Updated: Saturday 24 March 2007
Edited: Wednesday 02 January 2008
Arcturus became aware of his surroundings slowly, years of conditioning enabling him to feign continued slumber in favour of taking stock of the situation. The absence of the re-assuring weight around his neck was the foremost thing he acknowledged, feeling quite vulnerable without it after having been accustomed to wearing it for so long.
Around him, the adults spoke freely, and it took all of his resolve not to react to the news that they had leaped into this course of action without any due consideration of the consequences.
'Foolish Gryffindors,' he thought to himself, not quite knowing what to make of his uncle now bearing a cursed scar. He didn't want to be seen as owing the man anything, particularly when he had not asked for this, and he most certainly did not want to share what he had once had with Esmerelda with another wizard.
He had to get another Token.
Arcturus was in the midst of concocting ways in which he could deceive the wizards who were now his keepers, and find his way back to Esmerelda, when the arrival of his old Durmstrang mentor prompted him to prick up his ears. The keen-eyed Seeker would have, of course, been able to immediately detect his bluff, that much Arcturus knew from ample experience. It delighted him, then, to note Krum playing along with his hand, deftly snubbing his grandfather and lining his uncle's ego. Many people were quick to peg the physically strong Quidditch Champion as mindless muscle, and indeed the Bulgarian's grades were nothing spectacular, but they were ignorant to his prowess in the art of playing people.
Emboldened by the spare wand Viktor had effectively handed him on the sly when the older boy had draped his cloak over him, and encouraged by the wizard's parting words in his ear, Arcturus plotted his course. Waiting until his friend had left and the wizards watching over him were demonstrably preoccupied with speculating about the Snitch in his hand, he made his move. Their ignorance regarding the consequences of their actions played into his favour as he committed himself to regressing his behaviour to that of an impressionable five-year-old – the age he had been when he was last without a Token. No one, after all, would suspect subterfuge from an emotionally stunted preschooler.
"He's waking up!" said Sirius suddenly, his eyes detecting the first signs of movement.
The boy stretched lazily and opened his eyes slowly, stopping in his tracks when he saw his surroundings.
"Who are you?" he asked in a small voice, apparently terrified. "Where's my grandmother? Where am I? Are you friends with Master Karkaroff?"
Sirius looked over at the older two wizards in the room, slightly baffled by the boy's behaviour.
"Arcturus, it's me, your uh, uncle, Sirius," said Sirius awkwardly, not quite sure he was befitting of the title in the eyes of the boy just yet.
Pale eyes widened in recognition, and Sirius expelled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He hadn't expected the teen's next words, however.
"Is Azkaban in the forest?" he asked, wide-eyed. "Did Master Karkaroff bring me to visit you?" he nodded towards the older two wizards behind the notorious prisoner. "Are they murdering scum too? Grandmother says only murdering scum live in Azkaban. What's a murdering scum?"
Realization dawned on Albus Dumbledore's face as he chuckled good-naturedly at the child's honest questions. It was quickly becoming apparent to them all that another unforeseen consequence of their actions was one that saw the boy's mind regress to the state it had been in before Bane had begun to exert her influence.
"You're not in Azkaban, my dear boy," said the headmaster indulgently, stepping forward to address the boy. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and we are in the home of your great-grandparents."
"My grandmother says you're a crazy old coot," said Arcturus with abandon, inwardly relishing his adopted persona... the things he could get away with!
He sat up fully and looked around enthusiastically, then frowned, appearing deflated.
"This isn't great-grandfather Arcturus' home," he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest sulkily. Seemingly becoming aware, then, of the Snitch he still grasped in his hand, he inspected the golden ball as though seeing it for the first time. "Was I out playing Quidditch with the Durmstrang boys? Grandmother is going to be so mad at Master Karkaroff if I were; I'm not allowed on a broomstick until I lose at least three of my milk teeth. I asked Kreacher to knock them out for me before I left for the summer but Grandmother caught him tying the string to the door handle and smashed his face in with the skillet. Three of his teeth fell out at that too!"
The adults exchanged mixed looks, not quite knowing how to address a teenaged boy who, for all intents and purposes, had the mental mind of a five year old.
"Your father and I took it in turns knocking each other's teeth out," said Sirius reminiscently, remembering with a sharp pain a time when he and his brother had been rather quite tolerable of each other. "I was in the air by the time was 8… Regulus was six. How old are you now?"
"I'm nearly six!" said Arcturus, his eyes lighting up for more than one reason. Not only did he thrill in hearing new things about his father, but he was ecstatic by how completely they all were buying into his act. He shot his uncle a conspiring look. "Do you think you could make it so I can fly by the time I am six too? Like my Dad?"
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, remembering that he was technically dealing with a nearly-sixteen-year-old and not its five-year-old counterpart. Whether or not the younger Arcturus had ever taken after his father and been permitted to fly at such a young age Sirius did not know; nor could he change it. Thankfully, Dumbledore saved him from responding, capturing the boy's fleeting attention.
"I'm afraid that you weren't playing Quidditch, child," said Dumbledore gently. "You did take quite the spill though, and have been out for a little while. One of the Durmstrang boys did indeed seem to think the Snitch would make you feel better. What is the last thing you can remember before you woke up here?"
Ah, the question Arcturus was waiting for. He screwed his face up in mock concentration, adding dramatic pause as he toyed with them like putty.
"Me and Master Karkaroff were looking for fledglings in the forest, to invite them to the school, and I had stopped to look at something and got left a bit behind…"
"Go on…" urged Sirius, seeing the boy falter nervously.
"I saw my mother," Arcturus whispered, not finding it difficult to express his awe as he tapped into the very memory that lived so close to the surface of his mind. That split second whereupon he had thought he had heard his mother's call remained, to this day, one of the most affecting memories in his life.
"Your mother?" said the Baron, breaking his silence with incredulity. The thought that his late daughter could be compared with someone like Esmerelda Bane made his blood curdle. "Whatever possessed you to think such a thing?"
Taken aback by the man's scornful tone, Arcturus seemed to shrink back into himself, his initial fear of responding quickly allayed by a baser urge to defend himself.
"She called me Archie, that's why!" he said defensively; "And she was nice to me, and grandmother says that only mothers could possibly be nice to wicked little boys like me."
Beckoning the dormant grandfather in the room to remain silent, Dumbledore pressed on with their questioning.
"What did your Master Karkaroff do when he saw you with the Lady?"
"He was really mad," said Arcturus in a hushed whisper. "I think he was worried. But I don't know why, the lady was very kind; she sang to me!"
"She sang to you?" said Sirius, feeling strangely protective.
Arcturus nodded happily.
"Did I fall asleep during her song? Is this her house, then? Can I see her again?" he asked all in a rush, his expression hopeful. "I want her to meet my grandmother. She's all mean to Master Karkaroff too; I think they would be great friends, and maybe the lady will sing to my Grandmother and make her all better… she's sick you know. Grandmother, I mean."
Sirius was torn between laughing at his nephew's irony and taking heed of the boy's wistful look. Little did he know that the boy was intentionally being ironic, his hidden teenaged mind all too aware of the double entendre of his words.
"Yes, I know my mother is very sick," he said gravely, masking his chuckle in a cough. Out of the boy's line of sight, Sirius could see the ends of Dumbledore's lips curl slightly, the man giving him a pointed look; warning him to exercise discretion lest they all lose composure. The finer points of Walburga Black's character were, after all, something of a legend.
"Is she here?" said Arcturus in a longing voice, having noted that the adults were having a much too easy time of things and that it was time to start twisting in the knife. "I promised to call every day. Do you have any Floo Powder?"
The adults exchanged awkward looks, bigger ramifications of the otherwise endearing age regression making themselves known. No one particularly knew how to explain to a five year old – one that undoubtedly still had the physical strength and magical power of one three times his age – that everything and everyone he knew was no longer with them.
The two soon-to-be fifth year Gryffindors eyed the identical pair of redheads with mounting apprehension. There had been good reason, Ginny had reminded them earlier, why none of the Weasley siblings had ever had to share lodgings with the scheming duo. It was sheer madness, she'd said as she helped her brother and his best friend move their trunks upstairs to their new bedroom, putting two under-aged wizards in the same room with the pair who had so recently been granted full license to use magic.
For her part, Molly Weasley threatened all manner of fury if the twins so much as blinked in the direction of their two new roommates, and the pair were markedly more subdued as a result. Sirius, who had uncomfortably made the request, tried to put a positive spin on the move, stating that there were many advantages to be had by having over-aged wizards in the same room. No one said anything about the incidental protection a fully-trained wizard could provide, or the immediate reason behind the shuffle.
"Who does he think he is? Parading into our lives and turning everything upside down?" Ron ranted, kicking at the foot of his bed agitatedly as he sank onto the lumpy, unfamiliar mattress. "I can't believe Sirius gave him his room back – he might be his uncle and all, but he's your godfather, and besides, he's known you loads longer!"
"Not by much," muttered Harry miserably. "Known of me, yes, but we're still practically strangers to each other…"
Fred, in a remarkable display of perceptiveness, slipped into 'older brother mode' and slapped a hand on the bespectacled boy's shoulder.
"Oi, mate, I know you must wish you could spend more time with Sirius, but I wouldn't take his inattention personally;" he said levelly, giving the bony shoulder beneath his hand a tight squeeze.
George joined in.
"We're at war, kiddies," he said, all manner of his usual brevity lacking in his tone. "The adults are going out of their mind trying to keep us lot in one piece…"
"…and believe me, it's not like they don't wish they could spend more quality time with all of us," said Fred, nodding gravely. "You really think they want us growing up so quick and making a go of things on our own?"
"Yeah, mate, this is nothing new you know," added George, looking to his twin for support, who nodded. "Dad was never home during the first war, and he felt guilty about it for years afterwards, always trying to make things up to us even though we were just toddlers at the time."
"Why else do you think we got away with so much?" said Fred with a wry smile. "But yeah Harry, the point is I wouldn't worry so much about Sirius being busy. Soon as things settle he'll be falling over himself to make up for lost time."
"Yeah, c'mon Potter… a Firebolt to make up for 12 years of Christmases and birthdays? Point, set and match, my friend. Sirius'll come good."
"But I don't want Sirius to feel guilty and buy me expensive things," said Harry, frowning. "I just want… oh, never mind, I suppose you're right…"
The twins exchanged a knowing look.
"Ah, so it's that, then," they said in unison, lopsided grins a mirror image of the other's expression.
"You're jealous," sniggered Fred.
"Welcome to the club!" said George. At Harry's bewildered look, he shook his head. "What, you think with six brothers and sisters in the family we lot were never jealous of each other at one point or another?"
Harry's mouth gaped and he looked to Ron for confirmation, who only nodded in agreement with his older brothers.
"They're right, Harry," said Ron with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks. "Mum sure did have her handful with us lot still at home once Ginny came along, being the only girl and all. It was horrible."
"Percy was the real prat," said George with a shudder. "Came right out and accused Ginny of monopolising Mum and Dad's time. Actually used those very words… on a three year old!"
"Absolutely terrified her!" said Fred with a scowl; "I daresay it was what inspired our very career choice, what do you say, Forge?"
"Most certainly," nodded George reminiscently. "I remember, too, how those first few pranks we actually got away with because Mum hadn't cottoned on yet that they all weren't coincidences…"
"But… but… Percy looked so worried about Ginny when she was in the Chamber…" said Harry, confused.
"Of course he was," said Fred. "We all were."
"Yeah, Percy may be a prat, but he's not a complete git," said George. "A little sibling rivalry is healthy enough… well, pseudo-sibling rivalry in your case, but it all comes out in the wash."
"Yeah, it'd be too exhaustive to truly hate someone you have to live with, really trying to out do them all the time," said Fred. "I'm sure once this Archie bloke gets settled in you might even get along…"
"What about Sirius and his brother?" said Harry, finding a flaw in their logic; an exception to the rule. "Sirius said his brother was always trying to get one over on him, and that they didn't get along at all…"
"So?" said George. "He's never actually come out and said that they hated each other."
"Yeah," added Fred with a vigorous nod. "Think about it. If the blood really was bad between them, then why would he bother with the guy's kid?"
"Same reason my aunt bothers with me," said Harry with a darkened look on his face; "obligation."
The twins looked to each other uncomfortably, not quite knowing how to tackle the question of Harry's aunt.
"Your aunt's a Muggle," said Fred finally. "Families are a bit different in the wizarding world. You don't have an 'obligation' to anyone, even family, unless you swear to it in blood, and then it's not an obligation because you'll have wanted to take it on. Honestly, Harry, I thought you of all people would have known this…"
"Why would I have?" said Harry testily.
The twins exchanged another look.
"You really have no idea what it means to have a godfather in this world, do you?" said George incredulously. He shot his youngest brother a scathing look. "Way to go, Ronald! Didn't think to tell him at all, did ya?"
"Well when he found out Sirius was his godfather, we all thought the man was out to kill him!" protested Ron. "It wasn't exactly the right time! Honestly, I thought Sirius would have explained it to him since…"
"Explained what?" Harry demanded. "What's the big deal about having a godparent? Doesn't everyone have them?"
"No, Harry," said Fred seriously. "That's just it, very few witches and wizards do."
"It's nothing like the Muggle traditions, at all," said George. "Well it is, but much more involved. Very few new parents can find someone they trust enough – who is then willing enough – to make the Oath."
"Oath?" said Harry. "What sort of oath?"
"An Oath written in blood, of course, haven't you been paying any attention?" said Fred with a sigh. He looked to his brother. "I see we're going to have to start at the beginning here, mate."
George cleared his throat and stood, squaring his shoulders and dusting his robes off as though trying to make the transition from teenaged boy to vessel of great knowledge.
"Well see, Harry, it's like this;" he began. "When someone agrees to be a godparent, it's really huge. Not just because they're then expected to look out for the kid if something should happen to the regular parents, but because, in effect, they really do become like an extra parent. Help me out here, Fred…"
"It's even rarer when a wizard as young as what Sirius would have been agrees to it, because there's still a chance he might have had a family of his own," said Fred reverently. "Usually, the head of a family will only become a godparent when they are too old to have children of their own."
"So, what, I have become Sirius' heir or something?" said Harry uncomfortably, having no real need for any extra material gain, thanks to the rather substantial inheritance he'd gotten from his own parents.
"More than that, Harry, you are effectively his first-born son!" said George, shaking his head at Harry's ignorance. "Even if Sirius were to have a child now, all rights and titles will pass on to you, as the first in line! The Blood Oath makes sure of it! After all, no parent would want to leave their child in the care of someone who would give him the complete brush off once the real thing came along."
"A person would really have to care about his friends, and especially their kid, to agree to do that," said Fred solemnly. "I mean, really, really care. And in turn your parents would have to really trust them, as we said."
"Had Sirius not gone to Azkaban and known about his nephew, you two would have been raised like brothers," said George; "well, only if Sirius accepted the responsibility of looking after the kid. Even though he may be the guy's closest living family, he doesn't have to lift a finger if he doesn't want to. If one of the extended family didn't want to take him, all Sirius'd have to do was pack him off to some far flung family cottage somewhere with a House Elf and an allowance, or, if money was short, leave him to the Ministry. No one would have even looked at him sideways for doing it either, brother's son or no."
Harry took all of this in with varying degrees of comprehension.
"So what you're saying, pretty much, is that I'm Sirius' son in all but blood and name, and he's more obligated to me than his own flesh and blood?" he frowned.
"There's that bloody word again," said Fred with a scowl. "Harry, you're entirely missing the point! You're Sirius' godson – his son in all but blood and name – because he wants you to be! How can he be obligated to something he willfully wanted? Arcturus is his nephew, only his nephew. The coincidence of their blood will only mean anything if Sirius wants it to mean something!"
"Yeah, well I think he wants it to mean something," said Harry, rubbing at his arm as though a Muggle nurse had just been at him with a needle, to draw blood. "And even if Sirius won't treat me any different because of what you said, Arcturus won't be happy…"
"Who gives a toss," said Ron, breaking his silence with a shrug. "He'll just have to get over himself."
Fred nodded.
"Yeah, ickle Ronniekins is right," he said, leering. "But you know, I think the kid has slightly bigger things on his mind than the likes of you. Mate, you saw how he was when Sirius arrived with him…"
"Yeah, something was definitely off," said George. "Few twigs short of a broomstick he was… I really don't think Sirius asking you to switch rooms was because Arcturus was being a spoiled prat."
With that, Harry stood.
"Where are you going?" said Ron, flabbergasted. "Mum told us to stay in here until Arcturus was settled! I for one don't want to go out there and accidentally stumble across another of his booby-trapped bags!"
Harry clenched his jaw and hesitated.
"No offence to your mother, Ron, but she can't tell me what to do," said Harry. "I'm going to see if Sirius needs any help. If I'm in the way, he can tell me so!"
While Ron looked horrified with the idea of his friend going against his mother's wishes, the twins looked to the teen with a newfound respect.
"Oh, generous benefactor and a kindred spirit!" exalted George, bowing reverently.
"Best of luck avoiding our mother's wrath, ickle honorary brother of ours," said Fred, mirroring his twins' actions.
Harry felt chuffed at the twins' sentiment. The whole family, he knew, had always made him feel welcome, but to hear himself regarded as such really was, well, an honour. Blushing and telling them as such, the twins turned serious once more, each of them standing before him and placing a hand on one of his shoulders.
"It's true though," said Fred. "Soon as you make Mum's Christmas Knitting List, and then actually wear your jumper, you're an honorary Weasley."
"And that, all nine of us would gladly decree in blood," added George; "so that you wouldn't think we were merely obligated."
"Even Percy, then?" said Harry with a touch of disbelief.
"If the cause is worthy enough, the rest of us ganging up on the straggler can be quite persuasive," said Fred with a smug smile as he cracked his knuckles. "So yeah, on that note, let us know if you need any 'moral support' in dealing with Arcturus. Bill and Charlie alone can be scary enough…"
George cut in enthusiastically.
"And you know they've been trying to schedule a 'sibling meeting' with Percy for weeks now, for making Mum upset. All we'd have to do, mate, is add you to the agenda," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'm sure they'll think nothing of sorting Arcturus out if he gives you a hard time. We Weasleys look out for our own, don't forget!"
Harry dreaded to think what a Curse Breaker and Dragon Handler would do to 'sort someone out'. A strange, contented warmth filling his heart, he smiled; finally beginning to understand what it was like to have true family.
"Thanks guys," he said, feeling in much better spirits. "That really means a lot… really."
"Yeah, well, Weasley men don't do mushy," said George quickly, backing away. "We leave Mum to all that coddling stuff. Speaking of which, you'd better get a leg on if you want to make the most of that brilliant little loophole you found…"
In light of all the support the Weasleys had just given him, Harry felt guilty for even thinking of going over the head of the Weasley matriarch. He paused in the doorway and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Sensing his hesitation, Fred threw a pillow at him.
"Just go!" he said with a laugh. "You don't think George and I ever challenged Mum's authority? Harry, mate, that's half the fun of being a teenager! She's not going to think any differently of you, really…"
"If anything, she'll be chuffed that you felt comfortable enough to test your boundaries," said George encouragingly. Ron still looked sick to the stomach at the thought.
Encouraged by the twins' logic, Harry reminded himself of his earlier resolve – that his actual guardian hadn't ordered him away – and he hastened to help the man settle Arcturus back in.
Sirius was pacing the room worriedly when he heard the door crack open. In order to best explain the situation to his nephew, they had taken the bold step of giving it to the kid straight, and surprisingly, the child was taking it well. But of course Sirius knew what it meant to be a Black, having an uncomfortable feeling that the boy was putting on a mask, and so he paced the room wearily, not letting the boy out of his sight.
Arcturus, meanwhile, was seated at a desk under the window, quietly colouring and seemingly oblivious to his uncle's presence. When the door opened, however, he had spun in his chair and sought out the unexpected guest, reacting before Sirius had the chance to acknowledge his godson's entrance.
"Who're you?" asked Arcturus suspiciously, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest in protest. "I don't know you, and I don't like people I don't know in my bedroom!"
"Uh… er…" Harry was shocked by the older boy's incognisance, and he sought Sirius' help.
Like a flash, the wrought Animagus was by Harry's side, grabbing him gently by the arm and leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"Roll with me," he whispered out of the side of his mouth, his lips barely moving. Pulling away, he shifted his hold on Harry's arm and guiding him towards the strange teenager. "Arcturus, this is Harry, you met him when you were older. Harry, this is Arcturus; he's going to be six just before Christmas."
Harry's mouth fell open into a small 'o', and he blinked in surprise. Recovering quickly, he accepted the sweaty hand the boy before him offered, noting with stunned awe that the physically older boy had colouring chalk all over his hands and robes; much like a preschooler might.
"Uh, nice to meet you Arcturus," said Harry numbly, looking to Sirius for his next cue.
"Harry's going to wait for me in my room now," said Sirius leadingly, giving his godson a sidelong wink. "I have to explain to him that it is not very polite to enter rooms without knocking."
Genuinely contrite, Harry rushed to apologise.
"I'm sorry!" he blurted, his cheeks flushing.
"My room, Harry," said Sirius, pointing towards the door agitatedly. "I do not wish to explain things to you in front of my nephew!"
Stuttering nervously, Harry rushed to comply, his insecure mind beginning to question where Sirius' act and reality began. Was he really in trouble?
Exiting the room no sooner than two minutes after he had arrived, Harry bustled towards the stairwell that would lead him up to his godfather's bedroom. He was halfway up the narrow staircase when he was cut off by an irate Molly Weasley.
"Harry Potter! What are you doing out of your room? You haven't been hindering Arcturus after I told you not to, have you?" she shrieked, the hands on her hips effectively blocking his path forward.
Not quite sure how much of Sirius' exhibited ire he should take seriously, Harry didn't know how best to answer the woman. He decided to start with what he did know.
"I went to see if Sirius needed help," said Harry thumbing over his shoulder in the direction he had just come from.
"And he sent you away! Why do you think I told to remain in your bedroom?"
"Because Arcturus is acting like a five year old and doesn't know who any of us are?" said Harry challengingly.
"Precisely! Now you've gone and undoubtedly terrified the boy, barging into his bedroom like that!" said Molly, disappointed in his failure to heed her earlier warning. "Why did you disobey me?"
"I wanted to see if my godfather needed my help!" said Harry defensively. "After all, he never told me it wouldn't be welcomed…"
Molly Weasley pursed her lips into a firm line, reading between the lines.
"And did it not occur to you that I was acting on your godfather's behalf, asking you to stay away as I did?" she asked archly. She shook her head sadly; sympathetic towards the boy whom she could tell wanted so badly to spend time with his godfather, only to be continuously brushed aside. She knew Sirius had not asked her specifically to keep Harry away, but she had thought she was doing him a favour by saving him from that awkward position. "I suppose you're going back to your room now that you've heard it from him, then?"
"No, actually, I'm to meet Sirius in his room," said Harry, feeling a little surge of self-importance. "He said he was going to explain everything."
Her ire now directed towards someone else, Molly Weasley pursed her lips even tighter and stared off into the distance.
"You really shouldn't encourage him, Harry," she said finally, choosing her words very carefully. "There are just certain things you cannot be told, and I don't think Sirius quite understands that."
Reeling back, Harry glared at the woman as though she had just grown an extra head.
"With all due respect Mrs Weasley, don't you think it should be my godfather who decides what I am to be told?" he challenged.
"Under normal circumstances, of course," she said quickly. "But Harry, you have to understand, your godfather is a special case. I know you think he's all right, but there's just no telling what Azkaban has done to him… and you've had to of noticed how he compares you to your father. We're just all a little concerned that he sees you more as the incarnate of the best friend he never got the chance to grieve for, instead of the godson he vowed to be responsible for."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't readily dispute the woman's concerns. He'd seen how his friends' parents were with their children and could not deny that the relationship that was forming between he and Sirius was more akin to friendship than conventional guardian and child. But then again, their circumstances were completely different, Sirius stepping into the role of guardian at a time when he was more or less already self-sufficient. Perhaps the formative years they had missed precluded them from forming a true father-son like relationship.
"He's only trying to let me know what my parents were like, though," he said defensively, not wanting to believe that Sirius only saw him as his father's son. "I mean, it's not like he's ever called by my dad's name by mistake or anything! You're really not giving him enough credit; he knows exactly what I need and would be doing a damn fine job of being a godfather if people just stopped underestimating him and telling him what to do!"
"Harry, that's enough," said Sirius, a heavy hand landing on his godson's shoulder from behind. "Apologise to Mrs Weasley for taking that tone with her."
Shaken by his godfather's sudden presence behind him, Harry rushed to apologise.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said, blushing. Twisting his head around to look at his godfather, he tried to explain. "Sirius, I was just on my way to your room as you said, but…"
"But nothing, you should have come and gotten me if you needed to account for your movements," he said firmly. "Molly, if you would excuse us, Harry and I need to have a little chat."
Molly Weasley was flabbergasted. Even before she had witnessed Sirius act like a rather responsible parent, she had been unable to escape the truth in the boy's words. Seeing Harry as one of her own, she couldn't help trying to watch out for him and inject her opinion where she felt it was needed. She and Sirius were always at loggerheads, the soft-hearted woman wanting to keep Harry an innocent child a little while longer, whilst Sirius fought to prepare the boy; often becoming abrasive at her persistent interference. She knew how she would feel if anyone had ever tried to tell her how to raise her children, and so knew deep down that she was being a little hypocritical, but her concern about the effects Azkaban had had on the man held her firm; it was a concern shared by many, after all.
"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, but not without giving the man a pointed look that said 'don't tell him too much!'
Leading the way into Sirius' bedroom, the man ushering him over the threshold with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, Harry whirled on the man the minute the door closed behind them.
"I'm sorry, Sirius! I really didn't mean to be rude to Mrs Weasley… but to be fair she was being a little rude about you…"
"Harry, don't worry about it," said Sirius, shaking his head slightly as he looked around the room and ensured it was secure from prying ears – the Weasley twins being notorious for them, after all. He sidled up next to the confused teen and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look, between you and me, I'm chuffed that you felt compelled to stand up for me, and I thank you for it…" he shifted his position and scooted down slightly, so as to look the boy directly in the eye. He wasn't joking around now. "But I can fight my own battles. While I can appreciate where it was coming from, it doesn't look good for me if my kid mouths off to his superiors."
Touched by being referred to as 'his kid', Harry felt his confidence boosted, and he smiled.
"So in other words, toe the line and leave all the fun to you?" he said astutely, one eyebrow raised.
Barking out a laugh, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
"Well it doesn't quite sound very fair when you put it like that…" he whined, making it clear that he did not like the role of ogre-ish disciplinarian one bit. He ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. "We'll make a Marauder of you yet, kiddo…"
Jerking his head away when Sirius' gentle ruffle quickly turned into a knuckling and potential headlock, Harry shoved at the man playfully and shook his head.
"Just when I think I'm right in defending your godfather-abilities, you have to go prove them right!" he teased.
"Would you rather I transfigure your wand into a switch and tan your behind for your insubordination?" said Sirius levelly, giving nothing away.
Harry blanched, and he backed away slightly.
"You… you wouldn't!" he squeaked, eyes wide with humiliation. While his aunt and uncle had never really turned to corporal punishment with either himself or his cousin, he knew it wasn't entirely unheard of in the Muggle world, and with very little experience with a magical guardian, anything was possible…
Sirius' face darkened slightly.
"Of course not!" he said, leaving no question as to his sincerity. "The look on your face, though…" he paused, eyes narrowing in concern as a thought occurred to him. He squeezed the boy's shoulder tightly, as his began to clench his teeth in pre-emptive rage. "Harry, those Muggles… they didn't…"
Now it was Harry's turn to turn serious.
"Of course not!" he mirrored his godfather's words, shaking his head furiously for good measure. Remembering then, what he had been asked to wait in his godfather's room for, he averted his gaze. "Sirius, about before… I really should have knocked, I'm sorry."
"Huh?" said Sirius, clearly forgetting the earlier guise he had put on for his nephew's benefit. Remembering, then, he nodded slowly in understanding. "Oh, that… oh Harry, don't worry about it. You're used to that being your room, of course you're going to forget to knock!"
Feeling as though a weight had been lifted, Harry relaxed slightly, and complied when Sirius gestured that he sit on the end of the man's bed. Watching, then, as the man made himself comfortable, leaning against the bureau that sat opposite the bed, he waited for the man to begin his explanation.
"I know the only thing History of Magic is good for is catching up on sleep," he began with a reminiscent smile; "but perhaps this caught your attention. What do you know of the vampire witch, Esmerelda Bane?"
No sooner had Sirius closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Arcturus alone with a bath full of bubbles and clean change of clothes – the man having drawn the line at bathing a supposed five-year-old who was trapped in a nearly sixteen-year-old's body – Arcturus took action. Retrieving the spare wand he'd pilfered from his cloak earlier, he cast a Cleaning Charm on himself and, after extracting the correspondence he had covertly worked on in his uncle's presence from a hidden pocket, magically exchanged his soiled robes for the clean set his uncle had 'helped him' pick out. Making sure, then, that he appeared – and smelt – like a boy who had just climbed out of the bathtub, he drained the water and banished his dirty clothes to the hamper.
One hand on the doorknob, he listened intently for signs of movement outside the room before turning the latch and letting himself out into the hall, silently closing the door behind him. Sticking to the shadows, he carved a path towards the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a late breakfast and sending off his game plan for the Bulgarian team's next round in the play-offs. Blessedly, the kitchen was deserted at such an hour, the occupants of the house having sat down to their breakfast before Arcturus' arrival. Lighting the assorted candles and lamps in the room with a simple wave of his hand, he proceeded to make his way around the familiar territory; summoning jars and bread whilst he set a place for himself at the table.
Munching contentedly on the crusts of his simple jam sandwich, Arcturus Spelled the brightly coloured chalk strokes from the parchment before him, revealing the simple ink outline of a game strategy underneath. Transfiguring his butter knife into a quill, and the jam jar into an inkpot, he dipped the nib into the somewhat syrupy, raspberry coloured substance and penned a quick explanation to Viktor. Once done, he folded the parchment in half and sealed it with wax from the candle closest to him, using his insignia ring. Careful to destroy evidence of his penmanship – changing the quill and suspiciously sweet-smelling ink back into their respective original forms – Arcturus hurried to the window and whistled for his owl, whom he knew had made a nest in the nearby square.
"Take this to the team," he whispered to the inconspicuous tawny owl, stroking its plume reverently. "Stay with Viktor until he sends you back; he'll know when."
Once done with tying the letter to the bird's talon, he gave the patient bird what was left of his bread and licked his fingers.
"Just as I thought," he admonished himself – or rather, his Transfiguration skills; "raspberry ink…"
The bird was just about to hop off the window when the kitchen door swung open, revealing a dark-robed man with lanky black hair and a white mask about his neck. Seeing the Death Eater garb, Arcturus' reaction was instinctive, the boy oblivious to the recognisable features of the intruding man's face.
"Stupefy!" he yelled, all pretences of being a child trapped in a young man's body thrown out the window as he rushed to defend his life. No sooner had the curse left his lips did he realise who his company was, and he leered at the man, a plan quickly forming in his mind.
"What are you doing in here?" Snape snapped, feeling slightly bashful in his current attire and indignant at having spells thrown at him upon entry.
"My grandmother taught me about people like you!" said Arcturus petulantly, in a childish voice. He jabbed his wand at the man threateningly. "She's teaching me spells! I knocked Kreacher out for a whole day last week!"
Severus Snape stared at the strange teenager critically, a slight movement of his wand and wordless casting directing a silent Legilimens towards the boy. Unprepared for the lack of resistance he faced, the spy was further surprised by the content of the memories he found on the surface of the teen's mind. Under normal circumstances, the experienced Legilimens would have assumed that the consistent theme of early childhood memories formed the foundation of a deceptive Occlumency shield, but the boy's composure seemed to lend to the conclusion that there was no other thoughts in the young Black's mind.
Narrowing his eyes in consideration, he tucked his Death Eater mask out of sight and folded his arms across his chest, wand nestled in the crook of his arm.
"What were you doing at the window, boy?" he asked in his most intimidating tone. How the boy reacted would predicate how Severus believed the apparent situation at hand.
Mirroring his pose, Arcturus frowned.
"Who are you?" he demanded answers. "I don't know you. You can't tell me what to do!"
Playing along for the time being, his opinion inconclusive, Severus offered a terse introduction.
"My name is Severus Snape," he said. "I am your mother's cousin."
Flinching at the inference, Arcturus recovered quickly.
"My grandmother says I have no family on my mother's side," he said challengingly. "Why are you here?"
"I said I was your mother's cousin. That does not make us family," said Severus coolly, correcting the boy. "It does not concern you why I am here."
"Then I will not let you pass!" said Arcturus, scrambling to block the path from the back door to the door leading to the stairwell. "This is my grandmother's house!"
"Out of my way, you foolish boy," said Severus, barely batting an eyelid at the teen's drawn wand. "If you truly have the mind of an infant, I've nothing to fear from the tip of your wand."
"I'm not an infant! I'm almost six!" shouted Arcturus, really getting into his role. To himself, he leered dangerously; 'and by the age of six I knew more spells than you could possibly foresee…'
Arrogantly taking a step forward, Severus was unprepared for the boy's cutting hex, and he stumbled back, barely able to erect a shield. Defensive now - and just a little bit suspicious of the boy's behaviour – Severus trained his wand on the teen in warning.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Snape?" Sirius Black had his wand drawn on his childhood nemesis in an instant, walking in the room in search of his nephew and stunned to find him in an armed stand-off with Severus Snape.
"The boy challenged me!" said Severus defensively, lowering his wand, but not sheathing it. "He would not let me pass!"
"Well seeing you dressed like that I am surprised by his constraint!" said Sirius, looking up and down the man's garb with distaste. "Arcturus, what are you doing down here alone? Didn't I tell you that I would bring you some food after your bath?"
Arcturus opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a paranoid Snape.
"I'll tell you what your deceiving little nephew was doing, Black! He was sending an owl!" he said, pointing towards the window. "It was just taking off when I walked in!"
Sirius looked towards the open window and then at his nephew, wanting to hear the boy's side of the story.
"Is that true, Arcturus? Did an owl come to the window?"
"I didn't want the rest of my sandwich, so I gave it to an owl," said Arcturus, bending the truth by omission. "I had raspberry jam on my bread. Do you like raspberry jam?"
Heartened by the boy's endearing openness, Sirius smiled encouragingly at the boy.
"I'm rather impartial to plum myself, but your dad liked his raspberry if I am not mistaken…"
"Really?" said Arcturus with youthful enthusiasm. "Raspberry is loads better than plum – even owls like it better!"
Severus had seen and heard enough, recognising the boy's attempt to steer the conversation away from his activities.
"Oh enough!" he protested; "can you not see what the boy is doing? He is fooling you all!"
"What is this man doing in my grandmother's house? He's a Death Eater! I saw his mask!" said Arcturus in a hushed tone, seeking his uncle's confidence. "I don't want him here any more."
"Snape has some business with Professor Dumbledore, you won't have to see him;" assured Sirius. Glaring at the reticent Potions Master, he inclined his head towards the door. "He was just leaving, weren't you, Snape?"
"You're a fool, Black. The boy is playing you. He sent an owl. I saw a letter attached to its talon;" said Snape, glaring at the taller man dangerously as he edged around the pair. "Why would I lie?"
"Because you're a mean, smelly old man with a big nose and don't like me!" suggested Arcturus, his brow raised.
Severus closed the distance between them in a flash, his expression somewhat less intimidating when he realised that he stood eye-to-eye with the boy. Leaning in close before the elder Black could step in, he snarled at the rude boy.
"You're right, I have no time for deceiving little brats who act like five year olds and lust after Dark vixens;" he hissed, dark eyes glinting as he could see, just slightly, his words hit a nerve.
"Back the hell off, Snape, before I Transfigure you into a jar of Bobotuber Puss!" threatened Sirius, shoving the man away from his nephew with the hand that was not stabbing a wand at the Slytherin. "You're already a slimy wanker, it won't take much…"
Severus stepped away and looked between man and child coolly.
"I need not guess where the boy gets his cues from, then," he said cryptically, wrapping his cloak around himself securely, like a bat would its wings before slumber. Without another word, he brushed past the pair and took off up the stairs, his cloak sweeping around him menacingly.
"You should have Transfigured him into a bat," observed Arcturus. "They are far more useful than a jar of puss."
"You know a lot for a five year old," said Sirius quickly, voicing his dawning suspicion before he was even consciously aware of doing so. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape really didn't have a reason to lie about the owl.
"I'm almost six," Arcturus pointed out, unfazed as he set about making himself another sandwich. Gesturing with a piece of bread in his hand, he looked at his uncle expectantly. "If you want plum, you'll have to fetch it from the pantry…"
Making his decision carefully, Sirius shook his head at his nephew's offer and perched himself on the edge of the table; the proximity to the boy causing him to look up.
"Arcturus, did you give a letter to that owl?" he asked levelly, trying not to make an accusation.
Arcturus regarded his uncle for a moment before making his decision.
"Yes," he said simply, taking a bite out of his sandwich.
Sirius jolted in surprise, almost losing his footing.
"Why didn't you say so earlier?" he said in astonishment, feeling slightly put out that Snape had been right.
"You didn't ask," shrugged Arcturus.
"Yes I did!" spluttered Sirius.
"No, you didn't," corrected Arcturus. "You asked me if an owl came to the window. I said one did, and that I fed it some of my bread."
"But you called Snape a liar!"
"No I didn't. He wanted to know why we thought he would lie, and I told him," said Arcturus with a decisive nod. Pulling a face, he looked up at his uncle pleadingly. "You're not going to make me apologise to him, are you? He's a Death Eater!"
Seeing humour in his nephew's selective deception, Sirius chuckled and, having made a rule long ago never to apologise to a Snape, shook his head.
"No, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," he admitted conspiringly. "But I will reconsider if you don't tell me who you were sending owls to… what owl did you use anyway?"
"Mine," said Arcturus. He'd been seven when he'd gotten his first owl, but his uncle didn't need to know that.
Sirius searched the boy's face for signs of deception and then nodded.
"Who were you Owling?" he pushed.
"My grandmother!" Arcturus blurted, forcing tears to his eyes. "She can't be dead like you said, I only saw her last week!"
Sirius sighed; they'd been up until the small hours trying to convince the stubborn boy of all that had transpired since the time of his last acknowledged memory, and they'd all had very little sleep. Rubbing a weary hand across the itchy stubble forming on his face, he shook his head.
"Arcturus… we've already been through all this," he said tiredly. "Now why would I lie?"
Arcturus the nearly sixteen-year-old couldn't come up with a response any better than the five-year-old mask he hid behind.
"I don't know," he admitted with a frown. Looking out the window, he sighed. "Grandmother really would have liked that picture, though…"
"You sent her one of those pictures you were drawing earlier?" said Sirius conversationally. At the boy's forlorn nod, he sought to cheer the child up. "Say, my walls are looking pretty drab, y'know…"
"You want me to draw you a picture?" said Arcturus, part of his teenaged incredulity sneaking through. Even when he had been five he'd not inflicted his childish scrawls to anyone… his grandmother and those carers who came after her hardly being of the sort to want to proudly indulge the artistic whims of a small child.
"I tell you what," said Sirius, crossing his arms across his chest decisively. "How about we draw pictures for each other? And maybe Harry and the others can join in… this place sure can use the cheering up, what do you say?"
'The Headquarters of the Resistance decorated wall-to-wall with children's drawings?' Arcturus mused to himself; 'and you expect your enemy to take you seriously?'
Outwardly, the boy kept mum.
"Well?" asked Sirius, nudging the boy with an almost juvenile enthusiasm to get started.
Hesitantly, Arcturus nodded.
"But I don't want to draw with all the other children," he lay down his conditions as his uncle gestured for them to leave the kitchen. "Only Harry. I don't like those people with red hair. They're too loud."
Laughing heartily, Sirius held the door open for his nephew and nodded.
"Yes, well I do suppose you're used to it being quiet around here…" he mused.
Arcturus looked at him as though he had grown an extra head. Between his grandmother's insanity in the months prior to her death and the nagging screech of both his Great-Aunt Lucretia and Kreacher life was seldom quiet in the Noble House of Black. Azkaban must surely have addled the man's memory… but he said nothing.
Arcturus spent most of the afternoon covertly studying Harry as the two dark-haired boys sprawled on the floor, sketching on parchment. Truth be told, the deceptive young Black had no time for people like the Weasleys, but when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived, Arcturus could not help but feel a little intrigued. His surprise at the boy's unassuming stature and crude comments about the expectation society had placed upon him were still warranted, in his opinion, but as the Gryffindor happily complied with his uncle's strange request to draw pictures with him, he became enthralled by the innately innocent side of Harry Potter. How could one boy, who had lost his parents and taken down a Dark Lord as an infant, grow up to destroy Horcruxes, kill Basilisks, defeat Trolls and be a Triwizard champion; all without losing his distinctly childish awe?
From a young age, Arcturus himself had been raised with the knowledge of his own parents' ends at the hand of the Dark Lord and all he could ever remember wanting was to avenge them. He'd never had time for trivial children's games, his current occupation with them as part of his cover as dull and boring as it had been when he really was five, and yet whilst equally erred by Voldemort his choice of playmate apparently found time for fun. The Harry Potter that was now before him did not look capable of saving Philosopher Stones or freeing Magical Creatures condemned to death. Oblivious to the silent scrutiny, Harry remained completely focused on colouring between the lines, a sliver of tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration.
Registering the enraptured look on the bespectacled teen's face, Arcturus could not help but comment.
"You look as though you have never coloured in before," he said, the words escaping him before he could remind himself of his cover.
Startled, Harry glanced up from his papers and considered the teen who was supposed to be plagued with the mind of a five year old.
"It's been a while," Harry admitted, indulging the observation of the inquisitive 'child'. "Growing up, I was only ever permitted to draw in class, and then my work was never actually put up on display…"
Understanding dawned in Arcturus' eyes; Harry was compelled to comply with Sirius' casual suggestion that they wallpaper the walls of Grimmauld Place with childish art because no one had wanted it of him before. Seeing also, how eager the boy was to strike up an amicable bond between them – perceived age difference or otherwise – Arcturus decided to play it to his advantage.
"Harry," he whispered secretively, leaning in close. "Can you keep a secret?"
"You want to tell me a secret, Arcturus?" Harry looked at him in disbelief, the child-like sincerity in his companion's voice appearing out of place with the mature face that now gazed at him intently. Reading nothing from the boy's expression, Harry shrugged slowly. "Sure, you can tell me a secret… I'll keep it."
"Wizard's Oath?" Arcturus pressed on, holding out a hand expectantly.
"Wizard's Oath," vowed Harry, shaking the offered hand lightly. "Now, what do you want to tell me?"
"I'm not really five," said Arcturus sombrely, carefully noting Harry's reaction. "I just act that way because my uncle took away the crystal that had been 'controlling my mind'."
If Harry noticed the confiding boy's sarcasm at that last bit, he didn't show it; instead, he nodded understandingly. Arcturus knew that Harry had probably been informed about what he himself had been told, and it was clear from the Boy-Who-Lived's subdued reaction now that the teen had taken his admission at face value. His words only served to confirm Arcturus' suspicions.
"You'll get your memory back, don't worry," assured Harry.
"I never said anything about losing my memory," said Arcturus shrewdly, giving his opponent a calculating look.
To his credit, Harry did a double take.
"Wait… wha…" he stumbled over his words, the crayon in his hand slipping from his fingers as he stared at the boy in shock. "But you had to have lost some of your memory! You did not remember meeting me before last night!"
"Didn't I?" said Arcturus leadingly, eyebrows raised in what was clearly not the expression of a five year old.
Harry narrowed his eyes, the truth sinking in.
"What are you playing at? Don't you realise how worried Sirius is about you?"
Momentarily affected by Harry's approach, Arcturus recovered from his shock quickly and shook his head.
"Did anyone think to consider my feelings before they took away my Token?" hissed Arcturus angrily, his voice low. "I doubt he has any idea of the consequences its removal now bears on me! He deserves to… what did you say… 'worry'; though I doubt it's concern about me, rather he just doesn't know what he is going to do with an overgrown five year old once term begins!"
"You're going to keep up the act that long?" Harry stated flatly.
"Who says I am even going to be here that long?" said Arcturus. "So long as I remain under the same roof as he who removed my Token, it won't take long for my Lady to find me."
"Oh, so you want to become an undead slave boy to a psychotic vampire witch?" said Harry sarcastically. He'd been doing some reading since his conversation with Sirius on the subject. "I thought you were against people who did things to you without your consent."
"I am," said Arcturus vehemently. "Esme would never do anything without my consent."
"Oh, so you asked for her Token, then? Begged to be charmed into submission and live with her in your head?" said Harry, incredulous. "Well pardon me, then!"
"It was a gift," stressed Arcturus, though, of his own mind for the first time in over a decade, he was beginning to see some truth in the boy's words. "It's generally considered uncouth to refuse a gift."
"My Aunt and Uncle gave me dirty socks for my birthday once," said Harry, his tone darkened by the memory. "Just because I accepted the gift, it didn't mean I actually wore them!"
"Perhaps if you had, you might have been free of them," said Arcturus cryptically, coming to realise both from their scattered conversations and observations of the boy's behaviour that the relationship between Harry and his Muggle relatives was not all that much different as that between a master and his elf.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry, missing the inference entirely. When the smug older teen did not offer an answer, Harry shook his head in disgust.
"Fine, play your twisted little mind games with everyone," he spat. "If you don't want to give Sirius a chance because you're too busy hatching plans to run back to your little vampire witch, then the two of you deserve each other!"
"She can offer me a lot more than what he ever could," said Arcturus, thinking inwardly on how near-invincible he was with Esmerelda's minions at his control. Already this summer, he'd taken down more Death Eaters than the entire Ministry combined; something he would not have been able to achieve without her assistance.
"How do you know that if you haven't even given him a chance?" said Harry, trying to reason with him.
Arcturus laughed.
"Please, the man can't even leave this house without a leash…" – he sniggered – "…literally! How is being with him going to win any more battles?"
Having heard stories about what the boy had done to those Death Eaters at his grandparents' home, Harry realised where the teen was coming from.
"There's more to life than fighting battles," he said with a sigh. "Perhaps you should stop fixating on maximising bloodshed and pay some heed to the kind of life your parents would have wanted for you. I mean, do you think your dad would have kept writing to Sirius until the very end unless he really wanted you with your uncle? Think about it."
Lost for words for one of the few times in his life, Arcturus nodded dumbly, a frown on his face. So much of what the boy was saying was right, and yet he just could not shake the sense of duty that his grandmother had drilled into him long ago. If he was not going to avenge his parents, then who would? Token or no, he'd long since proven to himself – and those who had seen him fight – that age was no barrier in his pursuit of victory; could he just sit back and be a kid, like his uncle and all the Order members seemed to think he should?
He scowled inwardly, wondering just how his grandmother had been able to exert such a lasting influence over him when she had died when he was so young. He used to hate it when the old woman would drag him into the Pensieve, and yet after her death he did it daily of his own volition – why? A part of him toyed with the possibility that his mindset had frozen in time the moment Esmerelda had clasped the Token around his neck, effectively giving some credibility to his current façade as well as establishing the childhood rituals his grandmother had started as a routine that would see him through to adulthood.
In the absence of actual memory loss, it was impossible to undo years of learning and instinct – at least to the extent the adults were inclined to believe he had regressed – yet if Arcturus was truly honest with himself, a lot of his current feelings of abandonment and dependency were more akin to his five-year-old self than his physical age. As recently as two months ago, Arcturus could remember feeling quite fine with being separated from the vampire witch, and indeed he had embraced the independence; so this inexplicable hunger to return to her and never leave her side filled him with unease.
"You okay?" said Harry quietly, eying the teen with concern after having received a front row seat watching the emotions play out across Arcturus' face.
"No idea of the consequences…" Arcturus muttered to himself, seemingly oblivious to Harry's concern. Pretending to be five years old was something of a reprieve in that he didn't have to constantly be on his guard, but the realisation that a part of his psyche had been effectively repressed by Esmerelda's influence and was now demonstrably stunted terrified him. Realising, then, that his knowledge about the Token had been restricted to what Esmerelda had seen fit to impress upon him, Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Tell me everything you know about the Lady's Token," he demanded lightly.
Seeing his chance, Harry's eyes flashed victoriously.
"On one condition," he said leadingly, holding out his hand. "Wizard's Oath…"
"Wizard's Oath," said Arcturus, seizing Harry's hand and not letting go until he found the boy's terms acceptable; the terms of such an oath negotiable until such time as the handshake ended.
"What are your terms, Potter?"
"Give Sirius a chance," said Harry earnestly, tightening his grip. "Really give him a chance. Start acting your age and let him know about you; I'll think you'll be surprised by how much you have in common."
Seeing no harm in it, Arcturus accepted the terms and released his hand. After Harry's earlier words, he was now questioning the pros and cons of realigning himself with Esmerelda; it becoming unlikely that he would be making any moves until term had commenced, where getting away from school would be easy.
"What makes you think that Sirius and I would have anything in common, besides blood?" asked Arcturus with genuine curiosity as he rocked back on his heels to survey his work and tidy up the mess with a subtle flick of his wand. Though he had become bored by the activity more than half an hour earlier, he was surprised to feel a sense of accomplishment in finishing his work.
He frowned and looked over at Harry.
"You've known him, what, five minutes? Me, even less…"
"Well from what I know of you, you seem to be driven by a need to avenge your parents, right?" said Harry analytically.
"Right," said Arcturus, too proud of his progress to ever deny it.
"Well Sirius is the same," said Harry simply, packing away his own crayons without magic.
"How so?" said Arcturus, interrupting Harry's cleaning by simply banishing the boy's things to their rightful place.
Reeling back in surprise, Harry blinked up at Arcturus and nodded in thanks.
"The night my parents were killed, he went after the man who had betrayed them. It's what got him thrown in Azkaban," said Harry. "A few years ago, he had a chance to kill the guy, but I stopped him because we wouldn't have been able to prove him innocent otherwise."
He rolled up his sleeve and showed Arcturus the still healing scar just below his elbow.
"The rat got away that night, and a few months ago he gave me this scar," Harry explained, watching Arcturus' reaction intently. "I don't think I've ever seen Sirius so worked up, as when he was when he found out. It really frustrates him, being on the run and having to stay in hiding-"
"Then why does he do it?" cut in Arcturus. "Why not hunt the two-timing rat? Death Eaters don't tend to walk around in plain sight when they know someone is out for their blood; he could track this guy down without too much risk of his own capture. The fools at the Ministry aren't exactly the brightest bunch…"
Harry nodded.
"If he didn't have you or me to think of, I think he would do just that," said Harry. "He told me recently that his pursuit of revenge had failed me once and he didn't want to let it get in the way of being a good guardian again."
"How, how noble," drawled Arcturus sarcastically, refusing to admit that a part of him was touched by the gesture, foreign as it were. "And you say we have much in common?"
"The act of avenging the death of a loved one could be called 'noble' too, you know," Harry pointed out with a small smile. "Speaking of which, I think we're all on the same boat there. We just choose to go about things differently."
"So you are out to avenge your parents, then?" said Arcturus, not altogether surprised as the act seemed like a natural retaliation, but curious as to the boy's motivations nevertheless.
"Of course I am!" said Harry, becoming defensive. "I may not go around asking for trouble, and my head count may not be anywhere near as impressive as yours, but I've faced Voldemort practically every year since I found out I was a wizard and managed to tick him off pretty good, so I like to think I'm making some progress!"
Arcturus' face broke out into a grin.
"You think my headcount is 'impressive'?" he said, chuffed. Reflecting, then, on what the Boy-Who-Lived had just said about facing Voldemort on several occasions, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He could not even think of a Dark creature – such as what had formerly been at his disposal – who had gone up against Voldemort and walked away as unscathed as this boy before him had; perhaps he did not need Esmerelda's help in such matters after all. His smile widened.
"Would be interesting to see what could be achieved if we all worked together," he added. "You, me and Sirius…"
Harry nodded wistfully.
"You, me and Sirius…" he mirrored Arcturus' words in a awed whisper, suddenly feeling a little less alone in the world. With the likes of his friends, and Sirius and Arcturus by his side in battle, victory did not seem so far out of reach. Sharing a determined look with the slightly older teen who was thinking along the same lines – albeit with not quite as much sentimentality – Harry grinned.
"I'm sure there's a lot we could learn from each other."
Arcturus nodded in agreement.
"No time like the present," he said, snatching up his drawings and rising to discard them on a nearby table.
The sight of Arcturus with a drawing in hand triggering a thought in Harry's mind, the Boy-Who-Lived scrambled to lay out his own artwork alongside Arcturus', his question falling freely from his lips as he did so.
"If you haven't really been five all this time, who were you really sending that picture to?" he asked in a conspiring whisper, leaning in close to the teen as the boy lingered to inspect Harry's work.
"It wasn't a picture," confessed Arcturus with a roll of his eyes. He turned and hefted himself up onto the edge of the table, facing Harry now. "I sent Krum the game plans for the next match. Which reminds me… I'm supposed to do something else for him while I am here; where's that bushy-haired friend of yours… what's her name… Krum took her to the Yule Ball…"
"Oh, Hermione!" said Harry, his eyes lighting up in recognition.
"Yeah, that's it," said Arcturus with a nod. "Viktor told me her name, of course, but I just didn't trust his pronunciation."
Harry burst out laughing.
"Yeah, she was always correcting him," he said lightly. "You were right from not saying it his way. Without the accent and whole language barrier thing I don't think she would have found it as excusable."
"Hermione…" Arcturus tested the name out, rolling it out between his lips slowly. "As in the queen from Winter's Tale? Krum's interpretation sounded nothing like it – I should have had him write it down for me…"
Smirking at the thought of his best friend's tongue-tied dance partner, Harry was pulled from the memory by another realisation.
"Wait… game plans?" he spluttered, noting from personal experience that Viktor Krum played for the Bulgarian National team. "You were sending the Bulgarian team game plans? I didn't know you followed Quidditch!"
And that was how Sirius found them twenty minutes later, artwork cast aside and plans to avenge parents forgotten as they compared Quidditch strategies and flight stories. A passer-by unfamiliar with the pair's respective histories would be easily forgiven for mistaking them for two normal wizarding teenagers. Smiling ear to ear, Sirius was rapt to see his two charges beginning to get along, and he made no secret of his pride as he let his presence be known.
"Ah, Harry… teaching young Archie all about Quidditch, I see?" he said proudly, closing the distance between them and leaning against the back of a sofa, directly opposite where the boys were seated on the table.
"No, actually, Arcturus is teaching me quite a few things," said Harry levelly, not giving anything away. At some point in their banter, it had been decided that Arcturus should simply start acting normal again and then see how long it took those around them to catch on.
Assuming that his godson was simply indulging a boastful five year old, Sirius winked approvingly at Harry and grinned secretively, playing along with the game that had no other players. Seeing this, the two teens shared a conspiring look of their own.
'This should be fun,' they both thought.
"C'mon, Arcturus," said Harry, heaving himself off the table before Sirius could humiliate himself any further. "Let's go give Hermione her Snitch…"
At Arcturus' nod, Sirius frowned and grabbed the boy's arm as he passed.
"You're giving your Snitch to Hermione?" he asked, confused. "But you were having so much fun chasing it around the room earlier…"
"So? I'm only doing what I was told," said Arcturus with a shrug, tugging himself out of his uncle's lax grip and side-stepping around the befuddled wizard; the man no doubt recalling that Krum had, indeed, whispered something into his nephew's ear before he'd left, clearly imparting his message even though the boy had not shown noticeable signs of consciousness until after Krum had left.
Watching dumbly as the two boys left the room, Sirius could not help but shake the feeling that he was missing something. Had he dwelt on his memories of the night they'd removed Arcturus' Token, he might have recalled how the boy's surprise at finding the Snitch in his hand directly contradicted his current behaviour. The sentimental Animagus, however, was simply too overjoyed by the sight of the two boys surviving a morning together without killing each other to pay it any due thought.
