relationship with the new Marquess of Hexham, Robert Pelham, but their interactions had faded into births, deaths, and marriages like many cousins.   

Both Thomas and George remained in touch with Edith’s daughter, Marigold, though.  She was alive and well, living her best life in London.  She’d turned The Sketch into a very popular political magazine.  She was unapologetically unmarried, had indulged in a string of love affairs, and was the outrageous half-sister who occasionally showed up in Brancaster to scandalise her brother and his wife.

Thomas was saddened that she hadn’t been able to make it to Downton for Harry’s birthday party.

“It’s strange,” Lady Mary said quietly, “sometimes I close my eyes and think if I don’t open them, maybe there will be Mama and Papa walking across the lawn, with my sisters and Matthew following in their wake on the daily ramble, and Granny and Cousin Isobel sparring on a bench somewhere.  And the house behind will be bustling once again with loyal maids and clever footmen.”

“With Carson keeping an eye out, and Mrs Hughes walking the floors to make sure everything was just so?” Thomas nodded.  “I do it myself sometimes.” He sighed.  “It was another time, m’lady.”

“That it was Barrow,” Lady Mary said.  “It’s a comfort to me to know you’ll still be here for George when I’m gone.”

“It’s a comfort to know I’ll go when he does,” Thomas admitted.  The DOM had been able to establish that much in the wake of it happening.

“You’ve never blamed him for it,” Lady Mary observed, a hint of wonder at that belying the cool tones of her clipped accent.

“It was a child’s want to keep a friend close,” Thomas said.  “I’d never blame him for that.”  He smiled with a hint of his old melancholy.  “Truth be told, I’ve always appreciated that he childishly wanted my presence in his life so much that he reached out with his magic to keep me when it felt like everyone else was perfectly happy sending me away.”

George’s magic had saved his life.  He’d been struggling with depression in the wake of a desperate suicide attempt, and he hadn’t seen any future joy in the position he’d been leaving to take up.  He’d rather thought as he’d made his goodbyes that he’d probably be back in a bathtub by the end of the year.

Carson had never forgiven him for staying, blaming the whole debacle on Thomas (and rather he did blame Thomas than George).  He’d been especially cranky when only a few months later his palsy had gotten too bad for him to serve and Thomas had become butler, revealing the decision that should have been made all along when the Earl had asked Carson to economise.

“We didn’t really do right by you back then, Barrow, did we?” Lady Mary mused, a little chagrin and regret inching its way across her face.

“My own fault,” Thomas allowed.  He’d own his mistakes.

“Perhaps a lot of it, just as my unhappiness at the time was mine,” Lady Mary said with her customary bluntness, “but still, I wonder now at how much of your behaviour was rooted in the unfairness of it all.”

“Some of it undoubtedly,” Thomas agreed.  He’d felt at war with the world from the moment his father had thrown him out for his unnatural inclinations.  He sighed.  “And some of it was just me being an idiot.”

“Well, you are a man,” Lady Mary commented dryly, “you’re all idiots sometimes.”

Thomas laughed.

Lady Mary gestured over to the right of the grouping where Sirius stood talking with her grandson, Henry Gillingham, the youngest son of her daughter, Caroline.  “I worry about them.  Marigold wrote about this horrid gay virus they’ve found in the States and how much they’re at risk.”

“They know to be careful,” Thomas comforted her.  “And, no pun intended, they are serious about each other.”

“They’ve been stepping out together for two years so I should hope so,” Lady Mary sniffed.  “It’s a shame Caroline and the other boys couldn’t make it.”

Thomas had no doubt that if it had been a party for one of the Crawleys, Lady Caroline Gillingham would have made the effort, and her elder son and family the same, but they didn’t consider little Harry family, despite the fact that Henry had become a second father to him.

Thomas had a feeling that their tolerance for Henry’s preferences was very contingent on Henry never actually being openly gay where they could see it.  As long as he turned up to family occasions alone and never spoke of his romantic life, his family accepted he was different and were wonderfully tolerant.

Thomas knew how lonely that was; hadn’t he been in the same boat for most of his life? Even when his friends had encouraged a romance like his time with Richard…so much had still to be hidden or not spoken out loud. Still, he mused, it had gotten better after the law had changed and it was freeing to know that simply acknowledging his preference in public would no longer see him in jail. 

And at least Henry had other family who did accept all of him.

George was wonderfully accepting, but then with Thomas a constant in his life, he’d grown up with the knowledge that there were just some people who loved differently.  He’d married an equally tolerant wife in Hannah, a progressive liberal who had almost driven George’s grandfather mad with her views.  Their two sons were the pride of Lady Mary’s life.

Reginald and his family were abroad, but Matthew Thomas Crawley, George’s eldest was present.

Thomas let his gaze drift to the children.

He catalogued the Crawleys first.  Robbie was George’s oldest grandchild, the heir to the heir of the Grantham estate.  Seven years old and the first magical child since George himself.  His sister, Violet, had turned five a month before but wasn’t showing any signs of being magical at all.  Their parents hovered close to the rug, Matthew hovering beside his wife Allison who was heavy with an unexpected third child.

His gaze moved onto Sybbie’s only child, Marion, sat beside them with her husband.  Their daughter, Hermione was happily chatting away to Harry in the middle of the rug.

And Harry himself was clearly entranced by the curly-haired little girl and had been since they’d been introduced at a family Christmas party as toddlers. 

Thomas felt a smile twitch at his lips. 

“Young love, do you think?” Lady Mary asked lightly.

She and Thomas grinned at each other.

“It always makes me nervous when you two conspire,” George said as he approached.

“I can’t think what you mean by that, George,” Lady Mary said dryly.  She heaved herself to her feet and kissed George’s cheek.  “Keep your Barrow company for me, won’t you?  I need to find Gerty and go for a nap.”  She waved away George’s offer to help and wandered off across the grass towards the house.

“What’s the betting she’ll end up in her old room rather than the new one?” George asked with a sigh.

Thomas shook his head.  “I’m not going to bet on that.”

“It was a shame Arcturus couldn’t stay longer,” George commented.

Arcturus had stopped by with a present but then departed.

“Wizengamot meeting,” Thomas said succinctly.  “Dumbledore’s trying to pass legislation to make the Fidelius illegal.”

“Will the old goat ever stop trying to find Harry do you think?” asked George wearily.

Thomas shook his head.  “I doubt it.”  Dumbledore’s quest to find Harry had never stopped, but in the end all he had done was alienated Sirius.

“Henry says he’s going to move into the cottage,” George said.  “I assume they did ask you?”

“They did,” Thomas said.  “To be honest, they’ve been pretty much moved in with each other for a year.  I was wondering when they were going to get a clue.”

“You mean you didn’t drop any?” teased George.

Thomas smiled slyly and said nothing.

“You don’t mind it?” George said, before his eyes widened as he realised how those words might be taken and hurried to say more.  “I mean, I know the cottage has three bedrooms but it’s still a small space for you all living together.”

“Sirius has magically expanded his room into a suite of sorts,” Thomas said, “and he’s offered to do the same to the back on the ground floor.  Maybe put on a conservatory and study to give us more living space.”  He patted George’s arm.  “It’s better than them moving out especially given Sirius is your estate manager and Henry’s got a job at the hospital.  I’m glad to have their company.”

And he genuinely was.

He wasn’t just the Crawleys’ Barrow, he was also Harry Potter’s.  Helping Sirius raise Harry had given Thomas a new purpose in life.

“Barrow!” Robbie Crawley was suddenly right in front of him, the other three children hovering just behind, Harry smiling shyly at him.  “Is it true you used to be the star of the House cricket team?”

Thomas smiled.  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, Master Robert.”

“I would,” George said firmly.  “We’d never have made a decent showing without you.  We haven’t since you left the team.”

“Will you show us how to play, Barrow, please?” Harry asked, his large green eyes pleading with him like a puppy.

“Well, I can’t say no to the birthday boy, can I?” Thomas said and held out his hand.

Harry giggled as he tugged him to his feet and Thomas ignored George’s knowing grin as he shepherded the children back over to the play area where they’d left the bat and ball.

Thomas looked back at the house briefly, at the party gathering with the family laughing and happy.  Downton was home, through good times and bad. 

He was so glad that George had insisted he stay.

fin.