The clouds broke from their tight mesh of white cotton and let the sun shine through the dirty windows of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Inside, the only three residents of the enormous mansion-like house found themselves waking up from a long, restful sleep.

One of them, Sirius Black, found himself lying face down on his old childhood bed looking towards a sleeping hippogriff resting on the bedroom floor. The other one, Remus Lupin, sat up and immediately started getting himself dressed and ready for the day. It was his turn to cook breakfast and he had an extra mouth to feed today.

Harry Potter, on the other hand, kept on sleeping. A little sunlight wasn't nearly enough wake him up. But a persistent little owl pecking at every uncovered inch of skin just might. He tried swatting her away but she would just come back for more. Groaning, he sat up in bed and mumbled something unintelligible, inwardly cursing the day he was given such a stubborn bird.

He pushed the covers off and stumbled out of the bed, catching himself on the bedpost before he could fall to the cold floor. His eyes squinted and his hands grappled at air as he searched for his glasses and found them on the bedside table.

He was in a very big room, much larger than his cupboard under the stairs. Dudley's bedroom would probably fit three times in here. The bed he'd been sleeping on was located on the left side from the door, against the wall and across from it was a dresser, two wardrobes and another door leading to what Harry presumed was the bathroom. Right opposite the door were two floor to ceiling windows. They looked like they hadn't been cleaned in decades and only let in a minimal amount of light. The curtains were held against the walls with a thick, decorative rope. Harry guessed that at some point in the past they might have been a rich, green colour but now they were covered in so much dust and grime that he couldn't be too sure.

His stomach giving an obscenely loud rumble brought Harry out of his musings. After taking care of his business, he carefully opened a door and stepped out of the bedroom. The corridor he found himself in was just as depressing and dark as his room. The bedroom he was in was the last in a long corridor so he took off in the only other direction.

He let his eyes take in his surroundings. The walls were painted black, with bits of the paint chipping off in many spots and the carpet continually let out little puffs of dust as his feet landed on it.

Paintings were hung up on the walls, each with the face of a man or a woman with unforgiving eyes, small noses and thin lips lined into a haughty smirk disguised as a frown. All of them were peering down at him in derision. They weren't moving or talking like he'd seen the paintings at Hogwarts do, but to him it seemed like they were still judging him with those cold, grey eyes.

Sirius had that same exact shade, only his had never seemed this sharp and calculating. The portraits went on for miles and miles and it was only through the clothes and hair that Harry could tell them apart sometimes. Centuries of inbreeding had made it so that there was hardly ever any big changes in appearance in a dozen generations of Blacks. Scorch marks on several Black ancestors brought Harry to a stop on several occasions and gave him the feeling that if he were to walk any further to present time, he just might find a burnt face surrounded by a halo of shaggy black hair wearing Gryffindor robes.

Harry stopped walking once he reached the staircase. The clanking of kitchen pans and the smell of toasted bread wafting up the stairs led him true.

He chose his footsteps carefully and allowed himself to be guided by the creaks and snaps of centuries' old wood. He was halfway down a second set of stairs when he happened to glance up from his feet. The shrivelled up, decapitated head mounted on the wall above a bronze plaque was enough to make him lose his footing on the next step and hurtle down the remaining few.

"Shitshitshitshitshit," he moaned. Harry clutched at his ribs where he'd received the worst from the fall and practiced breathing through his nose in shallow breaths. He heard footsteps coming his way and was sitting up against the wall by the time Remus and Sirius rounded the corner.

"What ha—" An ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream shattered through the air.

There was a velvet, moth-eaten curtain on one side of the hallway that seemed to be shaking and rattling, as though something was trying to force its way into their world. The curtains were thrown open by an invisible force and at first glance, Harry thought they'd been covering a window—a window through which he could see an ugly old woman with a black hat and dress screaming and screeching like it was the only thing she knew to do. But it wasn't a window—it was a life-sized (disturbingly realistic) magical portrait and it was definitely the most horrendous painting Harry had ever seen.

The old woman's eyes glowed an ugly yellow as drool dripped down her chin from her mouth. Her hair was in disarray and her hands were held out in front of her, clawing at an imaginary wall with black, pointy nails.

"Filth! Vermin! Parasites! Disgusting monsters! Half-breeds and scum! How dare you step foot in the house of my forefathers! The most Ancient and Noble House of Black! You would dare defile—"

Her screeching awakened other portraits in the house and they too joined in on the abuse. Harry sacrificed the hand holding his ribcage together to cover his ears. He was helped up from the floor by Remus and watched as Sirius marched up to the woman's painting and planted himself in from of her.

"Shut up shut up shut up! Enough is enough, old woman!" He snatched the curtains and began to pull on them whilst the memory of the woman looked on in disgust.

"You!"she roared. "The traitor. The one who brought shame to this family! Abomination of my own flesh and blood. Lover of half-breeds, monsters and—" The curtains closed in around her and cut her ramblings short. Sirius then took out his wand and walked down the hallway stunning every portrait that continued to howl.

Harry felt Remus press a hand on his back and let lead him the way to a dreary kitchen where he was quick to slump down on a chair. A cup of steaming tea was placed in front of him and Harry took it gladly. Remus took a set opposite him.

"So. What the hell was that?"

"A nightmare is what it was," said Remus.

"That, Harry, was my dear old mother," Sirius came into the room with a half-amused, half-angry look on his face.

"That was your mother? Your actual mother." Harry had the sudden thought that he'd gladly take the Dursleys over the venomous harpy from Hell.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Sirius walked up to the stove and grabbed a plate full of food. He placed it in front of Harry, along with a knife and fork, and grabbed his own cup of tea "It's a small miracle I grew up to be the handsome devil that you see today," said Sirius, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Harry shook his head at him and began to eat. He could feel their gazes following every forkful going into his mouth though and it made him squirm in his seat.

"What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Remus replied, "it's just good to see you awake and eating something. You had us worried for a while there, that storm must've taken a lot out of you."

"What do you mean? How long have I been sleeping?"

"A little over two days. We were worried that you'd gone into a coma but we checked and it was only a deep sleep. It makes sense. You used up a lot of your magical energy by calling up that storm, never mind one that big; I've never seen anything like it before."

"Well not never," Remus corrected, immediately flushing when Harry peered at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Out with it already. When was the last time you saw something like that and why won't you tell me?"

They exchanged uneasy glances between one another and became fascinated with tracing imaginary shapes on the table.

"Harry," began Sirius, "you have to understand that it means absolutely nothing what we are about to tell you. It's just a coincidence and other than it coming from two clearly very powerful wizards, the intent...the meaning is completely different. Alright?"

Harry hesitantly nodded.

"The only other time we saw a wizard call up a storm like you did, was around fifteen years ago when the war was still going on. Voldemort was very powerful. He was at the prime of his power and no-one ever thought he could be defeated, it all seemed hopeless but we still kept on fighting. We couldn't give up and let him take control of our world, we just couldn't." said Remus, becoming lost in the memories of that time.

"We didn't have many numbers still willing to fight a losing battle back then, most of them had already been killed by him, and new recruits were hard to come by but we all knew when it was our turn to fight because it was always the same signs," Sirius swallowed then continued. "The sky would darken all of a sudden, black clouds would cover the moon or sun, it left everyone fighting blind. Then a green light, like the killing curse, would shoot up to the sky from somewhere on the ground. The Dark Mark was his calling card and that's when spells would start flying in every direction.

"Voldemort's biggest strength is fear," Sirius concluded, locking eyes with Harry, "and nothing inspires more fear than facing invisible opponents ready to kill you with no hesitation or remorse whatsoever and knowing that any second could be your last and you wouldn't even see it coming." Sirius took one last swig from his mug, put it down on the table and cradled it in his hands, appearing to be deep in thought.

It was disturbing for Harry to think he shared anything in common with the the man who had murdered his family. The more he thought about it, the sicker it made him feel until he tricked himself into believing that he could feel it—that evil, the potential for it, resting inside him, lying dormant until he lost control again and didn't have the will to hold back anymore.

His tea sloshed over the rim of the cup as he set it down.

Power had never been something favouring him, quite the opposite. Having no power at all, being powerless to watch and feel as others abused their own and took it out on him, that was something he was familiar with. With the roles effectively reversed, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I'm not bad," Harry didn't realize he'd spoken out loud. "I'm not—I can't be evil, I don't feel like I am, I don't feel any different than I did before. Is this how it starts? I guess evil people don't think they're doing evil, otherwise they wouldn't do it, right? So I can't know now." He was six years old again, asking his Aunt Petunia why everyone else in his class had someone to bring to Bring Your Parents To School Day except him.

"Merlin, Harry! You're not evil, you're just a boy who's been put through the wringer one too many times and rightfully snapped a little," said Sirius. "You can't think that just because you unplanted a few trees that you're gonna become the next Dark Lord. It doesn't work that way."

"Then how does it work? If I have all this power and I can't control it and someone gets hurt then how am I any better than Voldemort?"

"You won't be rounding up and targeting half-bloods and magical creatures for one thing. You also won't be purposefully using your power to hurt innocent people. You care, Harry, I know you do. Having a bit more magic than the rest of us doesn't mean you're bound to it, you are who you are and that won't change unless you want it to."

"By all accounts, you're sitting next to a werewolf and a man who spent twelve years in Azkaban. We all have parts of us that we wish weren't there," Sirius' hand squeezed around Remus' arm when the man's head bowed in shame, "but we work around them, Harry. That's the only thing you can do."

Silence reigned in the room. Harry allowed himself a moment to feel foolish for not remembering who he was talking to—he didn't think that he could compare his struggles to Remus' or Sirius', they had decades of experience on Harry and all that much more time dealing with their own issues than he did. And despite their seasoned advice, he couldn't shake himself from the fear that if he didn't find some way to control his magic, it would burst from him the same way it had been itching to do at Privet Drive.

Only this time he wouldn't leave it at some overturned patio furniture.

"You said they were 'taking shifts' or something like that. Back at the house," Harry swallowed. "Someone's been watching me? All this time? Is this why? So I won't blow up my aunt and uncle like I did his sister."

"You're not on Dark Lord Watch, Harry," Sirius took a gamble and rolled his eyes. "Taking out of there took some planning on our part and in order to do that we thought we'd take a look around before we went to get you, see which neighbour liked to take their dog for a walk or which nosy housewife spent too long watering her plants, that sort of thing."

"We didn't think we'd be the only ones checking in on you in that time," Remus continued. "They're not there everyday—I don't think they have enough manpower to do that—but we discerned a pattern in their appearances and that's why we scheduled our rendez-vous so late."

"And these people," Harry struggled with the term when all he wanted to do was call them what they were: enablers, jailers, "they're all magical."

"Most of them hid under Invisibility Cloaks. Not very good ones like the one your father had," Remus smiled, "and others used Disillusionment Charms."

"Who sent them?"

"We think Dumbledore. If it were ministry sanctioned they would've been wearing Auror robes and if they didn't because they were undercover, then they still would have behaved a certain way that's easy to recognize if you know what you're looking for. These people were clearly untrained. Only someone like Dumbledore would have the influence and guts to do something like this under the Ministry's nose."

"He knew," whispered Harry. "He knew this entire time what was going on and he didn't—he wouldn't even—he must have known, right?"

"We don't know," said Sirius. "We have no idea how long this has been going on or what type of information these people bring back to him. He most probably had his suspicions though, he's not blind."

Every word out of Sirius' mouth shrunk Harry further and further into himself until he was left teetering on the edge of his seat with his arms wrapped around his folded legs. "I never wanted anyone to know. If he knew, suspected, then why did he send me there? Why didn't he take me out once he saw…"

"That's what we asked ourselves when we found out. Dumbledore is a lot of things and perhaps his worst quality is his ego, his sense of righteousness. The man was a force to be reckoned with during the last war and there have always been lines he wasn't willing to cross."

"But?"

"But he's a spokesman for the greater good, if there ever was one," said Sirius. "He would never stoop down to Voldemort's level, do the horrible things he did, but if he believed one singular act of evil could end up saving the lives of millions...he wouldn't hesitate."

"The Dursleys' house," said Remus, "is surrounded by impenetrable wards. We can only guess as to what kind, but it doesn't take a genius to understand that that's why you were sent to live there. Have you ever wondered about that?"

"I thought I was sent to the Dursleys because they were my only relatives left alive who could take me in."

"You got half of that right. They were, and still are, your only blood relatives but they were far from being the only ones willing to take care of you. You're The Boy Who Lived, Harry. Witches and wizards would've been fighting against each other for the chance to raise the boy who'd saved the wizarding world. You see how people react to you to this day and it's been twelve years. You did what no wizard, witch or army could ever accomplish."

Harry couldn't face the pleading, almost awed, expression overtaking Remus' features. He lowered his eyes to the table and willed the heat pooling at the back of his neck to disappear.

"The point is," Sirius urged on, "Petunia is by far the closest blood relative to you. In the wizarding world, blood carries not just meaning, but power as well—magical power. In some ways, you couldn't have been better protected. Remus couldn't even set foot on the front lawn, he was turned around and confunded to the point that I had to jinx him to get him back right."

"I'm sure that's why you did it," grumbled Remus.

"It worked, didn't it?" challenged Sirius.

"I'm more than half convinced it would've worn off on its own."

"I couldn't take that chance now, could I? You were hopping in circles like a rabbit chasing its tail."

"Rabbits don't chase their tails—"

"Then you know how ridiculous you looked."

Though he valiantly tried to keep a stern expression, the corner of Remus' lip twitched and he couldn't hold himself back from sharing an incredulous laugh with his longtime friend—a feat he'd been certain he would never be able to do again.

"Werewolves are still registered as Dark Creatures and with wards like the ones around the Dursleys' house, and I'm not talking just about the blood one, there are others too, it's no surprise I was rejected before I could even get too close. And as is the case for wards relying on blood magic," Remus tugged on his collar and straightened his posture, bringing Harry back to afternoon classes on grindylows and boggarts, "they require blood, though not in the physical sense that one might think of at first. Yours and your aunt's presence together at the house would've been enough to keep the wards strong and charged. Couple of months during the summer for an entire year's worth of protection, plus your childhood."

"And now that I'm not there anymore to charge them up?" asked Harry. "What happens now?"

"They'll weaken until they simply cease to exist. Disintegrate."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I hate the Dursleys but I don't want them to be in danger because of me. They didn't want any of this in the first place."

"Those bastards deserve anything coming their way," spat Sirius, eyes blazing.

"Only the blood wards will disappear," said Remus, cutting weighed glances to Sirius, "the others will remain intact until someone purposefully brings them down. On the off chance that someone knows where you lived and goes looking for you, the Dursleys will be protected."

Harry nodded. He let the quiet stretch for as long as he could while he sorted through his thoughts. His magic. Dumbledore. The Dursleys. He didn't know where to start. Half an hour ago he wouldn't've thought that the best part of the day would've been falling down the stairs to the wails of a shrieking banshee under the watchful eyes of beheaded house-elves mounted on the walls—but there it was.

"Voldemort's gonna come back, you know," he said. "He's been trying for years now. The stone, the diary. He's come so close and you know what's stood in his way every single time? Me." Harry's derisive snort made it clear it wasn't a boast. "It's not even on purpose, it's like I get sucked in when something bad happens and it always leads back to Voldemort. To twelve years ago. It can't be a coincidence." Then he whispered to himself, "It's just a matter of time."

"It's not a coincidence," Sirius murmured softly. "There's a prophecy, Harry. A prophecy only very few people know about. Voldemort wasn't looking to kill Lily and James out of revenge. He was trying to prevent the prophecy from coming true and in doing so walked straight into its grasp. I think maybe the reason why all this keeps happening to you is because you are connected to Voldemort through this prophecy. And you'll continue to be pushed together until it can be fulfilled."

A strangled noise escaped from the bottom of Harry's throat. He slapped a hand over his mouth and shut his eyes against the onslaught of tears that he could feel building up. Sirius was immediately at his side, on bent knees as he haltingly ran his fingers through his godson's hair.

Harry made no other sound as Sirius did his best to comfort him. The more time that passed however, the tenser Harry became until he shook Sirius' hand off of him and jumped to his feet. He marched up to the window, arms crossed, and kept his back to them.

"Who knew?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged worried looks.

"Your parents told us in case anything were to happen to them," Remus said carefully, "Thinking back on it now, it's just our luck that Peter couldn't make it to that dinner. Alice and Frank—the Longbottoms—they knew. You and their boy Neville fit the description. They were told by Dumbledore who heard it straight from the oracle's mouth. A Death Eater was there, too. He overheard the second half of the prophecy before he was kicked out."

Harry's deep, controlled breaths echoed in the room.

"Who?"

"That's all we know. Either Dumbledore didn't know either, or he didn't want to say," said Sirius.

"So he only knows half of it," whispered Harry. "You know what it said? The prophecy. The exact words."

"Could never forget even if I wanted to." Sirius cleared his throat. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

A beat passed. The hitch in Harry's breathing was politely ignored.

"Anything else? Was that all of it?" Harry turned around to face the two men and locked eyes on them.

"That's not enough?" Sirius laughed with no mirth.

"Maybe you should take some time to process, Harry," implored Remus. "You don't have to think about it now, you have time and you can—"

"Do you know that for sure?" interrupted Harry. "Would you bet your life on it? I'm thirteen years old and I've faced Voldemort three times! That's already the same amount as my parents, right? That's why they were killed." On uttering those words, Harry seemed to deflate before their very eyes. He disappeared into his cousin's old clothes and all that was left was a pair of emerald eyes staring at them from the face of a young boy.

"I've been at the centre of every terrible thing that's happened in the wizarding world since before I even knew about it and if I let this get to me now… Well."

"You're allowed to feel whatever you want, Harry," said Remus. "This doesn't change that and we certainly wouldn't hold it against you if you're feeling scared, angry, betrayed."

"Yeah, no. Thanks. Saw it, bought it, tried it—didn't work out that well for me, believe it or not," Harry said. "Moony, I'm trapped either way. I feel that. I can take it kicking, screaming and whining, or I can do something about it for once instead of waiting for the next disaster to hit."

His words rang strong, but there was something desperate and pleading hovering on the wrinkles in the corners of his mouth, the set of his eyes, the dip of his chin. Something that was sending them smoke signals, ordering them not to push any harder, that said touch me and I might just break.

"All right, all right," Sirius' hands were palms out front as though he were warding off traffic. "If that's what you want."

Harry's scoff turned into a snort midway.

"What I want? I think we're a bit far from that at this point. If I'd had it my way, and enough money to do it, I would've at least tried running away ages ago to live on my own. Would've been better off. I wouldn't be that poor, misfit kid from the nice neighbourhood; I'd just be that poor kid."

"I'm glad you never followed through then," said Sirius. "If you had, then there's no telling what would've happened to you, me, Remus… You'd hardly be living in a slump with all the money in your vaults but I'd like to think it's still better this way."

"Vault," Harry tutted out the 't'. "Griphook said there's only enough money in there to last me through school and I don't think funding my running away is what my parents had in my mind."

"You've got your other vaults." When Remus received only a blank look in return, he demanded, "You must know about your other vaults. You're the last surviving heir to the Potter family line and you thought the only thing left to you was a school trust fund?"

"I—I guess I never really thought about it," stammered Harry. "That's one of the main things the Dursleys always complained about, that I was just a drain on what little they had."

"If your family wasn't so outspoken with their beliefs, your family would likely still be part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Sirius appeared amused.

"The what?"

"The Most Ancient and Noble Houses in wizarding Britain. Another way of knowing who the most influential and rich families are based on pureblood status," lectured Remus. "It is those families that have seats in the Wizengamot along with some other select few who didn't make the cut but who're still respected in the community. The Potters retained their seat, yes?"

"Oh they most certainly did. One of the greatest thorns by mother's side along with the traitor Weasleys," laughed Sirius.

"No one ever told me any of this," said Harry, thinking that for someone whose family was so entrenched in wizarding history, he was sure he'd never felt more estranged from it than he did at that moment.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Sirius said, "These things—the customs, traditions and rules, they're usually passed down the family line from a young age. Purebloods grow up learning these things so it's no surprise you don't know about them. It's stupid and outdated, the epitome of wizarding bigotry. I was force-fed these ridiculous rules myself but that doesn't mean they're worth knowing, Harry. The old farts sitting on the Wizengamot and running the government need a good shake out of their precious traditions if you ask me. Navigating your way through wizarding politics the way they do—it's like playing wizard chess."

"Make a wrong move and I'll be hit over the head with a chair?"

"You'd be surprised," grinned Sirius.

Harry smiled back at him. It didn't last long when the thought came to him that in the three years he'd been a part of the wizarding world, he hadn't even learned the basics of his lineage and missed out on a connection to his family that he could've had all along.

"These vaults;" he began, "they're mine. I can see them?"

"You're still underage but with your legal guardian present, you're welcome to explore the vaults as you please, though they will only truly be accessible to you without my express permission once you reach maturity. Seventeen in the wizarding world," explained Sirius.

"The goblins are a neutral people here to make business," continued Remus, "they won't care that Sirius is wanted by the Ministry and would only turn him in if they had something to gain from it. As it stands now Sirius is the head of the Black family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Goblins don't care much for wizard politics but even so, they know what having a family as powerful as the Blacks on their side could mean."

"I say it's about time that confidentiality clause worked in our favour," Sirius grinned wolfishly. "Was getting tired of only Death Eaters getting all the money perks around here."

Harry squinted at the term and Remus said, "That's what Voldemort's followers called themselves."

"Fitting."

A grandfather clock rang from somewhere inside the house, its clangs reached the residents sitting at the kitchen table and provided a blanket of welcome distraction as they each dwelled on their own inner musings.

Sirius recalled the last time he sat at that table, mother and father still alive, brother a Death Eater in the making, Kreacher hobbling and prancing around his mother's every whim. Perhaps the only activity they shared in as a family were those few seconds they each reserved to glare at Sirius, clad in red and gold from head to toe as he regaled them with tales he knew they would disapprove of and he'd be punished for later but couldn't find it in himself to care for the look of outrage and fury on his parents' faces.

Remus was thinking back to the war. To nights spent huddled around together in headquarters—a different one each week to keep the Death Eaters on their toes. He remembered James, messy hair just like his son's getting in his eyes as he leaned over a map spread on a rickety old table, moving dots representing enemies and friends clashing against each other in chaotic lines of violence. Lily was off to the side, talking to Mad-Eye and Alice Longbottom in wild gestures and punching a fist to her hand to prove a point before jabbing her wand and barking an order.

They were an unstoppable force—bright and unparalleled by almost any other. They were water and oil poured into each other, working together seamlessly as they glided against one another but never losing their own essence, the spark that made them who they were, separated and together. They could win you over in a heartbeat and knock you out with a well-place spell in the next.

It was the first time in over a decade that memories of his friends didn't crash into him like a tidal wave of grief, threatening to become the whirlpool that would pull him under to unchartered new depths of depression.

Harry thought of his parents, too. He thought of what they might've left him in the vaults he hadn't been told her had. He thought of what would've happened if they were still alive, if his father would've taken him to see the Potter legacy himself or if he would've saved it for his seventeenth birthday—the best present he could possibly get after years of listening to stories of the great things their ancestors accomplished and stowed away forever.

He wondered if his parents ever had outbursts like his, if they'd ever been scared of the magic they carried within, thinking it made them equal parts blessed and cursed as they'd be shunned by both worlds if they ever let themselves get out of control. Harry stared at the palms of his hands and saw canyons in the creased lines of skin, saw caves hidden in the dips between fingers and railroads mapping the tracks of his life in the pads of his fingers.

Lastly, he thought that with his parents by his side, he would've never known what it was like to feel amongst one's own kind.

"Is there any way you could teach me other stuff, too?" asked Harry, middle finger running along the shape of his left eyebrow. "Everyone else in the wizarding world, they know more than me about everything. My first day at Hogwarts and Hermione was the one to tell me that they'd written books about me—everyone knew who I was before I even realized it myself. I didn't fit in the muggle world because I'm a wizard and now I don't feel like I fit in the wizarding world either because I was raised completely as a muggle.

"It would just be… good, if I wasn't the last to everything for once." His green eyes bore into them imploringly and Sirius and Remus had no problem caving in to his wish.

"We're here for anything you need. Between the two of us, I think we have a pretty good range of things to teach you, we had a reputation to upkeep as the Hogwarts pranksters but that doesn't mean we were slouches," said Remus.

"If anything, pranking helped us to become better students, better men to our fellow neighbours," —Remus scoffed loudly— "and those are values I could not, in good conscience, allow you to live your like without. For what is a man, if not the sum of his best pranks and—"

"We would love to help you, Harry. We can start off by showing you your vaults. Gringotts opens its doors upon the first rays of sunlight in the morning, we'll be the only ones there for a couple of hours if we plan it right. We'd have to disguise you for the time being of course as we can't have anyone recognizing you once your disappearance makes its rounds to certain people." Remus turned to Sirius and said, "We'll have to send a post owl to Dumbledore and let him go Harry is safe with us. It likely won't deter him from conducting his own search but at least he won't alert the authorities. The less people who know you're gone, Harry, the better."

"Then you're gonna have to add one more person to that list because I already told someone I was leaving the Dursleys. I didn't say where or that it was even you," he rushed out, "but she should definitely know I'm not in Privet Drive by now. Ginny won't tell anyone, I swear."

Sirius and Remus stared at each other in silent conversation.

"Any other of your friends know you're gone?"

"I didn't have the time to write them anything too, just Ginny," Harry bit his lip.

"Let's keep it that way then," Harry had a protest ready on the tip of his tongue, but Sirius said, "for now. Until we're sure you're safe here."

Harry nodded reluctantly.

Sirius gathered up the cups and took them to the sink to wash, Remus standing at his side with a dishtowel ready at hand. They put away the cups in silence which was only disrupted when Sirius took out a knife and began dicing vegetables, back turned to Harry as he spoke.

"This Ginny girl, she wouldn't happen to be the Weasley's girl. Ginevra, was it?"

"Yeah, her brother, Ron, is my best mate. Ginny is a year below us."

Sirius hummed. "They're all redheads, right? Even the girl."

Harry saw Remus elbow his godfather in the ribs.

"Well, yeah. Hers is a bit different though, a deeper shade, more like fire than orange like her brothers'. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Sirius emptied his vegetables into a pot of water and turned on the fire. "She pretty?"

"Padfoot," warned Remus, though he hid a smile behind the collar of his sweater.

"Yes." Sirius and Remus swivelled around to look him in the eye and Harry felt a glaring warmth spread across his neck and up to his cheeks. "I mean, I haven't really noticed, but I suppose she is." He sprang to his feet and kept his eyes focused on his hands as he took needless care to wash them in the sink.

Remus and Sirius hummed in response. The rest of the meal was prepared in companionable silence.