Sirius didn't say a word. He wasn't exactly sure what the proper response was in this situation anyway. Did he yell at them for invading Harry's privacy? Should he put his hands on his hips and lecture them about respect? Maybe a couple of harmless jinxes would teach them a better lesson? In the end, Sirius adopted what he called his 'unimpressed eyebrows' and silently pointed at the door, bidding them to leave. They shuffled out sheepishly under Kreacher's resentful stare, blushing enough to clash with all of the Weasley-red hair in the room. Hermione squeaked out a quick apology before following the others hastily.

"Sorry about that, Harry, I didn't think they'd hunt you down. But this place is pretty boring, so they were probably just looking for something to do," he mused. He got even breathing in response. Sirius looked over in bewilderment.

"Did you actually sleep through all of that? Damn kid, you must be more exhausted then I thought, and I'll be honest, you looked pretty rough."

Sirius crept closer to examine the prominent bags under Harry's newly grey eyes, when he noticed what he was wearing.

"Now where did you get Regulus' old pajamas? And what are you doing up here in the first place?" Sirius asked, but he wasn't really talking to Harry anymore as his accusing gaze fell on his unruly house-elf who was smoothing down the duvet and muttering about nosy Mudbloods under his breath.

"Kreacher?" He didn't really need to ask.

"Kreacher be's putting proper Heir in proper room with proper clothes, Master. Kreacher also be disposing of nasty muggle rags and helping Young Master sleep," Kreaher croaked out without an ounce of shame in his voice as he continued to putter about.

Sirius would bet every Galleon in his vault that Harry didn't really know whose room this was, didn't put himself in those pajamas, and didn't ask Kreacher to get rid of his clothes. Sirius had a quick internal debate with himself. Did he yell at Kreacher for crossing boundaries or keep silent and encourage the only caring and positive behavior Kreacher has shown anyone since his wretched mother died? He was planning on getting Harry a new wardrobe for his birthday anyway…

At least now he knew why Harry wasn't waking up. When Sirius had been a small child, before Kreacher hated him, Kreacher would sooth him and his brother when they had nightmares by putting them into an elf-magic induced dreamless sleep. It was pretty powerful and made it very hard for anyone except the house-elf to wake the person up until they were physically well rested. Sirius had a feeling he wasn't going to be seeing Harry for a while unless he demanded Kreacher wake him up, and Sirius really didn't have the heart for that at this point. The day had been emotionally draining for him too, and it wasn't even noon yet. Sirius sighed and made a decision.

"Alright, just try not to be too invasive, he's not used to having a house-elf around," Sirius conceded. Kreacher looked absolutely scandalized by the statement.

"Kreacher not being invasive, Kreacher is only serving Young Master," Kreacher rebutted.

Sirius rolled his eyes and made to leave; too tired to argue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron Weasley took one look around at the still embarrassed occupants of the sitting room before blurting out the first thing that came to mind, if only to fill up the silence.

"I still say he looks like Sirius' son."

The awkward spell seemed to be broken as Ginny let loose the least ladylike snort imaginable. The twins chuckled as well and Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

"I'm not so sure, now that I got a second look at him," Ginny mused, leaning more comfortably back in her armchair. "There's something different around here," Ginny gestured to the area around and including her eyes.

"That could be from his mum though. He's not gonna be an exact copy of Sirius, now is he?" Ron argued.

"Eh, maybe. I'm still changing my guess though. I think he's more like a nephew," Ginny stated, as if they were in a competition to see who could divine Romulus' relation to Sirius. The twins grinned mischievously.

"Why don't we make it a bet?" Fred offered.

"Yeah. Whoever guesses Romulus' relationship to Sirius doesn't have to clean any of the bathrooms for the rest of the summer. One of the losers of the bet has to do it whenever it's the winner's turn," George stipulated.

Ginny and Ron shared a look, competition glimmering in their eyes.

"Deal!" they called in unison. George dove to a side table and picked up a piece of parchment and quill.

"So I'll put Ginny down for nephew and Ron down for secret son, yeah?" George asked, quill scribbling furiously. Ron nodded decisively. Sirius had looked pretty protective with his silent finger pointing. It was best to follow his first instinct.

"What do you think, Gred?"

"Hmmmm, put me down for recently de-aged uncle."

"Right. And I'll go down for secret half-brother. How about you Hermione? Any guesses?" George asked.

Ron looked at her hopefully, trying to include her. He hadn't really realized it until he and Harry had their fight this past year- and didn't that make him feel as guilty as hell considering how the thrice damned Tournament ended- but Hermione was more of Harry's friend than his. Ever since the Yule Ball, he's been putting a lot of thought into how to change that. And maybe nursing a crush for the bookworm too, but he wouldn't admit to that under pain of death.

Hermione sighed, like she was weighing taking the moral high ground away from gambling against the opportunity to not clean toilets for the rest of summer, and the toilets won.

"Put me down for… cousin, I think."

George blinked as if someone had just Confunded him before a huge grin split his face.

"Cousin it is. Oi, Fred, I think we corrupted her."

"I'm so proud! Our little Hermione is all grown up and gambling about other people's private lives," Fred cried, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Hermione flushed guiltily but didn't take back her bet. Ron grinned. Now if only Harry was here to tease her about her lapse in judgment, everything would be as perfect as it could be in a world where Dark Lords rise from the dead and force you to hide in near-condemned town houses.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke up gradually for the first time in what felt like a long time. The comfortable weight of a comforter settled on him, while silk sheets seemed to caress his skin. He wondered when the Hogwarts four-poster beds decided to start using silk, the last he remembered the beds were covered in very soft cotton. But it was summer wasn't it? He shouldn't be at Hogwarts. Strange…

It took Harry's sleep addled mind a few moments to clear, and when it did his eyes snapped open. He was at Sirius' family home-Grimmauld Place- and he… wasn't Harry Potter. Romulus Lestrange. What a proper wizarding name. He could just imagine the looks he would have gotten in muggle primary school if he'd introduced himself as Romulus. The other students had already thought he was weird with his giant clothes, mysterious accidents, and Dudley's ire.

Harry vaguely remembered Ron making fun of Malfoy's name on their first meeting. Draco was another proper wizarding name, distinctive enough to mock even by a Pureblood family like the Weasleys. But then again, the Weasleys ran in different circles than the Malfoys, the Blacks, or apparently the Lestranges.

Maybe there was another cultural divide he wasn't thinking of or wasn't even aware of. Some families had names like Bill and Fred, and others had names like Rodolphus and Lucius. What was the distinction? The more interesting names tended to be Death Eaters… but that wasn't right. Sirius and Remus weren't exactly normal names and they didn't follow Voldemort. Peter was pretty normal and he did. Hell, Voldemort had a distinctly muggle name: Tom Riddle. But he had hated it and had been pretty determined to change it.

Harry flopped back on the bed trying to stem a burgeoning headache. He'd contemplate the complicated nature of wizarding names later, after he figured out how the bloody hell he ended up in someone else's clothes. Harry examined the black silk pajamas uncomfortably, having no memory of putting them on. He'd been pretty tired, but he doubted someone could have manhandled him in and out of his clothes without waking him up. Magic then? Harry decided to ask about it later. Or maybe not, it was kind of an awkward question to ask. Hey, Sirius, did you take clothes off my unconscious body and replace them with someone else's?

Harry pulled himself out of the sinfully comfortable bed and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. He staggered over to the window and took a quick peak into the back garden. Buckbeak was out there, laying down and soaking up the summer sun, which was slanted in such a way that Harry immediately new it was mid-afternoon at least. Harry tried to fight off a small blush of embarrassment. He hadn't meant to sleep so long. Sirius and Remus probably thought he was hiding.

Harry straightened his posture resolutely, throwing his shoulders back, and raising his head. He was not hiding, and he was not afraid to face this. He was a Gryffindor and he would act like one, dammit. Filled to the brim with equal parts courage and false bravado, Harry all but marched to his trunk, which Kreacher had left sitting neatly in the corner of the room, next to the wardrobe. Harry flicked it open deftly, and got a face full of parchment, schoolbooks, quills, but absolutely no clothing. Harry shifted his possessions around a bit, but there wasn't even a pair of Vernon's old socks.

Harry went over to the wardrobe and threw the doors open, hoping that Kreacher had hung up his stuff. There were plenty of clothes that didn't belong to him, robes for all occasions it seemed. There were complicated dress robes in gold, casual robes in blue, Quidditch robes in green and all manner of cuts and styles in between. There were even a few Hogwarts uniforms with the Slytherin crest on the breast.

On the far right side of the wardrobe, Harry finally found a few articles he recognized. His Hogwarts uniforms were neatly pressed without a single thread out of place. His invisibility cloak was also hung up, which took a weight off his chest. The rest of his clothes could be thrown into the Black Lake as long as the cloak was safe. His dress robes from the Yule Ball and Quidditch robes were also hung up and looking cleaner than the day he'd gotten them. At the bottom of the wardrobe a few Weasley sweaters were neatly folded and pushed back, like they were good enough to keep in the wardrobe but not good enough to actually take out and wear.

Harry bit his lip, where were his clothes? Would it be less embarrassing to go down in his school uniform or his dress robes? Maybe just the trousers and shirt from the uniform? A loud crack caused Harry to stumble away from the wardrobe and out of his thoughts. The decrepit house-elf was back, looking at Harry with eagerness tinged with just a bit of madness before bowing low.

"Does Master Romulus be needing anything?"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know where my clothes are? I found my uniforms in the wardrobe but everything else seems to be missing," Harry hoped his voice was polite but not overly so. He really didn't feel like being cried on again today, and if Kreacher was anything like Dobby, an excess of consideration might send him on a crying jag. Harry felt a little guilty for purposefully being less kind than he could be, but not guilty enough to volunteer for hysteric sobbing.

"Kreacher has set out clothes for Master Romulus," Kreacher replied, his tone was… sly. As if he was hiding something.

Harry stepped forward to the chair Kreacher had indicated that he had missed when he woke up. Laying across it were black slacks, a light grey silk dress shirt, and a blue outer robe. Underneath the chair sat a pair of polished dragon-hide boots and black socks.

"Er, Kreacher, these clothes aren't mine," Harry said slowly. Maybe the ancient elf was confused.

"They belonged to Master Regulus, but Master Regulus would never allow Kreacher to dress the Heir in filthy muggle rags," Kreacher rasped. Harry sighed.

"Kreacher, where exactly are the clothes that I came here with? The clothes that were in my trunk?" Harry asked again, trying to be as direct as possible.

"Kreacher put them where all filthy muggle clothes should be going," the house-elf said evasively. Harry could practically feel his temper fraying around the edges.

"And where is that exactly?"

"The fire pit, Young Master" Kreacher finally responded, no shame in his voice. In fact, he sounded a little proud. Harry grit his teeth against a loud response. He knew first hand that it did no good to have a house-elf as your enemy.

"Of course," he murmured under his breath before speaking up so Kreacher could hear him. "Kreacher, that was all I had. What am I supposed to wear now?"

In retrospect, that was a dumb question, as emphasized by Kreacher scooting the chair a little closer to him. Harry sighed.

"I meant that more generally. I'll need clothes at Hogwarts other than the uniform."

"Kreacher will set out Master Regulus' clothes until Master Black gets Young Master proper clothes," Kreacher replied, as if that was the obvious plan all along. To Kreacher, it probably was.

"I guess I'll have to talk to Sirius then," he said, finally conceding. How does one argue with a mad house-elf, let alone win?

"Excuse me, Kreacher. I have to change."

"Of course, Master Romulus."

After another low bow, Kreacher apparated away with a sharp crack. Harry turned to further inspect the clothing. It was obviously made of expensive materials, but also seemingly old. It had that stiff quality that all cloth left to sit takes on until brought into regular use again. Harry slipped off the luxurious pajamas and folded them neatly before leaving them on the chair. Aunt Petunia had Harry folding laundry so much over the years that his lines were crisp and efficient. It looked more like a high-end department store employee had folded the pajamas than a teenage boy.

Harry slipped on the slacks and buttoned up the dress shirt, leaving it untucked. The pants were just about the right length but just a bit too wide at the waist. The shirt draped across his torso just enough to know that the fit wasn't perfect but not enough that he looked anything but presentable. Harry wondered if Regulus' clothes were tailored especially for him when they were bought. At this point Harry wouldn't be surprised if they were, a family this rich could afford tailoring and it was a much more common practice in the Wizarding World than the Muggle one. The dragon-hide boots were also a bit big, but the socks were thick enough to compensate. Harry pointedly ignored the outer robe. Kreacher may have won the battle but he hadn't won the war.

Harry thought of his hair for a moment. He ran his fingers through it quickly and snagged them on a few tangled curls making him grimace. He was no stranger to messy hair, but there was something distinctly unkempt about the way it felt now. Like it had the potential to behave but he wasn't taking proper care of it. Harry spotted a brush on one of the side tables and tried to work it through his newly robust hair. It took a few minutes of struggling and cursing, but eventually all of hair that was previously tied up would allow a brush to run through it smoothly before springing back into a ringlet.

Harry walked over to an ornate mirror to make sure he didn't look like an idiot. What he saw in the mirror thoroughly shocked him. Before, in Dudley's over sized castoffs in the Dursley's bathroom, Harry's reflection had still seemed… Harry Potterish, for lack of a better term. Even with knew features, it was almost like his new face was simply superimposed on his old visage, like he was wearing a mask but Harry was just in reach beneath the surface.

Now a completely different person looked at him from the mirror. A person with delicate aristocratic features dressed in expensive clothes in a spacious bedroom filled with high-end trinkets. He was the pinnacle of breeding, a rich Pureblood heir with a powerful family of accomplished witches and wizards, and all the material wealth and possessions that included. The heavy lidded eyes made him look naturally disinterested, his new height and broader frame made him look more powerful and confident, even arrogant. The parlor of his skin implied that he'd never worked outside a day in his life, because that was peasant stuff. His hair was still wild after his attempt to tame it, but in a vivacious way instead of a messy way. He looked exactly how he would imagine a wizard named Romulus Lestrange would look like. Harry turned away from the mirror, hands shaking.

Was this who he was now? Some spoiled aristocratic? A disinterested, self-superior Pureblood? Would he go around Hogwarts, a swagger in his step, bragging about how rich he was, how powerful his family was, how pure his bloodline was? Was he no more than the son of a pair of Death Eaters?

Harry shook himself forcefully from that train of thought and all it would lead to. No. No matter what the mirror said he was still Harry James Potter. He still grew up in the Muggle World without a pound to his name. He was friends with Muggleborns and Half-bloods, and Purebloods not because of their status but in spite of it. He still abhorred the Dark Lord Voldemort with every inch of his being because he was a psychotic murderer gunning for genocide and Harry would fight him to the death before ever entertaining the thought of joining him.

Harry looked back at the reflection quickly; to make sure everything was in order before he marched down the stairs to remind everyone that he was Harry Potter, dammit. Or at least to remind himself of that. Seeing nothing out place and not wanting to spend too much time with the Romulus in the mirror, Harry headed out to find Sirius.

Harry paid more attention as he descended the staircase this time. The house was filthy, there was no other word for it- though unkempt, disgusting, and grimy were also strong contenders. Portraits hung on the walls; some so dirty they obscured their occupants, others staring at him with calculating- often grey- eyes. The steps creaked loudly under his feet, wooden planks protesting having to carry weight after years dormant.

As Harry passed the second floor, he could distinctly hear voices drifting through cracked doors. Ron was in some sort of argument with Ginny, but the words were unclear. Harry hastened his steps. He wasn't quite ready to face them alone, and he knew that made him a coward but it certainly wasn't going to stop him.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Harry went to enter the kitchen, hoping Sirius or Remus were in there because the only other room he knew in the house was the drawing room, and he wasn't ready for a confrontation with the Black Family Tapestry either. God, he felt pathetic.

Swinging the kitchen door open, Harry immediately wished he'd checked the drawing room first. Standing at the sink and washing dishes was none other than Molly Weasley, and her eyes were locked on his face.

"Er, hello?" Harry tried, feeling a bit embarrassed under Mrs. Weasleys undivided focus. Her eyes were practically cataloguing his every feature, and Harry could almost see her putting the pieces of his appearance together in her mind. A bit of recognition, and fear, was starting to creep across her face so Harry decided to snap her out of her thoughts before she arrived to any… accurate conclusions. He wondered if she'd ever met his parents, and if she had, what the circumstances of that particular meeting were.

"Do you know where Sirius is? Or Remus?" his question seemed to finally break through her thoughts as she gave herself a small shake before smiling hesitantly at Harry. Harry almost sighed out in relief. Hesitancy he could handle. Open hostility or suspicion would be so much worse.

"Hello, Romulus. I'm Molly Weasley. I believe Remus is in the sitting room. I'm not sure where Sirius went off to." Her voice, like her smile, was hesitant but not unkind.

"Um, where exactly is the sitting room, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked. He pointedly avoided saying anything like 'pleased to meet you' because they weren't just meeting and Harry wasn't trying to lie, but for some reason he couldn't choke out the words 'It's me, Harry Potter.'

"Just down the hall, first door on the left, across from the… house-elf heads," Mrs. Weasley grimaced at the mention of Kreacher's ancestors. Harry joined her.

"Thank you, ma'am." Harry almost thrashed himself for using the word 'ma'am.' He wasn't an overly polite stranger, dammit!

"Any time, dear."

Harry made a hasty retreat from the kitchen, debating with himself the whole way. What was he going to do? Tell everyone about his new heritage? No one? Only his friends? Could he even go back to being Harry Potter? Remus had said the Glamour Charms on him must have been one-of-a-kind. Did that mean no one else could make him look like Harry again? Would he have no choice but to take up the mantle of Romulus Lestrange and reveal Harry Potter as the smoke and mirrors he really was?

By the time Harry entered the sitting room, he was all worked up in an emotional storm. Remus looked up from a book he was reading- a large, dusty tome with no title and what appeared to be a blood stain on the cover- and stared at Harry for a moment blankly. Harry wondered if he was seeing what Harry saw looking in the mirror, the well-dressed Pureblood brat where Harry Potter once stood.

"Hello Harry, did you have a nice rest?" Remus inquired, no longer staring oddly at him.

"Yeah. I didn't really mean to sleep so late though. Sorry about that," Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks again. Remus smiled at him reassuringly.

"It's no problem at all Harry. You must have been tired. And I think Sirius mentioned Kreacher putting you into a dreamless sleep," Remus replied. Harry felt his eyes blow wide.

"Can house-elves do that? Since when? Remus, I think Kreacher might be a little mad. He burnt all my clothes!" Harry was not happy to hear that a house-elf had more or less slipped him into a short, magical coma.

Remus actually had the audacity to snort and laugh at Harry's panicked deductions and exclamations.

"Oh, he's definitely mad. He's been locked up in this Magic-forsaken house for years taking orders from Sirius' mum's portrait. He couldn't go to live with any of the other Blacks because Sirius was his rightful Master but Sirius being in Azkaban meant Kreacher was stuck in this house alone. And Sirius mentioned he really wasn't all there before that happened. Did he really burn all your clothes?" Harry was not impressed by the amused curiosity in his voice.

"Everything but my uniforms, my dress robes, a few sweaters and Dad's cloak," Harry rattled off tersely. Remus was trying to suppress a smile. Prat.

"I guess he took offense to everything else. I wouldn't worry about it too much, Harry. I'm sure you won't have to walk around naked or anything. You look nice in what you have on." Remus nodded to the ensemble Kreacher had picked out. Harry let out a huff.

"That's not the point Remus. He can't just start burning my stuff! What if he had decided the invisibility cloak was 'offensive?'" Harry didn't know why he was trying to wipe the smile off of Remus' face. The man was so tired all the time, suffered so much, that he deserved this laugh at Harry's expense. Sighing in resignation, Harry flopped onto an old couch, and tried to adjust his attitude.

"Never mind. Those clothes weren't exactly 'nice' anyway. At least I'm not naked," Harry added that in just to get a laugh out of Remus and it worked as a soft chuckle pervaded the room.

"That's the spirit, Harry."

Remus and Harry sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Harry lay inelegantly across the couch, thinking, while Remus finished the chapter he was reading quickly. It sort of reminded Harry of when he and Remus would have tea back in his third year. Remus had been kind, and patient. Remus had listened in a way that no other Professor, or adult, had listened to him in his whole life.

Professor McGonagall was nice and she tried but she was busy and stern and Harry had never quite gotten over how she had dismissed him and his friends when they tried to warn her about the stone in first year. Dumbledore was also nice to talk to, but Harry always got the sense that he knew exactly what Harry was going to say before he said it, and it wasn't a real conversation so much as Dumbledore going through the motions of listening but not hearing anything he hadn't known. Harry had also felt a bit connected to Moody this past year, but he turned out to be a violent Death Eater in disguise and had probably been laughing at him behind his back the whole year with his precious Master.

To their credit, the Weasley parents also listened to him. Harry just didn't see them that much because of Hogwarts and being trapped at the Dursley's. They were often ridiculously busy, as well, with their large family and Harry didn't want to add to that burden.

Remus had time though. Remus listened and believed him. And now Harry also had Sirius. Who listened and believed him as well. Who rescued him from the Dursley's with Remus when Harry had needed them the most. Harry was still angry that they had blown him off earlier in the summer, and he knew there were still things they weren't telling him, things that had to do with the newly discovered Order of the Phoenix, but that didn't make Harry any less grateful for what they did do.

Remus closed his book with a decisive thump and then turned to gaze pensively at Harry. Harry returned his look, tossing them into a surprise staring contest. Remus broke first, running a hand through his prematurely greying hair.

"Harry, now that you've had some time to think, how do you feel about all of this?" Remus gestured through the air to try and capture the enormity that was 'all of this.'

Harry tried to find the right words to express the absolute tangle that was his emotions. Remus had the most compassionate look on his face Harry had ever seen directed at him, and Harry looked up at the ceiling so he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the understanding in Remus' eyes.

"I feel… split. Like there's two people, and one lives in my head and the other lives in the mirror." The words were out before Harry could stop them. Shite. Remus probably thought he was loosing his mind now, developing multiple personalities or something like that.

"Wait, that's not what I meant exactly. It's just… I'm struggling… to…to sort of integrate everything together. Does that make sense?" Harry snuck a peak at Remus to see his reaction. The werewolf was nodding, a look of deep thought on his face.

"It makes perfect sense Harry. It must be hard to have to adjust a view you've always had of yourself," Remus replied, a certain tone in his voice that asked for more explanation without having to explicitly state the request.

"It is! I've always been the son of Lily and James Potter! And I was so happy when Hagrid told me they hadn't been drunks and all the other horrible things my relatives said and now it's like there's this big wall between me and them. Everyone always said I got this from my dad or that from my mum, but I didn't! So where did it come from? Was Rodolphus Lestrange good on a broom? Did Bellatrix struggle with Potions sometimes? I don't know! I do know they were good at the Cruciatus Curse for all that's worth." Harry babbled on, his rant getting bitter toward the end. Well, he was bitter. Bitter that he wasn't the legacy of funny and brave James Potter and brilliant and kind Lily Evans. He was the legacy of depraved sycophants. Harry saw Remus flinch subtly out of the corner of his eye at the mention of the Cruciatus and felt bad. Had Remus known Neville's parents?

"Harry you shouldn't think of yourself as nothing but your parents child. You're your own man, you always have been. Blood isn't destiny. You are Harry Potter on your own merits. I have no doubt that James would have been proud of your Quidditch ability no matter where it came from. In fact, I can clearly visualize him attributing your talent to that child's broom he got you on your first birthday. His exact words were 'We have to start him early Remus if we want him to be the youngest player to ever win the World Cup.' I also remember Lily slapping him upside the head and telling him you could be anything you wanted to be, even if it wasn't a Quidditch player. Harry, you are more than the sum of your parts."

Harry felt stinging behind his eyes, and couldn't reply to Remus' impassioned speech right away. He was positive if he did, his voice would crack in a horribly embarrassing manner. He took a few deep breaths to try and wrangle control back, and Remus politely looked away so he could collect himself.

"Thank you, Remus," Harry eventually managed to spit out thickly.

"Of course, Harry."

There were a few minutes of silence before Harry let out a long sigh, mind returning to his worries from before.

"Remus, what happens now? I mean am I going to have to tell everyone about this? Am I going to have to go to school like this? I can already hear Malfoy going on about it. Well, look who's not a Potter after all. How does it feel to go from being an orphan to the son of Azkaban's Finest, Scarhead?" Harry's Malfoy impression had gotten much better since his voice changed. Harry shuddered at the realization and decided to do it as little as possible. Maybe just an occasional 'My father will hear about this!'

"Maybe we should wait to discuss this until Sirius gets back from the library. It should only take a few more minutes," Remus suggested.

"This place has a library?" Harry asked, voice incredulous. He'd never been in a home with a library before. Hell, he was pretty sure the only one capable of reading at the Dursley's was Aunt Petunia, and her literature of choice was home decorating magazines. Hermione probably thought she was in Heaven.

"Yep. It has the largest compilation of Dark Magic tomes in Britain. Although the Nott family library is a very close second." Okay, maybe not Heaven. More like Hermione's Purgatory then. Not quite Hell because that would be no books at all.

Before Harry could ask about what exactly was in the library other than Dark tomes, a sharp crack that Harry was getting used to echoed through the room.

"Master Romulus be forgetting his robe. Wouldn't want Master to look like nasty Muggle," Kreacher croaked out before snapping his fingers. The blue robe Harry had snubbed early appeared on his body with the buttons already done up. Kreacher bowed and disappeared before Harry could start yelling.

"He's absolutely barmy, Remus!" Harry exclaimed while trying to free himself of the dratted robe. Every button he undid rebuttoned itself instantly. He tried to jerk the stupid garment over his head but it wouldn't budge. Harry thrashed and twitched and pulled and yanked until he was panting tiredly. Remus was laughing so hard he clutched his sides.

"What'd I miss?" asked an amused Sirius Black from the doorway. Harry wheeled around to find a victim for his frustration.

"Your mad house-elf, that's what! The creepy bugger burned my clothes and manhandled me into this man-eating robe and now it won't come off!" Harry now had a good suspicion on how he'd ended up in silk pajamas without putting any on.

Sirius barked a few laughs as he further entered the room and sat down in an armchair next to Remus.

"At least he likes you Harry. He doesn't like anyone else in the house. Remus is a 'half-breed,' me and the Weasley's are 'blood traitors' and you can just imagine what he says about Hermione," Sirius offered, humor leaking out of his voice when he mentioned Hermione's treatment by Kreacher.

"How am I any less of a 'blood traitor' than you?" Harry questioned.

"You're not, but Kreacher doesn't know that yet. And you're also 'Miss Bella's' son so he probably just figures it would be impossible for you to be anything other than a blood purist." Sirius seemed to regret his words when he saw Harry's violent flinch at the mention of 'Miss Bella's son' being a blood purist. Remus gave Sirius a disapproving look and Sirius looked guilty,

"Too soon?" he asked a little meekly. Harry raised a single eyebrow and gave Sirius a flat look. Sirius looked the very definition of sheepish.

"Sirius," Remus started, looking to change the topic, "Harry and I wanted to discuss where we should go from here."

"An excellent question Remus! That's why I was in the library, actually. There are a few ways to create Glamours but the only option that lasts for a substantial amount of time would need to be anchored into your life force," Sirius explained to Harry. "It's pretty Dark magic but we've got a few books on the subject laying around somewhere."

"So you think I should just continue to be Harry Potter then? Like this whole thing never happened?" Harry asked. He wasn't worried about how to keep the secret as much as if he should keep the secret at all. Sirius and Remus exchanged glances.

"Would you rather reveal that you're Romulus Lestrange, Harry?" Remus asked slowly. Harry bit his lip.

"No, it might be easier to be Romulus than Harry, but I just… I don't feel the same. Like something's changed. Like I'm not Harry Potter and everything I'd do with his face would be a lie," Harry stuttered out. He wasn't really sure how he felt. He wouldn't mind continuing on as Harry Potter, even if it was a dangerous and difficult life to lead, but he wasn't sure he could look at Ron and Hermione with this gigantic secret weighing down on him. Sirius reached forward to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I know you'll get tired of hearing this, but you are Harry Potter. A face doesn't make a man. Trust me," Sirius said, and Harry knew Sirius had learned that lesson the hard way.

Sirius Black had been roguishly handsome for nearly his entire life. He had the venerated Black looks in spades- silky dark hair, aristocratic features, intense grey eyes. Azkaban had robbed him of a lot of that though. He'd left with yellowed skin, stringy hair, and an overall gauntness that brought images of corpses to mind. Although he'd healed since his release, he'd never quite regain the haunting attractiveness of his youth. His face had truly changed, but he was himself despite it's transformations. Harry knew his mother, Bellatrix, had been quite beautiful in a similar way to Sirius in the Pensieve memory. He wondered what she looked like now.

"A part of me knows that, but there's another part that worries," Harry murmured. It wasn't just his looks that were bothering Harry. Recently his temper had become a lot shorter. His rage and frustration burned hot in his chest, sometimes over the most insignificant things. Now that he knew who his parents were, he was starting to wonder if it might not be genetic somehow. Like he was starting with anger but soon he would start to hurt people like they had, damage innocents beyond repair and enjoy it. He knew mental health ran in families. What if he was going mad, and would soon be no better than the monsters that created him?

"You don't need to decide now, Harry," Remus pointed out helpfully. "There's over a month until Hogwarts starts again. You can think about it. And if you trust them to keep a secret, I don't see why you can't tell your friends about all of this." Remus was a perpetual voice of reason.

"Besides, we haven't even found the Glamour spell yet," Sirius added. "You're going to have to be Romulus for at least awhile longer until we do, so you might as well be able to talk and hang out with your friends in the meantime. Plus, as much as I hate to say it, we're going to have to tell Dumbledore." Sirius seemed less than pleased about getting Dumbledore's input on the situation. Harry wondered why.

"Why does Dumbledore have to know?" Harry asked.

"He'll be able to see the Glamour on you, mark my words. We need to tell him or he'll think you're some imposter and chuck your arse out of Hogwarts," Sirius explained. His face took on an irritated scowl. "We'll probably have to tell Snape too. He's used this type of Glamour before and knows the Dark Arts pretty well. You may be able to fool him for a while, but you spend so much time together at school that eventually he might pick up on it. Best not to risk it, I suppose." Sirius looked like he very much wanted to risk it, but had failed justifying it even in his own head. Harry sighed dejectedly.

"Great, just another thing for Snape to taunt me about." Harry knew he sounded petulant; he just didn't care.

"So, I'm going to tell my friends and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and you are going to inform Dumbledore and Snape, yeah?" Harry reiterated.

"You don't have to tell your friends if you don't want to, Harry, it was just a suggestion," Remus intoned. Harry was already shaking his head, though.

"No, I want to tell them. I don't think I can do this on my own," Harry said, although there were still doubts plaguing his mind. What if they cut him off like they did this summer with their secrets? What if he and Ron have another falling out like this passed year? Would he keep the secret even if they were fighting? Even if they weren't friends anymore? And if he didn't, what would be the consequences?

"You're never alone, Harry, you got us," Sirius said resolutely. Harry felt a snide comment about their summer correspondence bubble up but he pushed it back down. Merlin, what was wrong with him? They helped him when it counted, he should stop fixating on his miserable summer. It was hard though, Harry was practically a wreck the first week back with Voldemort's resurrection and Cedric's death weighing heavily on his mind, and a part of him felt like everyone who should have been helping him had turned there backs on him and left him to rot. The pain had been acute and the resulting anger intense. It would take time to get over.

"I have another question," Harry blurted out, changing the topic. Remus looked bemused and Sirius a little hurt but Harry ploughed on. "How did I even end up with the Potter's anyway?" It hadn't seemed as paramount as some of his other worries, but it did deserve some attention. Sirius gave the most unhelpful shrug in answer.

"No clue. I know that Bella and Rodolphus were outed as Death Eater's toward the end of the war, so if they ever lost you to the Ministry there's no way anyone would have given you back to them. Andy was disowned and Cissy was under suspicion because of Lucius-"

"Lucius? As in Malfoy? Why would I go to the Malfoy's?" Harry asked, a bad feeling building in the pit of his stomach.

"Narcissa Malfoy is a Black. She's your mother's younger sister: your aunt," Sirius replied. Harry's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

"Are you telling me that Lucius Malfoy is my uncle? That Draco Malfoy is my cousin?" Harry choked out, feeling all the blood leave his face.

"Yep," Sirius replied, popping the 'p' and nodding succinctly, ignoring Harry's horrified reaction. "You also have another cousin from your mother's other sister. Your aunt is named Andromeda and your cousin is named Nymphadora, but she goes by her last name. You'll probably get to meet her sooner rather than later." Harry was still too perturbed by learning that he was closely blood related to Draco Malfoy to ask any questions about Andromeda or Nymphadora.

"Wouldn't I have gone to my grandparents then?" Harry asked. Sirius shook his head.

"Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus left England when they came under suspicion for pay rolling the Dark side. I'm pretty sure they're at the family chateau in France. It's a fifty-fifty chance that they even knew you existed before you became Harry Potter, and if they did they were in the same position as Cissy. The Ministry wouldn't have handed you over. Really the only Black that would have been allowed to take you was me, and I didn't even know Bella had a kid. They would have put you in an orphanage. I guess that's where James and Lily came in. I really don't know." Sirius looked troubled and upset. Harry supposed it probably had something to do with James keeping secrets from him.

"I still can't believe Malfoy's my cousin," Harry sighed petulantly.

"Is it worse or better than having Dudley as a cousin?" Sirius asked. Harry opened his mouth to snap out an answer before hesitating. Was it worse? They were both spoiled prats with doting parents. Malfoy was definitely smarter than Dudley, but was that better when weighing your bullies against each other? Malfoy was also a lot less likely to get in a physical confrontation with Harry. But he could use magic to torment instead, and had in the past. There was the added bonus that Harry could fight back against Malfoy in ways he was never allowed to with Dudley. But it was easier to threaten Dudley with magic because he didn't have any.

"I… I'm not sure…" Harry mumbled, still thinking deeply. Sirius and Remus looked amused by the concentration Harry was giving the question. "Can't they both be horrible in their own special way?"

Sirius barked out a loud laugh at the response and Harry grinned back. Maybe he could do this, as long as he had Sirius and Remus in his corner.

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Some of these magical objects and words are killing me grammatically. I decided that when 'muggle' is being used as a noun (like in Muggleborn or Muggle World) it'll be capitalized, but when it's and adjective (muggle rags, muggle filth) it won't be. That's sort of the general rule for me, which is why I'm not going to capitalize 'apparate' (as a verb) even though some authors do. Sorry, just wanted to give a method to the madness. About Druella and Cygnus Black: originally, I thought it would be easier for the story if they were dead. But I noticed that in canon and fanfiction almost their entire generation is dead, even though wizards are supposed to be long lived and they honestly wouldn't be that old. It bother's me, so I decided to keep them alive but out of the way. But because I let them live, I now feel personally obligated to use them in the story, so keep your eyes open for more Blacks to be crawling out of the woodwork. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!