Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

It’s raining.

It is always raining.

England is a country of green verdant hills and babbling brooks for a reason.

Tony watches the weather outside from the safety of the stately manor house he has just inherited. Water drips and meanders down the heavy glass windows in rivulets, catching and reflecting the thin sunlight trapped behind the fog of grey sky. The wet windows blur the view beyond, making the manicured lawn and the beautifully tended gardens nothing more than an abstract picture of blotchy swathes of colours.

The weather matches his mood.

Tony sighs and pushes a hand through his short brown hair disturbing the neat style he has favoured since the team’s return from Somalia. In the wake of that mission, he’d felt the need to shed his skin, change his colours like a chameleon adopting a new camouflage. Not unsurprisingly since the mission had brought Ziva David back to the United States, and back to the team. He hadn’t wanted her dead, but that didn’t mean that he’d wanted her to simply return either.

He’d been alone in that.

Sure, Leroy Jethro Gibbs had forced an apology from Ziva about her attitude after the death of her lover and for giving away secrets of NCIS confidential operations to Mossad, but afterwards he’d forgiven her and welcomed her onto the team again as though there had never been any question about it.

McGee had also welcomed her back albeit with the naivety that the younger agent still has despite all the years he’s worked major crime. For all of his knowledge about what Ziva had done, Gibbs’ decision was enough for Timothy McGee; the Boss’ word is law.

Tony figures that Abby might have been frostier since their resident Goth scientist knew how to hold onto a grudge, but knowing they’d rescued Ziva from a terrorist camp had pushed Abby to a more compassionate space – a space she’d made clear that she expected them all to occupy in respects to Ziva’s trauma. Their elderly M.E., Ducky, had followed because of his own compassionate and forgiving heart, and Jimmy Palmer had chosen to follow his mentor’s example.

Tony not so much. Oh, he felt compassion for her trauma, of course he did. He just didn’t see how that compassion equated to her rejoining the team without any consequences for her previous betrayal of them instead of encouraging her into therapy.

But then, it was only Tony’s back which still stung with the phantom pain of scrapes and bruises after being kicked to the ground by Ziva in Israel when he’d revealed her father’s part in Rivkin’s mission.  It was only Tony who knew how it felt to have a gun pushed into his already injured shoulder as she threatened him.

But he’s always been good undercover.

He’d pulled on the mask of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and he had welcomed Ziva back, deferring to his Boss’ wants and ostensibly forgiving her for her many sins. And behind the mask he’d watched.

The joke of leaving him without back-up during the Military-At-Home case had been the last straw. He’d walked away from dirty partners before and he knew that it was time to do it again because he hadn’t trusted that it was a joke until he’d checked and double-checked.

The irony of being in the middle of typing out his resignation when he’d received the call about Crispian’s death isn’t lost on Tony.

At least the circumstances had given him a graceful exit from NCIS. Not even Gibbs had been able to argue with the decision since the death of Crispian and his young family has left Tony as the last male Paddington with the title and estate passing to him. He’s thankful that he’d managed to depart in the end with a flurry of hugs and well wishes instead of the inevitable arguments.

Tony doesn’t mourn Crispian. He’d only met his cousin once when Tony had been visiting Uncle Clive in London the summer before heading to university. Crispian had met the classic stereotype of a stuck-up English aristocrat who felt everyone else was beneath them. But he does mourn the death of Crispin’s wife and son in the same horrible car accident. Lady Helen Paddington had seemed gracious and kind in the few messages they’d exchanged after Clive’s death, and little Colin had only been four.

It is a terrible situation but all Tony can think is that it feels a little like he has been swept up into a Jane Austen movie. Or maybe something leaning a little more into the fantasy genre since it turns out that his maternal family had been hiding a different kind of secret.

Magic.

Apparently, Tony is a Squib just like his mother. His Uncle Clive, Crispian, Helen and Colin had all been magical though. The Manor is populated by magical elves. Magical plants grow in the garden. Magical creatures roam over the grounds.

It appears that his family might have been one of the last victims of some kind of weird magical war that has been waging in Britain. It all sounds fantastical to him since the war had apparently been stopped around the time of Crispian’s death by a baby defeating a Dark wizard like a storybook hero of old.

“Lord Paddington?”

The English accent of his cousin’s secretary wrenches Tony from his contemplation.  It is not the crisp upper-class accent that someone might have expected, but rather there is a local Devon burr that lingers in the shape of her words.

He turns around, pushing his hands into the pockets of his grey woollen trousers, grateful that the layers of a deep grey sweater over a heavy cotton pale blue shirt ward off the chill.

Mrs Smith wears black.

It’s the first thing he’d noted about her and the first thing he always thinks every time he sees her. He has never seen her wear colour and she’s in another simple black suit of a plain dress and jacket again that day. To be fair, the black is a wonderful contrast to the copper-bright red of her hair which she has in a complicated up-do of a tight French braid. Her sensible black heels sink into the plush rug in front of the unlit hearth in the drawing room.

He knows that her mourning wear is a mark of her widowhood more than for his cousin and family. She had sounded agonised in her brief statement that her husband was dead when Tony had enquired about her circumstances. He hadn’t pushed her further on the details. Her plain gold wedding band adorns her finger alongside a modest engagement ring of a simple diamond. The rings and a necklace which has an hourglass charm are the only jewellery he has seen her wear.

She’s one of only two humans employed at the Manor. He’s kind of getting used to the elves.

“Lord Black is waiting on you in your study,” Smith says briskly.

Tony grimaces. He’d received Lord Black’s owl – which for the record was a whacky way to do mail – at breakfast and had agreed to meet with the other man more out of curiosity than anything else.

Outside of Smith and the cheerful gardener, who keeps the magical plants from eating anyone at Paddington Manor, nobody else magical has reached out to him beyond the lawyers. The Paddington family solicitors had all but sneered at him and recommended he provide a proxy for the family’s seat in their governing body rather than take it up himself.

In their first meeting, Smith had warned him that his Squib status makes him unlikely to be welcomed into magical circles, but she has been helpful about getting Tony up to speed with the wizarding world. Smith’s advice that morning had been that refusing Black’s request would be social suicide and Just Not Done. She also claimed to be intrigued since it was well known that Black had retreated behind the walls of his own castle after losing his beloved wife early on in the war. Black had ostensibly not taken part in it himself while his family had gotten more deeply embroiled.

Tony makes his way to the study and tries to act like the space is his own. Smith has cleared it of the personal items that Crispian had, but Tony’s barely been in England for a whole month. He has yet to really settle in.

He finds Lord Arcturus Black looking bemused at his Might Mouse stapler.

The older man is stunningly handsome and looks so much younger than his actual age. Wizards age differently, Tony reminds himself. It is shocking though that someone purportedly eighty looks like he is younger than Gibbs. Black has a thick head of black hair and a trim beard, although both are peppered through with silver. His silver-grey eyes are piercing as he turns to greet Tony. He sports cheekbones Tony would kill for, a strong jawline, and a firm mouth. Even the bizarre wizarding robe he wears, as excellently tailored and made as it is, cannot detract from his air of assured authority.

“Lord Black,” Tony greets him formally holding out a hand in lieu of remembering whether he’s supposed to bow or curtsy or something.

“Lord Paddington,” Black shakes his hand which makes Tony think he hasn’t screwed up the etiquette too badly. “Please call me Arcturus.”

“Tony then,” Tony replies. “Please take a seat.” He gestures at the small seating area in front of another grand fireplace rather than the visitor’s chair beside his desk.

Black sits on one stuffed leather sofa and Tony takes the one across from him.

An old elf pops in with a tray of refreshments and for a moment the conversation is taken up with pouring out a cup of fragrant tea for Black and a strong coffee for Tony. Tony politely thanks Davonby before the elf pops away again.

 “Let me begin by offering you my condolences on the deaths of your family,” Arcturus says briskly. “I knew your grandfather and was close with Clive, but I admit that I did not know Crispian that well.”

“Neither did I,” Tony admits, keeping his tone even and neutral. “I’ve never been close to the Paddington side of the family.”

He isn’t close to the DiNozzo side either. His Dad has been AWOL for years and his three uncles had never bothered to stay in touch after his mother’s funeral, too immersed in their own families. Tony suspects that they’d also likely exhausted any tolerance they’d had for his father’s ways.

“Your mother was very beautiful,” Arcturus says, “we offered to marry her to one of my cousins who was likewise a Squib but your grandfather wanted her to marry someone of her own choosing.”

Dear God, arranged marriages…

Tony sips his coffee to hide his horror.

Arcturus presses his lips together staring briefly into his teacup before looking at Tony. “I am here to ask for your help.”

Tony settles back in his seat regarding Arcturus’ grim expression thoughtfully. “If I can help, I will certainly try.”

Arcturus nods slowly. “How much do you know of what has been happening in the wizarding world?”

Tony cocks an eyebrow at the question. “Mister MacMillan informed me that the deaths of my family were probably part of the last acts of a group of terrorists called the Death Eaters. He said that your society has been in a magical war for the past five years, although it was only in the last three years that things had gotten openly violent.” He pauses. “He claimed the war ended when the Dark wizard leading the terrorists was defeated by a baby.”

His incredulity tinges the words more than he wants.

“If only grown wizards had your sense,” Arcturus snorts. He sets his teacup down with a clatter into its saucer. “Young Oliver is right.”

It takes Tony a moment to realise that Arcturus is talking about MacMillen.

“About ten years ago, a Dark wizard emerged calling himself Lord Voldemort,” Arcturus waves a hand, “although those of us who knew him before he took on the moniker knew him as Tom Riddle. He was a powerful and intelligent wizard who was the blood heir to one of the greatest wizards in our society, Salazar Slytherin.”

“Wasn’t he one of the Founders of your school?” asks Tony, remembering the name.

“Yes,” Arcturus nods. “Riddle took over a young group of men called the Knights of Walpurgis. They were traditionalists politically, but hotblooded and keen to act rather than simply debate.”

“They became this Death Eater group?” checks Tony.

Arcturus nods again, a flicker of satisfaction at Tony’s deduction cross his stoic features for a moment. “They’ve waged terror for five years.” His mouth droops. “My Melania…she died just as it was beginning. I retreated in my grief and I didn’t…I didn’t take enough note of what was happening with the rest of my family.” He sighs. “My son, Orion, he led himself and his cousins into taking the bastard’s brand, the Dark Mark. He and many of the others are dead or awaiting trial.”

“My condolences,” Tony says quietly.

“I’ve only crawled out of my grief because I received an anonymous letter informing me that my grandson is being framed.” He tapped the coffee table with his wand and a letter appeared on the table.

“Your grandson?” asks Tony, picking up the letter.

Arcturus’ eyes light up. “Sirius. He’s a bright lad, but he and his parents were like oil and water. Even I will concede his mother is a first-class bitch who made his life hell. His politics follow a more modernist slant rather than the traditional, but he’s a good wizard.”

“And he’s being framed for being the Potters’ Secret Keeper?” Tony reads from the letter. He’s genuinely interested in the puzzle of it.

“Sirius’ best friend was James Potter,” Arcturus begins. “The Potters are new money. Charlus Potter was a savvy government man and Fleamont, James’ father was an inventor. The Potters are distant family since my cousin Dorea married Charlus. Sirius loved James from the moment they met on the train. He’s godfather to James’ son, Harry.”

Harry Potter.

The baby MacMillen had called the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Sirius was said to be the Secret Keeper of their location and so their betrayer, but I know my grandson,” Arcturus says, “he would rather have died than betrayed them.”

“By your own omission you’ve been absent for almost five years,” Tony points out as gently as he can. “A lot can happen in that time regardless of what this letter says.”

“Not enough to ever cause Sirius to willingly give up James to a madman,” Arcturus snorts. “The last time we spoke, he had just run away from his parents and had started living with the Potters.” He gestures. “Setting that aside, Sirius is said to have blown up a muggle street in a confrontation with another one of his friends, Peter Pettigrew. Twelve muggles were killed. The letter talks about that too.”

“I see,” Tony murmurs, returning his attention to it and reading further.

The anonymous letter does suggest that Pettigrew was actually the Secret Keeper and that Pettigrew blew up the street and escaped as a rat.

“Wizards can shapeshift?” Tony blurts out, taken aback.

Arcturus shakes his head. “It’s not a shapeshift, it is a very detailed and difficult transfiguration of your own body. Not many attempt it, but those who can are known as an animagus. It takes time and dedication.”

“Right,” Tony decides it is probably best that he doesn’t think on it.

The rest of the note talks of Harry Potter and how Arcturus must also find him.

Tony wasn’t aware that the boy was missing.

He places the note onto the table. He stares at it for a moment wondering why the handwriting feels familiar. He shakes his head and returns his gaze to Arcturus.

“I’m not sure how I can help you?”

“This afternoon I will go before the Wizengamot later today and demand that my grandson be granted an actual trial!” Arcturus says, anger coating every word.

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “He isn’t going to have a trial?”

“They’ve remanded him to Azkaban, our wizarding prison,” Arcturus says grimly. “They say there is no point in a trial because he confessed yet they can’t produce any record of his confession.”

Tony is stunned. The illegality of the situation is shocking. As someone who has dedicated his life to justice, it is galling to realise what an injustice is being perpetuated.

“I’m still not certain how I can help” Tony says carefully. “I’m a Squib. MacMillen was very clear I should appoint a proxy rather than take up my seat. I can certainly turn up today and support you, if that is the ask, but I assume I’m not your first choice to do that.”

“You’re not my first choice,” Arcturus says, “not even my hundredth because it is not in the Wizengamot I need you, for all it seems my absence from the political arena and the war has broken most of my alliances.” He sighs. “There are still some there who will help with the problem of Sirius’ situation.”

Tony feels confused. “Then I’m…”

Arcturus raises a hand to stop the questions he must see on Tony’s face. “Let me explain.”

Tony waits while Arcturus picks up his tea and takes a long drink of it. He can see that the older man is clearly putting his thoughts in order.

“Once I got the letter,” Arcturus says, “I went immediately to the Ministry. That’s how I found out about the lack of trial. As a Lord I was able to finagle my way into a visit to my grandson.”

“I see,” Tony represses the urge to sigh. He has a feeling money changed hands.

“Sirius is in poor condition, but he was coherent when we spoke,” Arcturus says. “He confirmed that Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper. He says Harry was to be placed with him, and if not with him, with his godmother.” He frowns. “Alice Longbottom doesn’t have the boy. She’s in the hospital in a coma having survived an attack from Death Eaters led by another member of our family.” He huffs, realising he was getting off track. “Sirius says he gave Harry to Hagrid, the Hogwarts’ gamekeeper who was sent to check on things by Albus Dumbledore. He thinks Hagrid gave him to Dumbledore.”

“And Dumbledore?” asks Tony.

“Says the boy is safe and no more,” Arcturus huffs.

Tony taps his fingers against the cup. So, Potter was missing as the letter indicated, perhaps even with the boy’s aunt as it had suggested.

“Sirius says there was no provision for the boy ending up with his mother’s muggle family at all since Lily’s sister hates magic,” Arcturus says. He smiles at him without humour. “There is provision however for the Paddingtons. Sirius informs me that Euphemia Potter’s older sister was married to Cosgrove, your grandfather.”

Suddenly, realisation breaks over Tony like a wave.

“Which is why you’re here and need my help,” Tony says out loud. “You want me to find and take custody of him as his nearest kin. I have an excuse to go searching for him.”

“You do,” Arcturus says. “Sirius says that the Paddingtons are the only other kin for Harry apart from Lily’s sister that he is aware exists. Crispian and his family were down as possible alternate guardians. Way down the list but on it.”

“Right,” Tony says faintly. Maybe he should mention that he’s terrible with kids? But even he can see that leaving a magical child with a magic-hating aunt is probably not the best decision.  

“While I am at the Wizengamot getting Sirius a trial, many other interested parties will also be there,” Arcturus states bluntly.

“Dumbledore?” guesses Tony.

“Dumbledore,” Arcturus agrees. “I am certain the session will take hours.”

“You want me to track down and take custody of Harry while you are there,” Tony surmises.

Arcturus nods.

Tony grimaces. He’s been a beat cop enough to know that a wellness check is the least that Harry Potter is owed. While he didn’t hold with the theory that Harry had defeated a Dark wizard, he had no doubt that the experience had been traumatising.

“I guess I’m going hunting,” Tony says eventually.

Arcturus smile and raises his cup in a silent toast of gratitude.

o-O-o

One phone call to an old contact at Scotland Yard had gotten Tony Petunia Dursley’s address.

Smith had arranged a magical car for them which meant that the very long muggle drive had only taken an hour. A frenetic hour where Tony wondered whether he would lose his lunch.

Once they’ve lurched to a stop in front of the modest house where the Dursleys live, Smith hands him his folder with the legal papers Arcturus had prepared using the Potters’ old solicitors.

“Best I stay in the car. I’ve been told before that I resemble Lily Potter and it might set her off by all accounts,” Smith says quietly.

Tony raises an eyebrow, but he takes the folder. Mostly, Tony is just relieved to step out of the Rolls-Royce. He takes a deep breath and smooths down his heavy woollen coat, adjusting his cuffs. He walks up the path and rings the doorbell.

Petunia Dursley opens the door. She has a horsey-kind of face; long with a receding chin and an unfortunately scrawny neck. She wears a twinset and pearls teamed with a knee-length skirt and thick tights. It is something more appropriate for a matron in her fifties than a young mother in her late twenties.

“Yes?” Dursley says politely.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley,” Tony says in the same polite tone handing her a small white business card stamped with the Padding coat of arms, “I am Lord Paddington. I’ve come about my cousin Harry Potter.”

Dursley sniffs. “You’d better come in.”

Tony finds the house décor hideous. The bright floral patterns send shudders up his spine.

Dursley leads him into the front parlour with its large television and a florally patterned sofa set which in no way matches the carpet nor the rug. It clashes very badly with the wallpaper. It is almost enough to give him a headache.

He sits down at her invitation.

A moment later she walks back in with an old-fashioned Moses basket instead of a modern child carrier. She sets it down on the floor and gestures at the sleeping toddler inside of it.

Tony takes his first look at Harry Potter with a little trepidation.

At sixteen months, Harry looks like every other young child Tony has ever seen; a sturdy little human dressed in an all-in-one bodysuit, a round baby face with red chubby cheeks. Where Harry Potter differs from other babies is the mop of dark hair on top of his head and the bright red scar darting across his forehead.

Tony reaches out instinctively to touch it gently. “This looks painful.”

“The doctor gave us some salve but it hasn’t done much,” Dursley says sitting down in one of the armchairs. “You say you’re his cousin?”

“Yes, his paternal grandmother and my maternal grandmother were sisters,” Tony explains.

“You’re an American,” Dursley’s tone is the same one he thinks she’d use to say ‘you’re a murderer!’ and he senses that his lack of Britishness is counting against him in all kinds of ways with her.

“My cousin Crispian died recently, it left me with the title as the remaining male heir,” Tony explains shortly. He clears his throat. “My condolences on the loss of your sister.”

Dursley purses her lips but gives a sharp nod. “Are you one of them?”

“You mean a wizard?” Tony says bluntly. He shakes his head. “I didn’t know anything about the wizarding world until I inherited the estate.”

Dursley clasps her hands on her lap and her shoulders drop a touch. “You’ve been lucky to have avoided it. They think they’re so much better than we are.”

He can’t argue with her. He’s seen the truth of that just in a single meeting with MacMillen.

“You’re here to take him?” asks Dursley sharply, inclining her head towards Harry. “That Headmaster of Lily’s seemed to think he was to come to us. He said we’d have protection if we took him.”

Tony nods. “The Potters’ Wills name the Paddington family as a potential guardian due to our familial relationship. I understand you have the closer tie as his aunt, but my estate is in a magical enclave and has staff with magic to help him with any accidents. As to protection, the war is over and I doubt anyone would think to look here if he’s not with you.”

Dursley’s face does a strange contortion somewhere between relief, guilt, and gratitude. “My husband and I have our own child. He’s asleep in the nursery. He deserves our full attention and if there is another option for him then it’s best he go.”

Tony nods. He undoes the leather folder and extracts the legal documents. “If you’re happy to sign his custody over to myself…”

Dursley all but snatches the papers from his hand. She takes the pen he offers and signs away without reading the documents at all.

Tony can’t quite believe her lack of care. She hasn’t truly quizzed him, made any attempt to ask for identification in addition to the business card he’d given her, and she could have signed the lad away into slavery for all the attention she’s given to what she’s signed.

If he had any doubt that Harry should not be left in her care, it disappears with every stroke of her signature.

He takes the signed documents and puts them back into the folder. “I’ll take my leave of you.” He gets to his feet.

“What about compensation?” Dursley says suddenly. “He got dropped on the doorstep in that basket with that blanket and only a single outfit. We’ve spent money on the…on him.”

“He got dropped on the doorstep?!” Tony repeats, wide-eyed.

She nods. “On the doorstep.”

There is a shared moment of disgust at anyone leaving a child on a doorstep before Tony remembers the reason she raised it.

He gestures vaguely. “I’ll investigate Harry’s inheritance now I have custody. I’m certain a stipend for his care will be included and we can provide that to you for the length of time he was with you.”

Dursley’s features settle into a hard satisfaction which makes her even more unlikeable.

Tony carefully places the folder down the side of the Moses basket and picks the basket up. He makes his escape from the Dursley house and hurries to the car. He carefully hands over the basket to Smith in the back seat before he gets inside himself.

Smith taps her wand against the basket and restraints fly out from the basket and strap it into the middle of the backseat.

Tony blinks at the display of magic.

Smith’s attention is not on him. She is looking at Harry, a complicated storm of emotion stampeding across her freckled face. He wonders if her husband was the only loss she suffered. She suddenly snaps her gaze towards Tony, realising his attention is on her and a blush steals across her cheeks.

“I can’t quite believe he’s here,” Smith murmurs, shifting to face the front.

Tony considers her for a long moment more before his own eyes drop to Harry. He can’t believe that he has taken custody of a baby.

A baby?!

Well, a toddler.

Tony feels ill equipped even if he firmly believes that Harry is better off in his dubious care than that of his aunt.

“Don’t worry,” Smith says brightly, “I’ve organised a nanny elf. You’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Tony sighs and grimaces as the car lurches forward in a snap of magic. Maybe if he closes his eyes he won’t throw up.

o-O-o

A somewhat fraught week later, the trial Arcturus secured for his grandson takes place and a newly released Sirius Black turns up with his grandfather at Paddington Manor.

For all that he’s bad with children, Tony has fallen a little in love with Harry. He’s also deeply thankful that Smith found Elsa, the nanny elf, who Tony worships because he would be lost without her.

Harry is a very traumatised child underneath his wild dark curls. Elsa has been the one to show Tony how to soothe him and care for him when Harry cries his heart out. She had been the one to spot the dark magic in Harry’s scar, something which required a visit from a very expensive Healer from Switzerland.

Smith had arranged it all.

Harry had spent one horrible day with the Healer but his scar is finally healing and Elsa has proclaimed his aura shiny.

Harry is sitting on the rug in front of the hearth in the drawing room, playing with a magical baby’s game which is supposed help him identify colour, when Sirius arrives with the subtlety of an elephant charging across the African savannah.

Harry’s face lights up at the sight of him, his little arms stretching up towards the young man as Sirius falls to his knees on the rug and scoops him up. The sheer relief and heartbreak on Sirius’ face tells Tony all he needs to know about how much the Black heir loves his godson.

There is a reverence in the way they cling to each other in their shared grief which urges Tony to give them privacy. He quietly rises from his place on the sofa and wanders over to the doorway where Arcturus is hovering beside Smith.

Smith excuses herself with a soft murmur and Tony catches the tears shining in her eyes as she turns, clutching at her necklace, and hurries away down the corridor.  

Tony and Arcturus both silently head through the house to the study where Tony offers Arcturus a drink from the decanter on the sideboard. They sit on the sofas holding heavy crystal glasses filled with amber warmth.

“Sirius is cleared,” Arcturus confirms. “He has been released with the apologies of the Ministry. Albus Dumbledore accosted us as we left the Ministry, primarily to inform Sirius that Harry is happy and Sirius was to leave the boy with his aunt.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “Dumbledore doesn’t know that Harry’s no longer with the Dursleys?”

“No,” Arcturus shakes his head, “which is rather alarming since he put him there supposedly for Harry’s safety.”

“You’d think he’d have a way of monitoring that then,” Tony says.

“He maybe intends to go back and place something,” Arcturus allows. “Likely if he doesn’t want to draw attention from the Ministry by using magical spells in a muggle area, he might ask one of his cronies to move into the area and keep watch.”

Tony nods. “I guess we need to consolidate and ensure Harry’s guardianship is iron-clad before he realises then.”

“I’d like to move in,” Sirius’ rough voice sounds from the doorway. He stands holding Harry in his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. It probably is.

Harry seems more contented than ever. He’s snuggled into Sirius’ shoulder, his hand clutching onto Sirius’ muggle knitted jumper as though he believes the gesture can ensure Sirius will never leave him again.

“Apologies that was presumptuous of me,” Sirius says, closing his eyes briefly. “We haven’t been introduced. Sirius Black.”

“Tony DiNozzo,” Tony offers, “and that sounds like the beginnings of a plan.” He gets to his feet and ushers him inside the study.

Sirius sits next to his grandfather, not close but with a small distance which tells Tony that the relationship may be mending but it is not mended.

Tony offers him a drink and Sirius asks for honeyed lemon tea. Tony calls for Davonby who comes with the refreshment already prepared in the weird way the elves have of simply knowing.

Tony sits back down. “What’s your plan, Sirius?”

Sirius smiles grimly. “Protecting Harry, first and foremost. I have no doubt that Dumbledore thinks his plan is the best, but Lily said her sister hated magic so I don’t see how sending Harry to her is the best course of action.”

“There is old witching power in a mother dying to save her child,” Arcturus murmurs. “The old theories say that such protection can be strengthened in the presence of the same blood.”

“Would that protection extend back to the family who shared blood?” asks Tony, thinking of Petunia’s words.

“Yes,” Arcturus says.

“So it might be that he’d benefit from this protection and Dumbledore sees that as better than him being raised in a loving home,” Tony suggests.

“Or maybe he doesn’t realise just how awful Petunia is,” Sirius sighs. “He has blind spots.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” Arcturus says mildly. “The Potters were always more inclined to believe him without question.”

Sirius nods, stroking a hand over Harry’s head. “James believed that Dumbledore’s plan to use the Fidelius was the right one without question. I said it wasn’t going to work because it would be too easy for the bastards to work out who the Secret Keeper was and if they got captured…a man can only take so much torture before he dies and the secret is back in the open. It’s why I suggested using myself as the decoy.” He shakes his head. “I should have stayed the Secret Keeper, perhaps then it would have worked. Perhaps my death might have made James try something else and they’d still be alive.”

Arcturus looks completely uncertain how to comfort his grandson.

“I don’t understand the magic of this Fidelius spell,” Tony says, sitting forward and capturing Sirius’ attention. “I know criminals though, and I know that if your friend was already spying, no plan would have worked in the end. This Pettigrew guy would have told his boss either way.”

Sirius nods slowly.

“I realise I’m not in the strongest position to help Harry,” Tony says honestly. “While I have the papers from Petunia Dursley, I know my Squib status could be used to challenge my custody in your world, especially as it was my cousin and his family who were the intended guardians mentioned in the Wills.”

Sirius grimaces. “The Wills haven’t been executed because I’m the executor. Once they are, I’m Harry’s legal magical guardian, but I don’t have anywhere but a very poky flat for us to live since the Ministry is claiming the Godric’s Hollow cottage as some kind of public interest site and honestly I wouldn’t want to live where…” his breath closes on a sob and his eyes slam tightly shut again as he’s overcome with grief.

“We combine forces,” Arcturus says aloud. “If you move into Paddington Manor, you provide Harry with magical protection, and Tony has the closer familial bond to add weight to the custody.”

“If we could get Alice out of her coma, she’d be onside too,” Sirius says, opening his damp eyes.

“I can pay for a private Healer,” Arcturus offers. “The Longbottoms aren’t particularly wealthy for all they’re another Ancient and Noble House. They’ll accept my paying for one as a reparation for Bellatrix’s insanity in attacking them.”

Sirius smiles gratefully at his grandfather.

“Right then,” Tony says. “You’ll move in here and we’ll raise Harry together.”

He can’t quite believe he’s said the words but he means them. Harry is family and besides which, all Tony has ever wanted to do is to protect the innocent and help people.

Helping Sirius and Harry – it’s the right thing to do.

o-O-o

Tony is not surprised to find Smith packing as he steps up to her open doorway and knocks loudly on the doorjamb.

She turns, startled. “Lord Paddington.”

She never had called him Tony despite the fact that he’d given her permission the first time they’d met.

“I assume you were planning to hand in your resignation and not just flee in the night,” Tony remarks, keeping his tone light as he leans on the jamb.

Smith looks down at the half-packed suitcase on her bed. She bites her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“May I ask why you wish to leave?” asks Tony. He thinks he knows, he just needs her to confirm what he’s deduced.

Smith sighs and turns to face him fully. “My time here is done.”

“I get the feeling that that is more literal than I should think it,” Tony says evenly, satisfied when he sees a flare of alarm in her eyes. He presses his lips together briefly. “Arcturus and Sirius have left to start making arrangements. Sirius will be back before evening. He’s moving in to consolidate our claim to Harry’s custody.”

Smith nods slowly, the garment in her hands twists in her grasp.

“Arcturus will negotiate with the Longbottoms,” Tony continues. “We’ll make Harry as safe as we can.”

Smith swallows hard at that, turning away with tears shining in her eyes again.

“I know you sent the note to Arcturus,” Tony says bluntly. “I recognised your handwriting.”

Smith grimaces and looks down.

“How did you know what you wrote in the letter?” asks Tony.

She remains quiet.

“I have a theory,” Tony says. “It sounds impossible but then I live in a house with elves, and I have a rose bush in the garden which literally sings to me when I compliment its beauty.”

Smith’s lips twitch at that but her head remains lowered.

“You used magic to come back in time and fix things,” Tony declares. There are a dozen movies flitting through his mind but the one he settles on is the classic Back to the Future. Marty McFly who had landed into the past, broken his future and fixed it all the same for the better.

Smith sighs heavily and sits down on the edge of the bed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to keep it a secret anymore.” She looks over at him. “I don’t even know why I was packing, I won’t be here by midnight.” Her lips twist. “I won’t exist anymore.” She touches her necklace.

Tony shifts. He walks into the bedroom and snags a chair, putting it in front of her and sitting down. “Tell me,” he coaxes gently.

Smith drops the top into the suitcase. “My name is Ginevra Potter. In another time, I was married to Harry.”

“You’re his future wife,” Tony says, surprised.

“I was his wife,” Smith – or should he be calling her Potter? – shakes her head. “He’ll have to choose another.”

Tony looks at her confused. “Maybe you should begin at the beginning?”

Potter nods. She looks right to the window and the sky beyond. “I was born Ginevra Weasley, Ginny. I was the seventh child of Arthur and Molly Weasley, a much longed for daughter in a family of sons. I was born in the August of this year, only a few months before Harry defeated Voldemort for the first time with the help of his mother’s sacrifice.”

Tony breaths in sharply.

“Things transpired much as they did this time,” Potter continues, “Harry was sent to his aunt by Dumbledore, Sirius went after Pettigrew and was framed, and the Longbottoms were attacked and sent into catatonic states.” She grimaces. “I grew up with my mother telling me that Harry Potter was a hero and how I’d one day marry him and be his wife. I dreamed of being Ginevra Potter for so long I cannot remember a time when I did not.”

Tony makes a sympathetic noise.

“We met for the first time at King’s Cross when Harry was eleven,” Potter says. “My family helped him through and onto the platform. My brother Ron was also starting Hogwarts and he became his best friend. For all of his schooling, Harry faced one terrifying situation after another because of Voldemort who is still alive. He tried and was successful eventually at regaining a body and hurt Harry to do so. I got over my crush and fell in love with Harry, the scared teenager trying to do the right thing, and not just with the fictional boy hero of my dreams.”

Tony listens patiently.

“Harry prevailed,” Potter looks at Tony with fierce pride radiating from her. “He won and we managed to repair what Voldemort had torn apart, and in the wake of the war, we married. Myself to Harry, and Ron to Hermione, Harry’s other closest friend,” She looks away again and takes a deep breath. “For years we thought everything was fine. Then, we tried for a baby, but nothing happened. We went to see a Healer.”

Tony has an awful feeling he knows where the story is going.

“He was dying,” Potter’s voice trembles. “His body had carried a shard of Voldemort’s soul for years and although the corruption of it had been slowed because of Lily’s protection, it had still done terrible damage to his organs. He died a year after the diagnosis.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tony says softly.

Potter’s head dips. She takes a couple of deep breaths before she speaks again. “I couldn’t accept that he’d gone. The Healer who had finally diagnosed him had said that if they’d managed to remove the horcrux from Harry as a baby then he would have been fine, he would have grown up without such terrible damage.”

“I take it that he carried it until he returned to the wizarding world the last time,” Tony says.

“Until he was seventeen and Voldemort removed it by trying to kill him,” Potter corrects tersely. “Albus Dumbledore planned everything in order to defeat Voldemort.”

Tony blinks.

“He left Harry in the muggle world, in the protection of his aunt to keep the protection of his mother’s sacrifice,” Potter says angrily. “He let Sirius go to Azkaban without a trial, and when Sirius escaped to help Harry in his third year, Dumbledore refused to help him and get him a trial. Harry was devastated when Sirius died to save him.”

“I see,” Tony says. It sounds like Dumbledore has a case of the Gibbs’ ‘my way is the only way’ disease.

“I don’t know if Dumbledore knew what the horcrux would do to Harry,” Potter says, “but that he never did anything to help Harry free of it sooner…he as good as killed him himself.”

“So you came back to save him,” Tony says.

Potter nods. “I grieved at first. Then, Hermione had tracked down the healing spell which would take the horcrux from a human vessel in the Department of Mysteries and she showed it to me. I searched our library then for anything that might help send me back. I found a really old book with a time travel ritual. It promised the ability to go back and change things but once the timeline is changed irrevocably, the traveller ceases to exist.”

“And you used this ritual?” checks Tony.

She looks at him. “The power it needed was tremendous – it required a willing sacrifice to work. I used myself; the seventh magical child. I arrived back at the time of my conception.”

Tony stares at her, not understanding. “You…”

“Ginevra Weasley does not exist here,” Smith explains briskly. “My mother gave birth a month ago instead to a seventh son. They called him Albert.” She touches her necklace. “I created the necklace to give me a warning sign. I just…I want to visit my family to explain, to be with them one last time.” Her features crumple. “I want my mother.”

Tony reaches out and offers his hand. She takes it. “Thank you, Ginevra Potter. Thank you for coming back to save Harry.”

Potter swipes at her face with her free hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Crispian and his family too. I tried, but…he was stubborn and insisted on going on that trip. I tried everything to stop the accident I swear.”

“Sometimes it’s fate,” Tony murmurs. “I take it I didn’t get involved the last time.”

“Oliver MacMillen didn’t fully execute the Paddington’s Will because of his prejudice against Squibs,” Smith says sourly. “You were notified of Crispian’s death but not of your full inheritance. You remained abroad working as you were.”

“Well, I thank you for making sure they did differently this time,” Tony says warmly. “You may have saved my life.”

He can imagine that without the inheritance, he might have been persuaded to stay despite his decision to leave. Gibbs might have said something that had lured Tony back in.

“I should go,” Smith says. “May I say goodbye to Harry?”

Tony nods.

He gives her privacy and wanders down to wait in the hall. She comes down in wizarding robes in a pretty blue, her red hair down around her shoulders.

“Take care of him for me,” Potter asks.

“I will,” Tony promises.

Potter smiles. She raises her wand and, with a crack, she disappears.

Tony hears Harry crying and he heads up the stairs. Elsa gives Tony an approving waggle of her large ears as she pops away and leaves him to it.

“Here,” Tony picks him up and hugs him carefully, rubbing Harry’s back and murmuring nonsense.

He has an odd feeling that the baby knows that he’s lost something precious, a love that will never be. He carries Harry over to the window as he quietens, snuffling into Tony’s shirt.

“We’ll be alright, Harry,” Tony says. “We’ll make the most of this second chance.”

He doesn’t know what the future holds, but he knows he’ll protect Harry with everything that he can and keep the promise he made to Harry’s wife. He glances out of the window and blinks.

The sun is finally shining.

fin.

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