Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Sirius stared upwards as his bike rode into the clouds carrying Harry away to safety in Hagrid’s giant pocket.

He’d never put too much stock in the small divination gift he’d inherited from his grandmother, but that evening, he’d just known something was up with Peter.

Finding Peter’s hiding spot empty and fearing the worst, he knew he’d been right to his bones.  He’d arrived at the cottage too late to save James and Lily – the too fresh memory of their bodies flashed through his mind – but Harry lived.  He’d been so wonderfully alive, but grief-stricken and crying in his crib, because his magic knew the loss of his parents even if his child’s mind couldn’t comprehend it. 

Sirius closed his eyes wishing again that he was holding his godson closely, soothing the little boy’s tears away, soothing his own need to sob out his grief.

Harry needed to be safe, Sirius reminded himself.  He’d handed over Harry to Hagrid because Dumbledore was likely one of the few who knew the secret of Frank and Alice’s location.  The Longbottom family had gone under a Fidelius at the same time as James and Lily.  No doubt Dumbledore could get Harry to them safely.

Sirius had fully supported Lily’s view that Alice, Harry’s godmother, was a better choice for a parental guardian when the Potters had updated their Wills.  Alice was a mother herself and happily married to Frank while Sirius was a bachelor with a reputation of recklessness, no matter how much he loved Harry.  He knew James had preferred Sirius as first on the list, but he hadn’t been able to withstand both Sirius and Lily arguing otherwise.

No.  It was for the best that Harry was safely away and would be sequestered with his godmother.

Which left Sirius free and clear to find out what had happened with Peter, Sirius determined grimly.

He took a breath.

Lily’s Last Stand spell had worked.  It had taken down the Dark Bastard as soon as he’d cast with malevolent intent at Harry.  Or at least the pile of empty robes which had been puddled in front of the crib suggested it had worked. 

He knew Peter had been there because the scent of him, the scent of rodent, was fresh.  But Peter was long gone from the property and Sirius needed to find him.  He needed to know if Peter was badly injured, if he’d been tortured into giving up the secret, or if Peter had simply betrayed them.

Sirius closed his eyes at the thought. 

He didn’t want to believe it.  He didn’t, but James and Lily were dead because Voldemort had known the secret of their location, the secret Peter had sworn to hide.  Sirius had suggested Peter as the Secret Keeper, to use himself as a decoy.  If Peter had betrayed them…

Sirius had to know the truth.    

He took one last look at the ruined home in front of him and apparated away.

o-O-o

“I know you must hate me but please meet me at Waverly Street tomorrow at 12pm.  Wormtail.”

Sirius did not need the flash of an explosion in his mind’s eye to know that it was a trap. 

Without his gift though he might have disregarded the danger and gone anyway.  He might still have hoped that Peter was innocent and had only given away the secret under torture.  He might have waited instead of following the only clue provided by the hastily scrawled note; the fact that it was written on Doris Pettigrew’s personal letter parchment. 

His Padfoot form lay under a large bush, his silver gaze resting on the house opposite to the park. 

Peter’s childhood home was tucked away in a suburb of the East End, a dirty old square of houses with a ramshackle park in the centre.  The Pettigrew’s house was like all the two-up, two-down houses on the street; it was small, poky and non-distinct. 

Doris had already left for the day, hurrying off to her cleaning jobs without giving the park opposite her house a single thought.

Sirius ignored the fireworks still exploding overhead in the early daylight – the wizarding world had been partying all night once the news of Voldemort’s demise had been leaked to the populace. 

He blamed Hagrid.  The Keeper of Hogwarts’ Keys was terrible at keeping a secret. 

Sirius had been slightly disturbed though to hear whispers from drunken party-goers of Harry being lauded as some kind of saviour.  They’d called him the Boy-Who-Lived which was horrific.  He was looking forward to Alice’s ire when she found out.  Sirius would bet she’d rip anyone saying such a thing to shreds.

Something told him it was time to move.

He got up.  Old leaves crumbled beneath his feet as he padded out from under the bush in his animagus form.  He crossed the street and slunk up to the door. 

It opened at the touch of his nose easily.  There was no ward matrix around the house to worry Sirius and the house knew him and the other Marauders as friends. 

Sirius closed the door softly behind him with a wave of his tail.  The narrow hallway had stairs rising steeply to Sirius’ left, the door to the front parlour, Doris’ pride and joy was closed to his right, but a bit further down the door to the back room was open, the news playing on the wireless.

A noise from the kitchen at the back of the house drew Sirius’ attention. 

He smiled coldly as Peter stepped into the hall and stumbled to a frightened halt at the sight of the Grim in front of him. 

Peter dropped the tea he’d held, and it clattered on the wooden floor, splashing into a large puddle.  “Padfoot…” he began fearfully as Sirius bared his teeth.

The Grim pounced.

o-O-o

Sirius stayed on his side of Dumbledore’s office and watched wearily as the Aurors took custody of Pettigrew under the stern glares of Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout. 

Not Peter.  Sirius would never call him that again.  He’d betrayed them.  He’d confessed that he had willingly led Voldemort right to the door of the cottage.  Sirius would never acknowledge him as a friend ever again.

He would never recognise him as Wormtail either.  There was nothing left of the Marauder in Pettigrew.  He’d given up their brotherhood the moment he’d taken the Dark Mark that stained his forearm. 

Sirius had gagged at the sight of it.  How had they not known?  How had they trusted him?

His thoughts rambled back to how he’d headed to Hogwarts with a bound, gagged and stunned rat in his possession.  He had hoped that Dumbledore would hear him out, despite the bluff they’d played on the old wizard by pretending that Sirius had been the Secret Keeper.

He’d also longingly hoped to check on Harry before he was handed over to Alice’s custody since he was certain Poppy would have been trusted to look over the toddler and heal his injuries.  The cut on Harry’s forehead had remained stubbornly resistant to Sirius’ healing when he’d tried to mend it.  He’d been disappointed to discover that Harry had already been and gone.

Flitwick and Sprout were in charge since both the Headmaster and his formidable Deputy were missing.

Flitwick had stunned Sirius on sight. 

Sprout had proceeded to dose him and Peter with Veritserum to get to the truth.

Sirius was never underestimating the Professors again, he determined with a tired sigh.  They had both been truly scary.  Once the truth was known though they’d called the Aurors.

Flitwick had even stayed with Sirius as he’d given his statement, providing him with counsel and protection. 

Sirius was cleared, the rat was in custody.

Sirius had no idea what he was meant to do next, or where he was meant to go. 

James was dead. 

Lily was dead. 

His grief seemed all encompassing.

Flitwick patted his arm.  “Why don’t you join me in my quarters for some tea and breakfast, Sirius?  Pomona can take care of the students this morning.”

Sirius shook his head.  All he knew was that he needed away from the school. 

He hurried out, shifting into Padfoot as he cleared the gates and ran and ran…

When he stopped, he found himself in a cave on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and he howled his grief aloud.

o-O-o

Sirius watched stone-faced as the coffins were magically transported below the soil.  Anger hummed under his skin again at the rushed funeral. 

Dumbledore had swept in and taken over, refusing to listen to Sirius about the Potters’ wishes which should have been upheld by Harry’s magical guardians.  Unfortunately, the Longbottoms were still in hiding under their Fidelius, and Sirius hadn’t been able to get anyone to listen.  Dumbledore’s decisions were taken as right; his assumption of authority on what to do taken as given by the rest of the Order of Phoenix.    

Instead of James and Lily being placed at rest with the rest of the Potters in their family cemetery on the Potter Estate, Dumbledore had arranged for their internment in Godric’s Hollow.  Sirius watched as the bearded old fool inscribed some stupid nonsense about death on their headstone after the frankly condescending speech he’d given.

Dumbledore shot Sirius a sharp look before he apparated away. 

Things were very frosty between Sirius and Dumbledore.  It wasn’t all down to them clashing over the funeral arrangements. 

The Headmaster had initially refused to believe Sirius’ innocence and had only conceded after Alastor Moody, who had always distrusted Sirius because he was a Black, had grudgingly confirmed Pettigrew had confessed to being the Secret Keeper, a spy and traitor.  Moody and Dumbledore still looked at Sirius with suspicion though and they weren’t the only ones.

Many of the other mourners had tutted disapprovingly at his presence or had refused to even acknowledge him.  One of the latter was the other remaining Marauder, Remus.

The werewolf finally made eye-contact across the expanse of the graves.  He glared at Sirius and apparated away.

Sirius swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.  His relationship with Remus had been fragile even before the deaths of their friends.  He’d suspected Remus of being the spy and knew Remus suspected him of being the same. 

And it had been Sirius’ idea to swap Secret Keepers; his idea that had led to James and Lily dying…so Remus was right to be furious with Sirius.  

McGonagall sniffed into her hanky, cleared her throat, and patted Sirius’ arm consolingly.  “Things will get better, lad.  Come along.  We should get to the wake.”

Dumbledore had trampled all over the Potters’ wishes there too.  Instead of being held at Potter Manor, he’d arranged for a gathering for the Order at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. 

“I’ll stay here,” Sirius said softly, “but thank you.”

McGonagall didn’t argue with him.  She patted his arm again and left.

He was alone.

He was alone.

Sirius finally let the tears he’d been holding back, sting his eyes and cascade down his cheeks.  He sank to his knees and sobbed. 

o-O-o

“What do you mean Harry isn’t here?” Sirius stared at Alice with horror.

He’d hurried to the Longbottoms eager to see his godson as soon as they’d taken down the Fidelius and the knowledge of Longbottom Reach had whispered back into his mind.  Something, that intuition which had helped him capture Pettigrew, had told him to hurry to them.

“He’s not here,” Alice repeated, looking as frustrated as Sirius felt.  “Dumbledore said that he took Harry to Lily’s family and that he’s safe there.  He refused to tell us where they live and said it was safer he remain there away from the magical world until Hogwarts!  He told us we couldn’t even visit as though he gets to dictate that!”

“Dumbledore must have his reasons, love,” Frank offered from his place in his cosy armchair on the other side of the seating area.

Alice huffed out a breath.  “And as I told you before, Frank, Dumbledore is not Harry’s legal guardian!  We are!”

Sirius nodded in furious agreement.  How dare Dumbledore try to dictate who Harry lived with, who could see him! 

“If the shoe was on the other foot and your mother was being told after our deaths that Neville was being whisked away to my brother just on the say-so of Albus Dumbledore and she, his actual guardian, was banned from seeing him, you’d be furious!”  Alice continued.

Frank held up his hand in surrender.  “We’ll head to the Potters’ solicitors tomorrow.  Once we have the guardianship formalised legally, we can see Albus again and get Harry back with us.”

Alice looked smugly pleased.  She cuddled Neville closer as he started to fuss.  “Thank you, dear.”

Sirius clamped down on his own impatient temper.  “I guess I’ll…”

The building shook and the floor beneath them trembled.

Frank started with alarm, already summoning his wand.  “The wards are down!”

There was an explosion as the front door was blown open…

Sirius threw himself behind one sofa, erecting a hasty shield to protect the room as Frank bundled Alice and Neville behind the other sofa. Alice cast a Patronus to get help; the silvery form of a bear bounded away to the Aurors.

There was a moment of silence. 

A figure appeared in the doorway, cackling gleefully.  Her silver eyes landed on Sirius as her husband and brother appeared beside her, a shadowy figure lurking in the back beyond them.

“Hello, Cousin,” Bellatrix sneered.  “You’ve saved me having to hunt you down!”  

Sirius gripped his wand and prepared to do battle.

o-O-o

Sirius stared down at his firewhiskey in the glass in front of him.  He could tear the ticking of the clock on the wall, the silence of his flat was oppressive.

The doorbell rang stridently.  He was tempted to ignore it, to sit in morose apathy about the state of his life, but it rang again.

Sirius answered his door with a growl.  “What?”  He blinked as he registered his visitor.  “Grandmother?”

Melania Black sniffed haughtily.  “Well?  Are you going to keep me on the doorstep or invite me in?”

Sirius ushered her inside. 

They sat at his kitchen table with the hastily found teapot pouring his grandmother her favourite blend. 

“Why are you here?” asked Sirius. 

His grandparents had rarely contacted him after his escape to the Potters.  His Uncle Alphard had once suggested that it was their way of honouring his decision to stay with Fleamont and Euphemia.  The few notes and presents which he’d received on his birthday and for Yule had substantiated that position. He knew that they’d never proactively supported Voldemort, but they’d never condemned him either.  When the war had broken out fully, his grandfather had instructed the entire Black family to stay neutral.  Not a single one of them had obeyed.

“Our hiding behind the wards of Castle Black was my doing, Sirius,” his Gran admitted. “I had a vision, and your grandfather heeded my warning.  If we hadn’t retreated, I would already be dead by poison thanks to Bellatrix.”

Sirius picked up his beer and took a large swallow.

“Thank you for killing her, Sirius.”

Sirius grimaced.  It had been self-defence and the memory of it made him nauseous.

“I understand you were badly injured,” she continued said.  “I was going to go straight to the hospital to see you when I heard the news, but my sources said you’d already left.”

Sirius shrugged.  The scar across his torso would be a permanent reminder of how Bellatrix had tried to cut him in half, but it had been easily mended by the healers.  What was more cutting was the lack of visitors beyond the Aurors trying to arrest him.  Luckily, Frank’s initial testimony to Aurors at the scene about Sirius’ fight with Bellatrix had been enough to hold off Moody’s attempt to have Sirius thrown into the Ministry cells. 

Poor Alice was still in Saint Mungo’s.  She had been badly injured from a dark curse which had damaged her mind and magic.  It was unlikely she’d ever recover.

Sirius felt sorry for Frank, sorrier for little Neville who was also traumatised.  Frank had barely given the little tyke a glance at the hospital.  Frank was too caught up in Alice’s situation to pay proper attention to his son, and so Sirius figured he’d given Harry’s situation no thought at all.  

Sirius knew that Harry’s situation had become even more difficult to resolve with Alice out of action.  Sirius had very little political clout to force Dumbledore into a different decision about Harry.

“We want you to come home,” his Gran stated, yanking his attention back to her. 

Sirius blinked at her.  “Walburga said I was disowned.  You left me with the Potters.”

“Walburga is a delusional old hag,” she said with enough vitriol that Sirius believed she meant it.  “You have no idea how many times I checked your father for love potions.”

Sirius snorted. 

“We owe you an apology, Sirius,” his Gran admitted.  “We knew Walburga was stern, but we honestly did not know she was abusive towards you.  If we had, we would have intervened.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sirius said awkwardly, shame averting his gaze from his grandmother.  “I hid everything she did.”

“You were a child,” his Gran said softly.  “We should have made it clear that you could come to us.”  She sighed.  “We did put her on warning in case she repeated her abuse with Regulus, but he assured us that she treated him well, and she denies having anything to do with his disappearance last year.”

Sirius huffed at that. His younger brother had been the favourite and had never faced the same punishments as Sirius.  He wondered briefly if Regulus had even read Sirius’ warning.  They’d barely spoken after Sirius had left, but when Sirius had seen the vision of Regulus dying in some cave, he had sent his brother a note to forewarn him.  Only a week later he’d disappeared and perhaps they would never know what had happened to him. 

“You seemed happy with Flea and Mia.  We didn’t want to interfere with your choice given our failings to notice the abuse in the first place,” his Gran said, sharply.  “Perhaps we should have talked more back then.”  She caught his gaze.  “You never stopped being a part of our family, Sirius.  You’re our grandson, and the next Lord Black.”

He felt warmed by his grandmother’s words but…he shook his head.  “I need to make sure Harry is safe and Dumbledore already thinks I’m Dark.  I don’t need a public return to the bosom of the family to add to his suspicion.”

His Gran regarded him over the rim of her teacup, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.  “Well, then,” she said, “whoever said we needed to make it public?”

o-O-o

Sirius frowned as he sat down in his Padfoot form and took in the unassuming muggle house in front of him. 

It had been his grandmother’s suggestion to ignore the formalities and simply search out Lily’s sister so Sirius could at least set eyes on Harry. It had only taken him a few days to track down Petunia. 

He was incredibly fortunate that Lily had given all the Marauder’s lessons in how to act and dress so they could blend in with the muggles unlike many of their peers; that she had given lessons in how the muggle world worked.  Sirius had loved every moment, feeling like with every muggle step he embraced he was giving his mother the middle finger.

Pettigrew had hated every moment, Remus had been nothing but grateful, and James had been indulgent, but also surprisingly respectful.  Sirius remembered fondly that many of the lessons had been aimed at James with the objective that he not act like a prat in front of Lily’s family.

Lily’s family.  She had been devastated by the death of her parents in a house fire soon after the wedding.  It was perhaps no wonder that Lily had sought to protect the only family she had left even if her relationship with her older sister was fraught. 

According to Lily, her relationship with Petunia had slow unravelled from the moment Snape had told Lily that she had magic.  Lily’s attendance at Hogwarts had picked apart another thread.  Their respective marriages to very different men had unwound another.  Their parents’ deaths which Petunia had very acrimoniously (and perhaps rightly) blamed on magic had left perhaps a single thin thread binding the sisters together.  Sirius knew Lily had been very upset at Petunia’s request to stay away.    

Siblings, Sirius mused, thinking about Regulus again. He got up, shook himself as though that would rid of him of any lingering worry about Reg, and sat back down.     

Magical wards surrounded the entire neighbourhood, and they vibrated with the feel of Lily’s magic.  Typical magical wards to deter fire, pests and flood, bolstered by more lethal measures against wizards and witches bearing Voldemort’s Dark mark.  There was one shimmering shield that would warn away anyone with magic and ill intent; a blood shield which would harm anything magical seeking to hurt someone who shared in that blood.  It was highly illegal.

Sirius snorted.

New blood shields were illegal, but most of the old Dark families had them already and they’d been grandfathered into the new laws.  Castle Black, Grimmauld Place, and the Blackmoor Estate all had blood shields keyed to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. 

With the blood shield, Sirius could see why Dumbledore might have thought that this was the safest place to hide Harry from the remaining Death Eaters.  Anyone with a trace of magic thinking of harming Harry was not going to fare well if they tried getting through them. 

Of course, Sirius knew only too well that blood shields did not protect anyone inside them from family who shared their blood, but as bitchy as Petunia had been with Lily, Sirius couldn’t see her killing her nephew.

He considered what to do.

Theoretically, Petunia wasn’t a bad choice.  There was substantial protection to be had in the wards.  She was Harry’s aunt, his closest blood family.  If Sirius remembered rightly, she’d had a son shortly before Harry’s own birth. 

A stable couple with a baby of their own, Sirius mused.  That was what Lily had wanted for Harry; that was why she’d chosen Alice and Frank.  Sirius could walk away, confident that there was a synergy there which matched Lily’s wants.

But James had wanted Harry raised in a magical household, one which understood the duties and responsibilities of a Noble and Ancient House.  He’d wanted to ensure that Harry was raised with the knowledge he would need when he took his place as Lord Potter.

Suddenly, his sensitive Padfoot ears pricked up at the sound of a wailing child – Harry!

He checked again briefly.  As far as he could tell, Dumbledore hadn’t left any other monitoring spells behind.  Not that it meant that there were none… 

Harry cried out again, another miserable wail.

Sirius couldn’t stay still any longer.  He’d have to risk being found by Dumbledore.  He wasn’t going to leave his godson to cry. 

He took a furtive glance up and down the road, established nobody muggle was present to see, and transformed back into his usual self.  He’d dressed in muggle clothing in anticipation of finding the house and he gave his jeans, t-shirt and woollen peacoat a brief look over before he hurried over to the front door and used the brass knocker.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps beyond the door.  It was unceremoniously yanked open and…

Petunia’s eyes widened at the sight of him.  “YOU!”  She cast her own furtive look up and down the street before she reached out and pulled him inside.  She gestured for him to walk ahead to the kitchen as she closed the door.

Sirius walked into chaos. 

Breakfast dishes were hovering in mid-air; the jam pot dancing across the table, the toast whirling around it, and the teapot was pouring its tea out onto the floor. 

Harry sat in a highchair, face red and damp with tears and snot.  His young gaze landed on Sirius, and he stopped crying suddenly, the shock of recognition of someone familiar interrupting his magical tantrum.  His little arms reached out as the breakfast clattered back down.

Sirius swept across the room and picked Harry up, absently waving his wand over the table to right the mess Harry had created. 

The jam pot righted itself; a broken plate reformed; toast flew up and into the rack; the teapot sucked the missing tea back into itself.

Sirius did not notice.  His arms were full of Harry and, for the first time in days, he felt like his world made sense again.

Harry snuggled into him.  “Mama.”

“I know, my darling boy,” Sirius said softly, understanding it was a demand for Sirius to produce Lily.  “I know.”  He pressed his nose into Harry’s wild Potter hair and swallowed down his own grief as he comforted his godson.  It felt an age passed before he looked up and saw Petunia in the doorway, arms folded and her expression stern. 

“It’s about time one of your lot showed up!” Petunia sniffed imperiously.

“We should talk,” Sirius said.

“Yes,” she agreed tartly, “we should.”

o-O-o

If someone had ever told him that he’d one day agree Petunia and Vernon Dursley that Albus Dumbledore was a foolish old goat, Sirius would have laughed his socks off. 

As it was, Sirius couldn’t quite believe he was sitting in the Dursleys’ living room on a comfy if ugly floral armchair, Harry conked out and sprawled across his chest.  Petunia and Vernon sat on the matching sofa.  Their son was asleep upstairs.

 All three adults had already fervently condemned leaving a toddler on a doorstep in November. And then there was the bloody letter!  A letter!  Who tells someone that their sister is dead in a letter instead of knocking on the door and delivering the news in person?!  It boggled Sirius’ mind. 

More concerning to Sirius was that his brief check of Harry had shown that the scar was not healing as it should.  Harry’s magical core was also completely out of whack.  Perhaps Sirius’ assumption that Dumbledore would have Poppy treat Harry’s injuries had been wrong, he mused, but if that was the case, Harry needed to be seen by a healer.

Sirius shook the thought away momentarily and regarded the Dursleys thoughtfully as he patted Harry’s back.

The couple was a study in contrasts. 

Petunia was fashionably thin, but dressed in a prudish twinset, neat skirt, thick tights, and house slippers.  It gave the impression of a middle-aged woman, not someone in their mid-twenties.  Sirius recalled that Petunia had worn a mini dress at James and Lily’s wedding.  It had been in a modest style, but it had been pretty.

Sirius wondered vaguely what had happened to Vernon since that wedding too.  Vernon had been heavy set but not round when Sirius had met him then.  And Vernon’s wardrobe choice was as equally unfashionable as Petunia’s; he wore a dull grey suit complete with crisp white shirt and kipper tie despite it being a weekend. 

The idea of such a buttoned-up staid couple raising James’ son, a Marauder’s son, had Sirius’ stomach churning. 

Petunia drew in a breath.  “Right, we have some decisions to make.” She waved a hand at Sirius.  “You said Lily and James left Wills?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.  “But I’m really not sure who were the designated executors and there’s every chance that the Ministry will ignore or deny a request from anyone else.”

Vernon harrumphed.  “How likely is it that this Dumbles person is the executor?  Seems he’s taken it upon himself to step in which is ballsy if he hasn’t got the legal authority.”

That was a good point. 

If Dumbledore was the executor, then he had presumptive legal authority over the Potters’ estate until the legal handover to whomever James and Lily had named was executed.  Someone could challenge Dumbledore on Harry’s behalf if they could prove Dumbledore was not the executor or even if he was, if they could prove he was not following the expressed wishes within the Wills, but it would be difficult without the Wills themselves.  Sirius was regretting never asking James for copies.

“We should still ask,” Petunia said firmly.  “Regardless of any other considerations, I’d prefer for my sister’s wishes to be honoured if possible.”

Sirius nodded.  He felt the same.  “I can try and get the Wills read through the solicitors.”

“And until then?” Vernon asked bluntly.  “He’s done nothing but act out since he got here.  God knows I’d be having a full-on temper tantrum if I’d lost everything familiar overnight myself, but we’re not exactly equipped to handle another baby, and especially not one who uses magic.” He spat the word out as though it was something disgusting.  “We have to think about our own boy’s safety.”

That explained why Vernon had taken Dudley on a drive while Petunia tackled trying to get Harry to eat breakfast in peace. 

“We’ve been trying our best,” Petunia said defensively, “but like Vernon said, we’re just not equipped to handle a traumatised magical child.” Her eyes veritably glowed with frustration. 

“I can move in temporarily until we can get to the bottom of the legalities, help out,” Sirius offered. “I’d take him now, but Dumbledore is just likely to bring him back if we don’t do things legally.”

“Our two spare bedrooms are not even decorated yet.” Petunia snapped.  “We barely got the nursery done in time because Vernon got a promotion just before Dudley was born.  We’ve never gotten around to sorting them.”

Sirius waggled his fingers.  “I can help with that.  Magic will fix up a room in no time.”

“Huh,” said Vernon, his eyes belying a greedy speculation.  “That would be handy.”

Petunia sniffed, evidently not convinced. 

“And it’s just temporary, right?” Vernon pointed out.  “Hopefully the Wills get read and we sort out the boy’s guardianship within the next week or so.”

Petunia raised an eyebrow at Vernon.  They did that silent conversation thing that most married couples seemed to be able to do. 

She finally nodded decisively and turned back to Sirius.  “Alright, then. I guess you’re moving in.”

Sirius dredged up a smile. 

Merlin help them all.

o-O-o

Surreal scenario number one-hundred and eighty, Sirius thought, three days later. 

There had been a lot of surreal moments between him and the Dursleys since Sirius had moved in.  Mostly, they had lived in a weirdly civil arrangement which involved Sirius taking on Harry’s care, but otherwise being treated like he was a guest, if not a particularly wanted guest. 

Harry’s magic had settled with Sirius’ familiar presence nearby and what small outbursts still occurred were easily handled by an adult wizard. 

Sirius’ cousin, Andromeda Tonks, was a trained Healer and she had popped by to do a quick medical check.  She’d confirmed that his core was adjusting to the wards which had apparently latched onto Harry as soon as he’d been brought within them, but her check had also revealed a serious issue with the scar.  The medical treatment was risky and needed the approval of an actual magical guardian. 

Thankfully, the Potters’ family solicitor, Jonas Abbott, had responded that morning which had led to the current tableau.

Old Abbott had settled into one chair at Petunia’s dining table with Sirius’ grandmother taking the seat next to him.  Sirius had convinced Petunia to invite her on the basis that she understood wizarding politics much, much better than he did.

Petunia and Sirius sat across from them.  Harry was in a highchair at one end of the table and Dudley at the other.  Vernon was at work.

“Here’s the problem,” Abbott said without preamble, accepting the cup of tea that Petunia poured for him with a nod of gratitude.  “Albus is the executor of Lady Potter’s Will.  He wasn’t the executor of Lord Potter’s Will, that remains our firm as it has always done for every Lord Potter.  Unfortunately, Lord Potter left everything, beyond a few personal bequests, to his wife including the guardianship of his son.”

“And James predeceased his wife,” his Gran noted.

“That has been verified by the Unspeakables who investigated the scene,” Abbott confirmed.  He sipped his tea and set the delicate cup back into its saucer.  “James’ Will is in effective already being executed.  Money has been set aside for Harry’s care, schooling and education into a Trust vault.  I have enacted all the other small bequests except for one which was voided due to the individual’s own culpability in James’ death.”

He meant Pettigrew, Sirius guessed.  He knew his only mention in James’ Will had been as a guardian for Harry because they’d spoken about it once.  James had known Sirius was financially well-provided for given he had inherited his Uncle Alphard’s estate.

“Now then,” Abbott said, “with James’ Will effectively set aside in respect of his son,” he mimed moving something from one side of his teacup to the other, “we have only Lady Potter’s in play.”  He looked around the table.  “My oath of confidentiality does not allow me to say much more other than that Albus is the executor.”

Sirius wondered when and how that had happened.  He was surprised because he hadn’t honestly thought that Lily would have ever chosen Dumbledore.  He’d thought James was more likely to have changed to the Headmaster because James had been raised to trust in Dumbledore in many ways.  It was perhaps fortunate that James had decided not to alter his family’s traditional approach.

“Perhaps we can ask questions and you can determine what you and cannot answer?” proposed his grandmother.

Abbott smiled, his eyes twinkling.  “I think that would be an acceptable way forward, Lady Black.”

Sirius gave her a grateful smile.

“Are arrangements for the boy’s guardianship detailed in Lady Potter’s Will?” asked his Gran briskly.

“Yes,” Abbott confirmed brightly, picking up his tea. “As far as I recall there was a short list of witches and wizards named in Lady Potter’s Will in respect of the guardianship.”

“No muggles then,” Sirius deduced out loud.

Petunia picked up her teacup with a trembling hand.  “Is there a way to challenge his decision to circumvent my sister’s wishes?”

“If there was a copy of the Will in the hands of one of the potential guardians, yes,” Abbott said, almost regretfully, “unfortunately I fear that is not the case, my dear lady.”

“The old busybody would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for deciding against the wishes of your sister regardless,” his Gran said.  “He has a lot of influence and would likely get away with it.”

“He’d use the safety angle, I’m sure of it,” Sirius said.  “He might argue he was justified that first night as Alice and Frank were still in hiding, and on the assumption I’m next on the list as Harry’s godfather, Dumbledore suspected me of betraying them.  He still suspects me despite Pettigrew’s testimony clearing me.”

“And in that I fear that you are correct, Viscount Black,” Abbott said.  “He could definitely argue from a legal standpoint that as the executor, he is responsible for determining Harry’s guardianship is a place of safety first and foremost.”

“Do the guardians receive a stipend towards care?” asked his Gran.

“Standard legalese would detail a provision,” Abbott confirmed.  “Indeed, if Albus Dumbledore has essentially appointed the Dursleys as legal guardians, they are fully entitled to request such from him and for all legal documentation pertaining to the young Lord Potter.”  He paused.  “However, I should point out that should he acquiesce to providing such, this would consolidate the guardianship in the eyes of the law.”

Petunia tapped her fingers lightly on her cup.  “Lily once said that she was appointed a magical guardian as there were restrictions on the rights of muggle parents.”

“Ah, well, typically the wizarding world acknowledges the Hogwarts’ Head of House in which the child resides as the de facto ad litem guardian during a muggleborn’s schoolyears,” Abbott said. “Muggles cannot make medical decisions about a wizarding child as they cannot visit the school.”

“So, Harry’s Head of House would hold this position in the future?” asked Petunia.

“Perhaps, or perhaps Albus Dumbledore will seek to argue the magical guardianship remains with him as he remains the executor of Lady Potter’s Will until such time as the Will is fully executed,” Abbott stated.

“Which he could delay until Harry comes of age,” his Gran huffed.

“Theoretically, yes,” Abbott smiled mischievously. “But, if he confirms the Dursleys are muggle guardians of a magical child, he is essentially discharging that part of his executorship.  Further, any muggle guardian may legally contract with an adult wizard to act as their child’s legal guardian for all magical matters.  The practice is not well-known and rarely done.”

“Well, well, well,” his Gran said, “a way forward.” She looked at Petunia.  “What we need to do is get you firmly recognised by Albus as young Potter’s muggle guardian in writing over and above the letter he wrote and left. You can then contract with Sirius as his actual magical guardian.  It can cover all aspects of the child’s care and raising.”

Petunia sighed with relief, her face settling into a determined expression.

“That would resolve the question of guardianship,” Sirius said, “but not the matter of safeguarding Harry’s wider inheritance.  The Potter Estate is vast.  It is concerning if Dumbledore is going to try to manage it himself as the executor.”

“Ah, well,” Abbott smiled, “therein the Potter Family Protocols takes precedence.  The firm is appointed in all aspects of Estate Management through Lord Potter’s stated wishes.  A vault was to be created for Lady Potter’s usage and she was to be appointed proxy of the Wizengamot seat unless she declined, in which case one was to be appointed by the firm.”  He picked up his tea.  “To that point, the Potter vaults are locked down to only adult Potters recognised by blood, marriage or adoption.  None of this may be superseded by Lady Potter’s own Will and Gringotts are magically bound to enforce those arrangements.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows.  “Did you say an adult Potter by adoption?”

“Indeed I did,” Abbott said cheerfully. “It was a tweak Lord Potter insisted upon including. If I remember rightly, I believe this definition may apply to yourself?”

Sirius nodded numbly.

His Gran smiled sharply.  “Then I think we may be able to construct a viable plan to protect young Potter here, and the Potter Estate from Albus Dumbledore’s interference.  Here’s what we shall do…”

Sirius reminded himself that his grandmother’s cunning was why he had invited her.  He reached for his own tea and wished for something stronger. 

o-O-o

The small bungalow on Wisteria Walk was within the borders of the wards and suited Sirius’ purposes perfectly. 

There were two large airy bedrooms newly built into the old attic space along with a new shared bathroom.  Downstairs, there was a decent living room and a small kitchen-dinette. The old bathroom had already been remodelled into a utilities space and the separate loo retained for convenience. Sirius had plans for the old back bedroom to become a study-library.   

His grandmother had been the one to point out that there was no need to alert Dumbledore to what they were doing by relocating Harry into the magical world.  Remaining within Little Whinging under the wards would keep Dumbledore from poking his overly large nose into their business until it was too late for him to act. To that end, the Potter proxy had been given to Griselda Marchbanks, the old witch who had been best friends with Euphemia.  Sirius’ grandmother had determined that if Sirius took up the proxy, Dumbledore was most likely to get suspicious.  It was best that they gave him no reason to investigate Sirius at all.

Sirius also felt that it made sense to make use of Lily’s protection.  There were plenty of Death Eaters still at large thanks to the Ministry’s incompetence.  Sirius had added more wards around the bungalow itself as soon as the ownership had transferred to him, providing an extra layer of protection to that laid down by Lily. 

Sirius had actually made the offer on the bungalow the day after Abbott’s visit while they waited for Dumbledore to respond to Petunia’s muggle-sent letter, the old solicitor helping them all with the legalities.

Dumbledore had replied to Petunia a few weeks after her letter, confirming her status as the appointed muggle guardian for Harry, but denying her any other information such as his health records and saying nothing about a stipend. Abbott had immediately formally registered Petunia’s muggle guardianship status with the Ministry’s Child Welfare Services and with the help of a judicious bit of magic had buried the file and obscured its contents to anyone who wasn’t a Potter.  He’d do the same with the magical guardianship contract which Sirius and Petunia had signed that morning.

Petunia and Vernon had become staunch allies in ensuring that Dumbledore’s plans for Harry, whatever they were, were thoroughly thwarted.  He figured the money he had given them to cover his and Harry’s stay until the bungalow was ready had helped.  And here they were a month later, moving into the actual bungalow, Sirius considered, carrying Harry inside. 

Only Andromeda and his grandparents knew where Sirius was and what he was doing.  He had sold his flat and had owl-mailed a few of the Order he’d been close with to say he was going abroad.  He hadn’t contacted Dumbledore, but Sirius trusted that the old goat would find out. 

Of those he had contacted, only Minerva had reached out to wish him well; to encourage him to stay in touch.  Everyone else’s silence spoke volumes.  Well.  Frank’s continued silence Sirius understood since the wizard was still reeling from his wife’s situation and Frank had Neville to think about. Remus’ lack of any kind of acknowledgement hurt.       

Sirius shook the thought away.

Tomorrow, Andromeda would visit.  They would make the arrangements to take care of removing the soul leech which they’d discovered attached to Harry’s scar.  Sirius could feel his divination gift nagging at him constantly to do something about it as if he’d ever leave it to harm his godson!   

Sirius hugged Harry close as he walked through the house and out into the back garden.  The sprawling lawn was another big selling point.  There was plenty of space for Harry to play, for Padfoot to gamble.  Maybe he’d talk his grandmother into helping him plan some flowers in the Spring, maybe a little patch for potion ingredients like the one Lily had grown at the cottage.

He closed his eyes as another wave of grief hit him.  “Just me and you now, Prongslet.”

Harry snuggled impossibly closer as though he knew Sirius needed the comfort.  Perhaps Harry needed the comfort too, Sirius thought sadly.

Snow began to fall around them. 

It was almost Yule. 

It felt surreal that almost two full months had passed since his closest friends had died.  He knew they’d never regret dying to save their son. 

In the cold wintry wind, standing in the muggle garden with only his godson present, he silently renewed his own commitment to keep Harry safe and happy.  He’d die himself before he would let Harry be harmed by either the Death Eaters who had scrabbled out of trouble, or by Dumbledore’s machinations. 

He swore to Harry, to magic, to the souls of James and Lily.

He kissed Harry’s scar tenderly.

There at the bottom of the garden for one shimmering moment stood a ghostly stag and doe before the snow thickened into a blinding blanket, hiding them from view.

With their blessing Sirius knew it was time to leave the dead to rest, time to live up to his promise.

Sirius took a deep breath and carried his godson back into their new home.  He wouldn’t be giving Harry up ever again.

fin.

Next: A Promise of Plotting

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