Warning1: Harry/Sirius ie. slash ie. heavily implied m/m sex
Warning2: Later chapters contain reference to torture and iffy-consent sex (this sounds dreadful, it's not that bad, I'm basically marshmallow-fluffy - but they were in a war and wars aren't pretty).
-
Left side of the chest
-
"See," said Luna.
Hermione and Ron stared.
The boy-who-lived-twice was stretched out on his back, floating five feet off the ground, as the contents of the kitchen drawers battled above, around and below him. The Hogwarts house elves were watching indulgently as they dodged around the clashing cutlery to prepare dinner.
Harry's wands were tucked out of sight as he conducted his armies with his forefingers. His eyes were closed and he was smiling slightly.
"Okay," said Ron, "I'm mildly disturbed that I can tell the teaspoons are about to lead a successful breakout against the forks any moment now."
"Clearly the teaspoons are going to win," agreed Luna.
Hermione sighed. She'd been doing that a lot since Ron hooked up with Luna. At that moment one of teaspoons gave a great yell and charged through the air to slam into a conglomeration of forks. The remaining teaspoons flew after it shrieking. Hermione watched for a few moments longer.
"All right," she said. "Something has got to be done because I am starting to pick up the same radio signals as the rest of you. The knives are about to counterattack but they still won't win."
Luna elbowed her cheerfully. "I knew the Spurlworts would eventually leave you alone."
"Luna, I liked being infested with Spurlworts."
"Oh, how sad."
The knife counterattack was headed off by a column of howling soup spoons.
"So," said Ron, "I agree with Luna, something has got to be done."
"What do you want me to do, mate?" asked Harry, as a sole brave tablespoon took on a platoon of fish knives.
"Something more than lying around getting in the elves' way."
"Like what? Run for Minister of Magic and spend the years turning into some combination of Dumbledore and Voldemort."
"Oh no, you'd be much worse than both of them," said Luna happily.
Hermione and Ron looked at her.
Luna stared back unblinking.
"Moving on," said Ron quickly. "Isn't there anything you want to do? Or anybody you want to do things with?"
"Not really."
"Harry," protested Hermione.
"What would be a challenge, after Dumbledore and Voldemort? Who sees me instead of the-boy-who? This world is too fragile for me, whatever I do will break something." Teaspoons slammed through seven carving knives, pinning them to the wall in demonstration.
"You don't have to use your magic," Hermione tried.
"Maybe, if nobody knew about it. But the fastest gun in the West always got gunned down by somebody looking to take out the fastest gun in the West."
Luna translated that out of Muggle for Ron in an audible whisper.
"Damn," he said. "You've been thinking again, Potter. I've told you that's not good for you."
Harry laughed and the teaspoons successfully ambushed the pudding forks.
"So what do we do?" Hermione looked away as she struggled to come up with a suggestion.
"Simple," said Luna. "We send Harry away."
"What!" came in stereo from Ron and Hermione, before they could say anything more, Harry said,
"That sounds really nice." He actually sat up and bobbed down through the air until his head was level with theirs.
"You need to open your eyes Harry," Hermione reminded.
"Oh yeah, thanks." Harry's eyes blinked open.
"Why would we send Harry away?" demanded Ron. He was trying not to think that he preferred it when Harry's eyelids were shut and he didn't have to look into those Avada Kedavra eyes. Harry was one scary bastard.
"It sort of makes sense." Hermione twisted her hands nervously. "Harry is basically a really good solider with no war left to fight. I'm sure we could find him a war somewhere where he'd be useful. Another Voldemort maybe."
"You want to send him to another universe." Ron's attempt to wave his arms in frustration was cut off by a squadron of swooping butter knives. "We'll never see him again."
Both girls stared at him.
"Okay, so we're not going to be seeing him for much longer anyway." Apathy and a lucky ex-death eater were going to combine sooner or later. "But still, it's a big step."
"I'd like to be useful again," said Harry.
"Oh Merlin." There was something painfully empty in Harry's eyes, like a weapon deprived of its purpose. Ron was tempted to suggest Harry hang around and extract his pound of flesh from the Wizarding World but that would do nobody any good in the long run.
"We can do better than that mate," he said. "The changing universe spell is set up to focus on a person. There anybody you'd like to see again?"
"Sirius."
"Really? Not your mum or dad?"
"Sirius. I wouldn't mind seeing my mum and dad, but I want to see Sirius again. The Sirius he was before Azkaban."
"Harry?"
"Yes Ron."
"Why are Mione and Luna exchanging meaningful glances."
"I might, just might, have had a bit of a crush on Sirius."
"Oh," said Ron, because 'a bit of a crush' was undoubtedly a complete misnomer. One thing Harry was not, was tepid in his emotions. He was indifferent or full throttle, no half measures. "You do know it won't be him, right?"
"Yeah. But it will be Sirius as he was, before. Or Sirius as he might have been if he had been allowed the time to get over Azkaban."
There was a faint cracking sound and one of the elves said,
"Please Master Harry, Master Harry not be breaking all the dishes again."
"Sorry Nippy." A wet squelching sound and Nippy said,
"Thanking you, Master Harry."
"Sirius, huh." Ron decided that wasn't too bad an idea, because that indifferent, full-throttle thing, that was Sirius Black too. Together he and Harry would light up the world or burn it down. Thinking about it, Ron was rather glad it wasn't going to be his world.
"Me too," said Luna. "I want the time to find a crumple-horned snorkack."
Ron nodded his head. He was so tired of death and dirt and blood; hunting crumple-horned snorkacks sounded just fine to him. Hopefully Luna would agree to try spotting them from the deck of a Nile river boat for a couple of months.
"You remember to keep your head down, mate."
"Oh yes," Harry grinned goblin-like, "I never make the same mistake twice."
"Are we sure this is the right thing to do?"
"Hermione, I'll be fine."
"I know you will be, I'm worried about this other world."
"They'll regret it if they've locked Sirius up for twelve years again," Harry agreed amiably.
Hermione winced.
"So how's it work anyway?"
"You click your heels three times and say 'there's no place like home'," Luna beamed.
Harry nodded, "It was fun guys."
"Luna's mistaken, that's from a children's..." Hermione broke off as Harry popped out of that existence.
"Oh."
"I was expecting something a little more dramatic than that," Ron admitted.
There was a sudden cacophony as every piece of cutlery shattered except for the triumphant teaspoons.
"Okay, still not really what I was looking for." There was a low rumble as every brick in the castle started to tremble. "But it's more than good enough for me," Ron added hastily, and the rumble dropped.
"Are we sure that was a good idea?" asked Hermione. "I mean, even if it's before Azkaban, I don't think Sirius was ever exactly stable."
Luna smiled. "Neither was Harry."
-
-
Harry popped back into another existence and immediately dropped to the ground in a protective crouch. Categorising he saw: no movement, trees, bramble, path and still no movement. Relaxing a little, but still in his crouch he scuttled until he had a tree between himself and the path.
He took three deep breaths as adrenaline flooded his body and fight or fight kicked in. He grinned, he felt more alive now than he had since the moment Voldemort shrivelled to nothing and he realised he had won – nothing.
This, however, was a brilliant idea. He owed Luna, well, he wasn't sure what but he owed her something good. (In another universe not too distant, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks suddenly existed, complete with crumpled-horns and a very confused moo.)
Harry watched the forest and the path but picked up nothing more than natural to-be-expected sounds. As he looked at his surroundings more carefully, he realised he was just off the path to Hogsmeade about half way between the village and Hogwarts.
Given the choice, Harry decided to pick Hogsmeade. He had no intention of just offering himself up to Dumbledore. He glanced down at himself. He was wearing his battle-dress robes, two Auror standard wand holsters, dragon hide armour and enchanted salamander skin boots.
He had to get rid of it all. Right now.
He stripped off his burdens, abandoning them in a disorganised heap. He was left in Muggle jeans, sweater and ratty trainers and felt more like himself for than he had in years.
He looked down at the discarded wand holsters. Two wands would make him conspicuous, Wizards needed time to attune to a wand and using two wands usually interfered with that.
Snapping Voldemort's wand wasn't a hard decision to make. He didn't like the wand, it had channelled too much dark magic for him to trust it. He'd only kept it because everybody seemed to expect him too.
He took his own wand, battered and worn like he was himself, and cast a firm Incendio. Without a Wizard's magic to power their protections, the expensive gear went up like dry parchment.
Harry grinned and tucked his wand into the pocket he had laboriously sewn to the leg of his jeans. As he glanced down he caught sight of the Potter and Black family rings on his hand.
The Potter ring belonged to somebody he wasn't, but it cost him a pang to slide the Black ring from his left heart finger. Sirius was alive here, though, so it had to go too. Holding the two rings loosely, he brought his arm back and threw them as hard and as far as he could, turning away before he saw them land.
With a light heart he set off for Hogsmeade.
-
Rosmerta's attention flew to the door as it chimed. Everyone in the pub, even those lost in their drinks, checked too. Her favourite customer had enchanted the door to chime whenever an unknown opened the door.
This was no white-masked nightmare though. The boy who tentatively poked his head around the door was a skinny, scruffy thing, obviously Muggle and obviously starveling.
"Uh hi." Still in the doorway he gave a quick nervous wave but made no attempt to introduce himself or name his friends and sureties. Which meant he must have none.
"Come in quick child," Rosmerta hurried around the bar to encourage him inside. "Quick now, we can't afford to leave the door open for long."
"Uh, okay." He obediently stepped inside, but his green eyes were puzzled.
"The Wards are so much weaker when the doors are open."
"Wards?"
"Yes, to protect the place in case They come. Wait, you do know about magic, don't you?"
"Of course," he looked positively sulky and Rosmerta gave in to the urge to ruffle his messy black hair. He flinched like he thought she intended to hit him.
"Sorry child, of course you do," she soothed, patting at the air just above his shoulder. Though there was no of course about it. Every year a few born-Muggle wizards or squibs would stumble on the Wizarding World, without the faintest idea of what they were letting themselves in for. If he had been one of them Rosmerta would have charmed her favourite customer into oblivating him and ensuring he returned safely to the Muggle world. This one though, he was the other sort, the desperate ones who knew they were different and had suffered for it.
"And you know about the, the Death Eaters," she couldn't help lowering her voice.
He hunched his shoulders. "What about them?" he asked all scornful street-tough.
Rosmerta sighed. No, this one wouldn't be returning to the Muggle world.
"So what is your name child?"
"Harry."
"Harry..?" she asked leadingly.
"Just Harry. I've got no relatives who want to claim me, I'm not claiming them."
"So how long you been on your own Harry?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Right." She wondered how old he'd been when he'd run away but doubted he'd ever tell her. She wondered if she had enough strength to try and help yet another runaway. But how could she turn him away?
"So you've got magic in you then."
"Of course." There was the insulted look again. "Got a wand and everything." He drew a wand from a long pocket sewn with large ungainly stitches to the leg of his jeans.
Rosmerta stared at the scrappy worn wand that must have been in a thousand fights and wondered who had sold him such a broken-down thing. She shook her head,
"You were rooked child. That thing's about to shatter."
"It's my wand." He clutched it protectively to his chest.
She sighed, "You even know any spells?"
"Yes, lots. Read about 'em in books."
Rosmerta looked at his conspicuously empty hands. However he managed access to magical books, he didn't have them now. She knew what some of her runaways had done to earn their bread and tried not to imagine how the scrawny youngster had obtained a look at magical books. She wished she could believe it was as innocent as reading the books in Flourish and Blotts, but nobody so obviously Muggle would have survived Diagon Alley.
"Go on then, move those empty glasses into the kitchen."
The boy waved his wand and muttered under his breath. All six glasses floated gently across the room to settle in the kitchen.
"I'm impressed," she said, "that was some control for a self-taught."
The dour expression on the boy's face, flitted through puzzlement at the praise before settling on a smug smile.
"See, I told you."
Rosmerta shook her head. He was good, strong too. Any reputable Wizard or Witch who'd met him would have taken the boy straight in and found him an apprenticeship.
"So," she asked as if she didn't already know. "Why are you here?"
He shrugged his shoulders again, "Just thought I'd have a look around."
"Uh huh. You looking for work?"
"Maybe."
"Can you cook and clean?"
A sly smile lit up the boy's face. "Sure can."
"All right then. You can have a week's trial for bed and board. Then we'll see."
"Done."
-
Harry, still grinning, settled down to work with a will. He had been expecting suspicion and questions but instead Madam Rosmerta had just accepted him as a self-taught Muggle-born. He knew there were magical children who didn't go to Hogwarts, it made sense there were also Muggle-borns who never went. If he had really been Vernon and Petunia's son he doubted he'd have ever made it to Hogwarts.
When Rosmerta had asked him his name he had actually had the strangest impulse to answer Harry Dursley. Harry Potter was the creation of a Wizarding World three universes to the left. At base, Harry was just Harry Dursley still stuck in his cupboard.
It had been easy to play up to Madam Rosmerta's obvious assumption that he was a Muggle runaway with dubious morals, because, fundamentally, that's what he was.
And now to his intense amusement, although he had two Orders of Merlin and six mouthfuls of magical titles, he was right back where he started, elbow deep in soapy water scrubbing pots and pans.
There was something deeply satisfying in that. As if, in some unlikely way, he'd actually managed to come home.
Rosmerta called him from the bar. "Harry, can you come help me with the empties."
He dried his hands on a bar towel and hurried out. He stopped abruptly half-way between the bright kitchen and dark bar, and stared.
"Oh."
A wizard had just stepped into the pub and was pulling back the hood of his robe. His dark hair fell with casual elegance around a handsome, aristocratic face with beautiful haunted grey eyes.
Harry stopped breathing.
Clutching at Madam Rosmerta's arm, he struggled to get his voice working,
"Who is that?" he whispered. It had to be, he couldn't be wrong, fate couldn't taunt him like that. It had to be...
"Sirius Black."
-