Prompt #1: What if Sirius was never arrested?
Prompt #2: What if Harry developed PTSD as a child and dealt with the trauma in an… odd, but understandable manner?
Or: In which Harry is afraid of the colour green, mute, and possesses more of Voldemort's knowledge than originally suspected.
SILENCE IS A WEAPON
CHAPTER 1 - Indebted
"Come on, prongslet!" Sirius taps the carpeted floor beside himself, waving over the one-year-old Harry. It's been a week. Harry has yet to speak a word, sitting and staring his pastime, acting more like a doll than a human being.
The child toddles up slowly, all eyes. They're big, shamrock green, and unnaturally bright, yet complement the button nose and cute round face perfectly. Harry plops down, receiving a reassuring nod from his guardian.
"Don't you want to play with the blocks?"
Shiny toys are heaped together. Cubes showcase the alphabet, flashing between the rainbow's colours.
Sirius desperately wants for this to work, for his little prongslet to be alright again. Harry acts like no child should, and the Black Lord doesn't know how to deal with it.
A chubby hand reaches out, cautious, staring at Sirius all the while. It clasps around the letter L, glimmering between different shades of yellow. Harry begins stacking, all the blocks but one—the green V.
The tower is lacks a piece, and Sirius rushes in to add his share.
"Oh, you missed one." He exclaims, dropping it on the top.
A perturbed look crosses Harry's face, as if he's seen a ghost for the first time.
The structure bursts into flames.
"Aguamenti!" Sirius yells. Having been an auror, he possesses quick reflexes (of which he immensely proud).
Nothing is left but miserable ashes. They burn on Sirius' tongue, in his nose, and his eyes sting. Harry is long gone. The play room's colourful moving walls seem to frown, mournful as always.
"What happened?" Lupin stands in the doorway, yellow eyes wide, hair tufted up in every direction. He's been woken from a nap.
"I messed up, again." The raven-haired man hangs his head, face pinched.
Remus sighs, tutting, but only says, "Let's go find him."
Moony is much better than Sirius. He always approaches slowly, his mistakes few, noise little. He's gentle where Sirius is brash—and Padfoot can't help but be jealous.
The cubby is warm and dark, a cozy corner. Canned goods surround the silent child, from raspberry marmalade to pickled beets. They're merry, natural colours—it's comforting. House elves bustle nearby, a pleasant reminder that other life still exists. Green eyes glow, lighting the space as effectively as a Lumos. The small figure is cuddled up in a fuzzy blanket. A passive face stares at the wall. Against his back is a pillow, all comforts supplied by the nanny elf Mitty.
Light peaks into the cupboard. Harry hides himself under a blanket.
"Master Harry, sir?" The bug-eyed creature approaches, giving the child's knee a poke. "The Master Blacks and Lupins be a lookin' for you."
She holds out her little hand, a motherly, pitying expression on her wrinkled face.
He sighs.
Mitty and Harry cut an interesting figure together, side by side, only a few inches difference. Mitty examines the odd impassivity of his face - Master Harry isn't a normal child. His upbringing would be different than most. He wouldn't be spoiled, or loud, or demanding.
He's her charge, and she's going to do her very best to love him.
As they traverse the halls, the Black portraits observe, just like always. Some are concerned, some haughty, others intrigued. The little charge is certainly not like an others before him.
Mitty and Harry walk back to the East Wing. The boy slows, dragging his feet. She tuts and continues to drag him along.
When Sirius spots his prongslet again, the smile nearly breaks his face. He wants to wag his tail. Bounding about the boy in a game like they played before. A hand curls around the animagus' wrist.
"Don't." Remus whispers.
Sirius droops, that pricking feeling returning to his eyes' corners.
The boy stops a couple of meters away, incandescent orbs staring down his godfather.
"Hey there pup," Remus greets, "How about we go read a story, alright?"
Harry nods, slipping his hand into the werewolf's.
Sirius holds in tears, self-respect plummeting.
Harry doesn't look back.
o0o0o0o
Little fingers brush over a new scar. Remus winces.
Big, questioning eyes look up at him. Harry bites his cheek absentmindedly.
"It's fine, pup. Nothing to worry about."
The boy hides his nose in Remus' neck. Moony never tells the truth - not with his hurts. He merely gives false reassurances, disappears for a day, and then comes back, more tired and lying than ever. Huffing, the three-year-old hugs the man tighter, determining to find out for himself.
Large, mahogany bookshelves tower over Harry, rows upon rows of knowledge. Remus is gone, Sirius distracted. It isn't hard for the boy to slip away.
There is a childblock on the back shelves, on the books Harry desperately wants to touch. They possess a dark, soothing tang, like dark chocolate, thrumming with power.
He avoids them, pouting, and swerves to the left - the Magical Creatures section. Harry isn't supposed to know how to read, he's only three, after all—but he does. Just like he shouldn't be able to speak French, or German, or Latin, yet he can. Ever since Harry has lived in the Black Manor, he knows things.
The books are beautiful, and the child enjoys running his hand over the leather bond spines, searching for a treasure to unlock the mystery. They're such unemotional, helpful beings, and Harry loves them for it.
Things that Rove the Night - Most Common Dark Creatures. Harry slips the book from the shelf, almost crushing his hand beneath it as it takes a tumble. Dragging the volume under his favorite reading table, he gets to work.
What could be harming Moony?
Kelpies, mermaids, vampires - pages turn, each examined carefully - giants, centaurs, werewolves... Werewolves?
Werewolves are dangerous creatures. Their virus is spread by a bite, and once bitten, the animal must be registered with the ministry. Every full moon they turn into vile beasts with no control….
Remus was a werewolf.
It all made sense now. Why else would he be called Moony?
o0o0o0o
Harry is four when Aunt Andromeda comes to visit. She's tall, light brown hair cascading down her back in ringlets, and the way she walks is just so… graceful.
"Hello, little one." She says, stooping down, her lips curled up in a motherly smile. Her magic sings, much more than Remus' and Sirius'. Harry doesn't know why, but he trusts her. Big green eyes innocently blink at her.
Her eyes twinkle as she says, "I'm your aunt."
So he brings his hand up, slowly, and gives her a small, awkward wave.
Andromeda keeps the smile, yet her eyes begin to frown. She looks at Sirius, who twiddles his thumbs, watching.
"Harry doesn't speak."
"Ever?"
"No."
She's good at pretending, though, giving him little tidbits of information.
"I have a daughter seven years older than you, her name is Nymphadora, but she demands we call her Tonks." Andromeda whispers, seating herself beside Harry.
Sirius, or rather, Remus, had invited her for lunch.
The Black Lord appears miserable, though he tries to make an effort.
"How's everyone, Andy?"
"As well as we can be, considering how you cut us off."
He winces, "I never meant -"
"I know you didn't; you never mean anything. Your family is perfectly willing and able to help, yet you hide away with only the werewolf for company." She takes a bite of her food, wrist movement elegant and smooth.
Harry stares in rapture. Aunt Andromeda is so graceful and blunt. Remus and Sirius always skip around the subject, laying on six coats of sugar before they just spit it out. This way of speaking is refreshing. The boy sits up in his chair, trying to emulate the woman's posture.
"Andy!" Sirius whines.
"No, there has been well and enough of this folly. I've waited years for some simple contact, a real response to my monthly owl, but you've done nothing. Now, you are clearly in over your head. Let me help you." Her voice warmed at the end, bright eyes fixed on her cousin.
"Sirius." Remus warned, after a few minutes of silence. "We do need her."
Just like that, Moony admits something Sirius can't bring himself to do - that the two men have absolutely no idea what they're doing.
"Fine."
o0o0o0o
Andromeda isn't subtle. She doesn't balk at the thought of making waves. Instead, the former Black plunges in, giving Sirius unwanted (yet needed) advice.
"Just because he doesn't speak doesn't mean he's not intelligent." She tutts. It's the first day, and Andromeda popped in unannounced. Dora is at Hogwarts now, so she has plenty of time to spare. "Where's Harry?"
"Um," Sirius scratches the back of his neck. "Mitty would know."
A cold stare fixes upon him, "How in the world do you expect to form a bond if you don't spend any time with him?"
"Andy! He… he doesn't like me, and he barely tolerates Remus. Whenever I try… he just - hides. I'm always too loud. Harry hates noise."
Andromeda's eyes soften, "Sweetie," she gives him a pat on the shoulder, "I'm going to go give it a try."
"Mitty." She calls.
The old elf appears, "How can Mitty be a helpin Missus Tonks?"
"Where's Harry?"
"He be in the library."
"Thank you, Mitty. That'll be all."
Andromeda didn't expect to find Harry under a table, but children have quirks. She watches, lips quirked up. Yet, he doesn't seem to be just looking at the pictures (Basic Charms doesn't have any), and his eyes rove back and forth, as if he's reading.
That's impossible. She scolds herself. No one has taught him.
"Hello, little one." Those green eyes look up, blinking at her. He waves, returning to the book.
She isn't deterred. "Would you come out, please? I'd like to have a chat."
Harry twitches, wrinkling up his nose, yet places down the text.
They sit down, the couches expensive and uncomfortable. He doesn't understand the need for this. It's obvious that no talking will be done from his side, what does Aunt Andromeda want?
Soft brown eyes scrutinize, an eyebrow raised. "Why won't you talk?"
Harry gives her a disbelieving look, casting his glance towards a nearby bookshelf.
He is not going to play charades.
"Sweetie, I know you're perfectly capable-"
She's going to go on, ramble, but Harry is not about to sit through another lecture. Her magic may feel better than his guardians', but Aunt Andromeda is just another stupid adult.
He leaves, interrupting her mid sentence, and curls up once again under his table.
She doesn't give up right away.
"Do you want to play with me?"
"Come on, sweetie. It'll be fun."
"Don't give me that look."
"Harry Potter you come back right now!"
"Sirius, he really is impossible."
So they call in the big guns.
"Hello, young man! I was told you'd be in here."
The aliens are invading!
A man in a dapper suit kneels down, hair in an unnatural curl. His double chin waves as he talks.
Aunt Andromeda, Moony, and Padfoot watch, anxious.
"Now why don't you just come on out, Mr. Potter? It's about time you had a checkup."
"Come on, Harry, please?" Sirius begs, as if that will help his case.
Harry will not be a lab rat.
He shakes his head once, furiously, squeezing himself in the corner as far as he'll go.
"We just want to make sure that it isn't anything medical. He's only going to examine your throat. Harry, it'll be quick and painless." Remus is the voice of reason, as always. He's discovered something Sirius hasn't. Talk to Harry like an adult, and he's more likely to listen.
Harry slowly shimmies out from his spot, glaring at the healer all the while.
They sit, the man babbling, fumbling about in his bag for no reason at all.
"We're quite indebted to you, Mr. Potter. He-who-shall-not-be-named is gone all because of you."
Harry gives Remus the could-this-man-be-any-stupider look, raising his eyebrow and holding out his hand.
"What is he… ?"
Moony sighs, handing over his wand.
"But you have to be -"
"Mr. Galloway, must I reminder that you're here under contract?" Andromeda's cold tone shuts him up immediately.
Lights shine from the wand, varying in colours. The power pulses in Harry's chest. He adores the rush that comes with control. His magic bends through the conduit, and he sighs lightly. It's almost like the hug of a Mother.
"Is that a non-verbal Lumos?" Galloway wonders, before setting to work, waving his wand at Harry's throat. He tries every spell known to man, but nothing shows.
"There's nothing physically the matter with him". He scratches his neck, awkward sweat dripping down his face.
"You're dismissed." Andromeda waves him away.
Harry pouts when he has to return the wand, and the adults stare at each other hopelessly.
"Well, all we can do is hope that it goes away before he reaches age 11." Remus says.
Andromeda and Sirius nod, defeated.
o0o0o0o
Alright, so I'm not completely decided on whether or not present tense is the best method for this drabble. I might end up changing it.
If you liked it, please review!