A/N: Sorry for the wait! I really did hope to start posting more chapters, then I decided I needed to revamp a bit, and I've been editing like a fool only to (mostly) go back to the way things were before. This chapter underwent some major revisions, however, to get things rolling. I think you'll see how by the end of it. I know you're all hoping to see James in this chapter, but he's coming, and before he does, one very big question is going to be answered. THANK YOU for all your support, amazing reviews, and for reading this long story! Keep reviewing, and Happy Easter to all who celebrate!
*WARNING* Mentions of child abuse in this chapter
Chapter Twenty
Harry stared down at his trainers, absently kicking at an imagined speck of dirt on the old carpet in Claire's office. The pretty therapist was attempting to wear him down and coax some information out of him, and after asking over a dozen questions, she had just grown quiet and allowed him to sit in continued silence. The tactic was beginning to work, making Harry feel on edge and anxious for her penetrating gaze to turn elsewhere. It felt as though she could figure him out if she just stared long enough, and it made him unbearably anxious.
A wave of irritation towards his godfather washed over him. He had known from the start this was going to be a bad day, when Sirius calmly requested to speak with Claire before Harry did. True to his suspicions, the moment he was called back to Claire's office, she quietly and gently began asking questions about his time with his mum.
But Harry wasn't talking. He didn't want to talk about his mum or the complicated feelings she stirred up. A part of him wanted to spend every waking minute with her, reassuring himself he hadn't dreamed it up and he really had a mother who was kind and sweet and patient and so, so beautiful. She was better than any dream he'd ever had of some guardian who had been looking for him. She was flesh and blood and pretty auburn hair and the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. She was quiet goodnights and soft touches and murmured words of comfort. He wanted her there, always.
And that's how he knew it wouldn't last.
He had never wanted something so badly in his life. Even when he first came to live with Sirius, he hadn't wanted so desperately to stay. It was warm and safe and there was plenty of food, but even then, he knew he'd either make it on his own or he would die, and that would have been quite all right with him. But having his mum around, having her there to run her fingers through his hair at night or to tell him stories as he drifted off to sleep…he never wanted to live another day without Lily Potter, and such a wonderful thing could never be his. He had been reminded of that, over and over and over again. Every time anything had ever seemed to be getting better for him, something happened and it was ripped away. Every time he thought a family would be his, something happened and they changed their minds. Even if things were changing now, even if he had a home and a guardian and all the food he could want, life was not supposed to be so easy for him. He could never have what he wanted most. It would never last, and for some reason, by choice or by accident, Lily would leave him.
He couldn't bear that. The thought alone made his throat feel like it was closing up, and his heart raced frantically in his chest as a familiar feeling of suffocation overcame him. He couldn't help a strangled sound as he struggled to regulate his breathing, and Claire's expression changed to one of concern as she rose and stepped cautiously but quickly to his side.
"Harry?" she asked him kindly, kneeling down in front of his chair.
Stubborn resistance urged him not to talk, even in his distress.
"Harry, you're all right. You're having a panic attack. Slow down and breathe," she urged.
He shook his head, trying to signal that he couldn't. Consciously he knew she was right, but the sensation of being unable to breathe was outweighing any ability to think rationally at the moment. He continued to struggle for breath, whimpering a little when Claire disappeared from sight.
"I'm still here," she soothed, just out of his line of vision. "I'll be back in one moment."
He tried to suck in a deep gasp, but his chest felt tight and restricted. He clawed at his shirt, trying to get it away from him, but then Claire returned and held a paper bag up to his mouth. He jumped back, startled, but she placed a gentle hand on his arm to calm him.
"You're hyperventilating, Harry," she explained calmly. "I know you feel as though you can't breathe, but you're actually breathing too much. It's decreased the level of carbon dioxide in your blood, which is why you feel the way you do. I want you to breathe into this bag," she instructed. "You'll breathe back in the carbon dioxide you're exhaling. I promise you'll feel better if you can just do as I say."
She cupped the back of Harry's head and held the bag in front of him. He felt quite certain he would suffocate, but he was desperate enough to try it. He allowed himself to gasp into the bag, watching with vague fascination as the bag inflated and deflated as he breathed out and in. Slowly, the panic began to ebb out of him, and he drew in air a bit more easily.
When he was finally breathing normally, Claire lowered the paper bag but continued to watch him with some concern. "Feeling better?" she asked after a moment.
He nodded weakly, hoping against hope she would realise this was too much for today and allow him to go home.
"I'm sorry you're having such a hard day," she said sympathetically. "But we do need to talk a bit today, Harry. You had a momentous week since I saw you last. Can you tell me something? Anything?" she asked hopefully.
He still didn't want to talk about his mum, but he felt bad after Claire had helped him through the panic attack. "My mum came," he said quietly.
"Yes," Claire nodded. "I know. Sirius told me. Can you tell me something about how that makes you feel?"
Harry stared down at his feet again.
"All right, Harry," she sighed. "Let's try something else. I want you to tell me one word. Just one word that sums up how you've felt since I saw you last. You can think about it for a few minutes."
Harry nodded again and thought about all the things he felt since his mother showed up at Sirius's house. There were so many swirling emotions at the moment, confusing and contradicting, and it was difficult to pick just one. Elated that he was no longer alone. Worried that he would mess it up. Thrilled to be someone, to have a name and a family. Uncomfortable when she got too close, embarrassed by his reaction to her touch. "Scared," he finally managed, deciding it was the best for how he had – and still – felt.
"Good. That's very good," Claire nodded in approval. "Now, can you tell me why you're scared? Or what you're scared of? Are you worried that your mother will harm you in some way?"
"No!" he shook his head quickly, aghast at the very suggestion. Lily Potter seemed incapable of hurting a fly, and though he'd been tricked by people before, he was entirely confident his mum would never physically harm him. Not like the others had.
"Then what are you afraid of, Harry?" she prodded. "Sirius says your mother has been spending every night with you, and yet you're still with Sirius instead of going with her. Can you tell me why?"
Tears pricked the corner of Harry's eyes as he thought about that. He knew why – of course he knew why – but he wasn't sure how much he really wanted to tell Claire. There was nothing anyone could do to help him, nothing anyone would ever be able to do to make this okay, so why talk about it? They would only try to convince him his fears would not come true, and he knew with certainty they would.
"Your silence tells me a lot, Harry," Claire commented softly. "I know there's something you don't feel comfortable sharing with me. Do you think there's anything I can do to help you feel safe enough to talk to me?"
Harry shook his head again. "I don't want to talk," he forced out. "It won't matter."
"Why won't it matter?"
"You can't change it."
"Maybe not," she conceded. "But whatever it is you're afraid of, I bet it will be a lot less scary if you have someone to share it with. And maybe we can work out a way – together – for you to handle it. How does that sound?" she asked, lips turning upward in a slight smile.
He knew it was pointless. She could never help. But she would also probably tell Sirius that he was uncooperative, and the last thing he needed was to speed this whole process along. His mum wouldn't be pleased to hear about his refusal to talk like he was supposed to, and Sirius might be mad, too. "She's going to go away," he explained, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.
"Your mother is?"
"Yes," he nodded.
"Where is she going to go?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "Something bad will happen to her. Or maybe she'll just decide not to come around anymore."
"I don't think that could happen, Harry," she shook her head. "Are you saying you'd like to have your mother around?"
"She's…really nice," he admitted.
"But you don't want to go live with her? You don't think perhaps that would ease some of the anxiety you're feeling? Maybe if you were there-"
"No!" he cut her off, shaking his head frantically. "No. I don't want to. Does Sirius want me to leave? He didn't…he said I could…" he felt himself beginning to panic again, but Claire quickly held up her hands and shook her head.
"Shh, it's all right," she soothed. "Sirius is only concerned about you. He won't make you go anywhere. No one is going to force you to do anything. I can promise you that, all right?"
He forced himself to nod and take a few deep breaths to calm himself.
"Can you tell me why you're so frightened about the idea of going to live with your parents even though you believe you would be safe?"
"I don't know. Just because."
"That isn't going to work," she chastised mildly. "Talk to me, Harry. You need to explain your feelings or no one can help you with them. I know this has all been so hard, but you have to let me help. You have to let Sirius and your mother help. We want to be here for you, but we can't if you won't talk to us. Tell me what you're-"
"My dad doesn't want me," he finally answered. "My dad…he came once and told Sirius I should stay with him. He doesn't want me. And he won't come home because of me."
Claire grew very quiet and stayed like that for an uncomfortably long period. "Harry," she finally began carefully. "Do you really think that's true? That your father doesn't want you?"
"I don't know," he shrugged.
"I need you to answer me, Harry. Let's take a look at the evidence, all right? Your mum isn't what you thought she would be, is she? She's kind and loving towards you, right?"
"Yes," he agreed quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"She married your father and had two children with him. Your mum sounds like a very smart woman. Somehow I have trouble believing that she would be with him if he's the sort who would just decide he didn't want his son. And then let's look at Sirius," she continued. "He says your dad is his best friend, that they're like brothers."
"So?"
"So, do you trust Sirius? Do you believe that he would still be friends with your father if that's what he was choosing? I think you know that all these people in your life do love you, Harry, even if they don't know how to show it or make the wrong choices. But you can't punish them forever, or you only end up punishing yourself."
Harry frowned a little, not really certain that he was trying to punish anyone. "I'm not mad anymore," he admitted. "I don't really think my parents did anything wrong."
"I know, Harry," she nodded. "Believe it or not, what you're experiencing makes a lot of sense. I know how afraid you are of something happening to take this away from you. Sometimes when we get the things we want, it's hard to believe it's true. I know you're frightened," she acknowledged. "And I think your dad is the last thing you can cling to. He's the only one who hasn't come around yet, so you can keep clinging to him as an excuse not to leave Sirius and be a part of your family."
"That's not-" he began to protest.
"No one wants to push you into doing something you aren't comfortable with, but Harry, I think you need to take a good hard look at your relationship with your father and what you would like to see happen. I don't know him, so I can't tell you with complete certainty, but I'll eat my teacup if your dad isn't feeling so guilty he doesn't know how to cope. He was supposed to protect you, to keep you safe, and he didn't."
"He didn't mean to!" Harry defended him without even thinking, then flushed when Claire looked a bit triumphant.
"I know," she agreed softly. "But in his mind, I'm nearly certain he thinks he failed you. It's his job to come around, to be there for you, to speak up and to fight for you. But I just hope that you understand, sometimes you have to be the one to make the first step. Maybe your father is as scared of your rejection as you are of his."
Harry sat back in his chair, not sure what to think about it. It sort of made sense, from everything he'd heard about his dad from his mum and Sirius and Lydia, and he did tell his dad he didn't want anything to do with him. Maybe not right to his face, but the message had been fairly clear. But his mum still came for him, and his dad had left them, left his family alone. There was always an undercurrent of sadness in Lydia's letters when she spoke of him, and it terrified Harry that his dad might never ever come back, that he might be the sort of dad who would abandon his family, just like that.
"Do you think it's my fault that he left my mum?" he asked after a long moment.
Claire sighed and examined him thoughtfully. "Harry, I think you confuse being the cause for something with being to blame for it."
"What?"
"Meeting you again was what caused your dad to leave. Yes, it stirred up a lot of feelings for him, feelings that eventually made him come to the decision that the best thing to do was leave. But you're trying to cast blame, here, and to say it's your fault. But you didn't ask for any of this to happen. You're thirteen years old, Harry, and you didn't get to decide how this was going to play out. The truth is, no one in your family did," she explained patiently. "You've all reacted in different ways to situations that were entirely out of your control. I hope that soon you're all going to be able to stop assigning blame and work on fixing it instead. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your dad's fault. The only thing you can do now is move on as best you can. You have to decide what you want the outcome to be. You either want to continue living with Sirius, or you eventually want to go home. You either want to be a part of your dad's life, or you don't. But no matter what you choose, Harry, you may have to be the one to act first."
The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew the answer, deep in his heart. He wanted this family, he wanted to know his father. He had gone so long without knowing him, and sometimes it seemed he couldn't last another day without having him in his life. If he was honest with Claire, he would tell her he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the man, that he had even snuck into Sirius's study to look at pictures of his dad and marvel over how much they looked alike.
So what was holding him back? It was true…his mum and Sirius and Lydia wouldn't love a man who could be cold and cruel or give up his child. He knew now the fear wasn't rational, but he was scared all the same. And it was different with his dad for some reason, either because his dad hadn't come first or because Claire was right, and he was meant to trust his dad to keep him safe more than anyone else in the world.
There was another answer, though, another answer he didn't want to consider but had to all the same. It was the same reason he'd been terrified of Sirius in a way he hadn't feared his mother. Sirius had coaxed him into trust and shown so clearly that he would never raise a hand to him. And Harry knew now that his father wouldn't, either, that Lydia wouldn't adore a man who hit her and that his mum would never sit by and let that happen.
But sometimes knowing something didn't really help it. Not when he was so scared he woke panting and trembling. His dad was still a man, and he was still a stranger. And every time Harry thought about his dad before he fell asleep, his dreams found him in a closet with Eric Parker standing over him.
"Harry?" Claire inquired gently.
"I want to be done now."
"I know you do," she murmured sympathetically. "You've had a very hard day and you're being very brave," she praised.
"I want to go home," he repeated, now with a tinge of desperation.
"Just a few more minutes," she tried to coax. "Can you please tell me what you're thinking of right now?"
"No," he shook his head.
"Something's upset you, and I want you to try your best to tell me what it is."
He was quiet for another moment, not sure he could even bring himself to say the name. "Eric," he finally whispered. "Eric Parker."
"Who is Eric Parker, Harry?"
"M-my foster father."
Claire looked as though she'd struck upon a revelation. "Can you tell me about Eric?" she asked.
Harry shook his head.
"Did he hurt you, Harry?"
He hesitated, then nodded and drew his knees up to his chest, folding himself up in the chair and pressing his head against his legs. He didn't want to think about this, didn't want to consider what the word dad or father meant to him. Eric had never been either of those to him, so it shouldn't matter, should it? He was old enough to be better than this, old enough to separate bad memories from reality and know his dad was like Sirius, not like Eric. But his mind kept going back to it, back to the belt and the aluminum bat that left him so ugly and deformed. The green light and the screaming were bad, but Eric Parker was somehow worse. And ever since he started thinking about his dad, thinking about going home with his family, he woke in the middle of the night smelling that musty little closet, feeling the heat of the raging fever and the pain coursing through him in agonising waves.
He heard shuffling in the background, then the sound of receding footsteps, but he didn't want to open his eyes to investigate. He was safe here, in his little cocoon, and he would stay until the danger passed.
After a minute or two, a new set of foosteps joined Claire's and a hand touched his back. He flinched at the contact, not knowing or caring who was touching him, only that it was his back. "Sorry, Love," his godfather whispered, moving his hand to a safer place and gently ruffling his hair. "I hear you've had a rough morning. Let's go home, yeah?"
When Harry didn't respond, Sirius squeezed his hand. Harry registered the touch and the familiar voice, but he just curled further in on himself.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," he heard Claire apologise. "I pushed too hard before he was ready."
"He'll be all right, won't you, Mate?" Sirius asked him, though his reassurance sounded a bit weak even to Harry. "Come on, Harry. It's time to go home now. We'll have some tea and biscuits and then you can have a kip."
It took several more minutes of prodding and eventually pleading, but finally, Harry lifted his head and allowed Sirius to help him out of the chair. His godfather kept and arm wrapped firmly around him as he murmured terse goodbyes and ushered Harry out of the waiting room and outside to the alley where they could Disapparate back home.
Harry stumbled a bit on his landing, even though he'd been doing better. He felt groggy and out of sorts and really just wanted his bed. Thankfully, Sirius noticed and didn't corral him to the kitchen for Kreacher's ministrations. Instead, he gently guided him by the arm, helping him up the stairs and into his bedroom. Harry instantly headed for the bed, wasting no time before crawling in and burrowing beneath the covers.
From underneath his protective mound of blankets, he heard his godfather's quiet sigh and the sound of him settling into the bedside chair left by Lily. "I'll be right here if you need me," Sirius murmured. "Try and rest, mate."
Harry clenched his eyes shut and allowed himself to drift away from the memories, away from the voices, away from the confusing emotions.
Sirius sat next to Harry's bed for half an hour watching his godson sleep and making sure there were no nightmares. Thankfully, the poor kid seemed too exhausted by the emotional upheaval to dream, and he remained almost eerily still in his sleep. When he was finally convinced Harry would be all right, he cast a Monitoring Charm – courtesy of Lily – and dared to leave the room. He would hear instantly if Harry was in any distress, and he had a feeling Lily needed to hear about this morning's events.
That was one conversation he wasn't looking forward to having. When Claire retrieved him from the waiting room and informed him of Harry's episode, she mentioned Eric Parker and asked if Sirius might know his significance. Unfortunately, he suspected he did. Though Harry had never spoken names before, there was no question that one family in particular had worked Harry over. Although Harry had led him to believe he had been abused and neglected by multiple families, the grotesque scars on his back were clearly inflicted in one horrifying act of unspeakable torture. And Lily had never seen those scars. Lily knew her child had suffered, but until she had seen the evidence with her own eyes, she would never know how bad it truly was.
Steeling himself for a long talk, he grabbed the powder and tossed it in the fire. "Potter residence," he called out.
"Sirius?" Lily answered just moments later as she crouched down before the fire.
"Hello, Lils."
"What is it?" she asked immediately. "Is something wrong? Was Harry's appointment all right?"
"We've had a bit of a rough morning," he admitted.
Her brow furrowed in concern, and she bit her lip as she always did when she was worrying about something. "Should I come over?" she asked, and he could tell from her tone that she was hoping he would say yes.
Well, he would just have to disappoint her. "No. Harry is asleep. He probably will be for a while. And actually, Lils, as much as I hate to say this, perhaps you should stay in tonight, get some rest yourself."
"Sirius," she frowned, a harsh edge to her voice. "What does that mean?"
"Just that," he sighed. "He had a difficult morning."
"Because of me?"
"No, of course not. Not directly, anyway."
"You think I've indirectly hurt him? Sirius!" she cried in distress.
"Relax, Lily. I only meant your presence might be stirring up other memories. Harry hasn't exactly had a wealth of loving parental figures."
"What happened this morning?" she demanded.
"I don't honestly know," he confessed. "He and his therapist talked about a family he lived with, but not in any detail. He had a sort of…incident…and they ended the session."
"What does that mean? Incident?"
"He was a bit out of it, Lily," he sighed. "Not really hearing us. He curled up and wouldn't look at me or speak to me."
"Oh Merlin," she breathed. "What did they do to him?"
"Listen, Lily. Harry has…he has some scars. He hasn't told me anything, but it's bad, Whatever they did…just give him some time," he advised, thinking of those first nights he had spent at the Potter home. James's mum had healed the wounds she could and bandaged those she couldn't, murmuring soft words of love and reassurance as she worked and letting him cry without judgment. That first night, the gentle, soothing touch of a kind mother was all he needed, but after that, it was harder to bear. After that first night, it was a reminder of what a mum was supposed to be, the way families were supposed to behave. It was different for Harry, of course; this was his real mum, after all. But the same principles applied. Lily's gentle treatment would probably only remind Harry of all the people who came before her. The love she offered was so foreign to Harry after the abuse he endured, and it had probably left the child hopelessly confused and overwhelmed. "He needs time," he repeated. "If he asks after you, I'll call you. Or perhaps you could talk to each other over the Floo."
He could tell Lily wanted to argue, but she was too noble and self-sacrificing for that. "All right," she conceded. "But please owl me tonight, after he goes to sleep. Let me know if he's better?"
"Of course," he agreed. "I'll talk to you in a bit."
He ended the connection just in time. A tell-tale high-pitch whine began, alerting him to trouble in Harry's room. James Potter, he thought, sighing with exhaustion, you are going to owe me a tropical vacation before all of this is said and done. Of course, he didn't really resent any of it, especially being with Harry, but he couldn't help feeling completely in over his head as he tried to keep Lily calm and see to Harry's emotional needs. James had spent many, many years practising the art of fatherhood, and now it had somehow fallen to Sirius to be father, best friend, and protector of a fragile, frightened child. Most days he felt quite proud of how he handled Harry, but today, he was wondering if he was any help at all to the kid.
Harry was thrashing and moaning in the bed when Sirius stepped into his bedroom. He cancelled the charm and stepped to his godson's side, reaching down to still the frantic struggle against the bedclothes. "Shh," he murmured and pushed the hair from Harry's sweaty brow. "Harry, wake up," he encouraged and gave his godson a gentle shake. To his surprise, Harry jolted right out of the nightmare and shot straight up, eyes wide and mouth gasping for air. Normally it was difficult to rouse the boy from his troubled sleep, and sometimes it was only the terror of the dream itself that could wake him.
When Harry backed away, Sirius realised what had woken him so quickly. Harry had bolted away from his touch earlier, in Claire's office, and if all of this was about the abuse he endured at the hands of his foster family, he was probably dreaming about being hurt as well. A touch would undoubtedly cause him to react on instinct to protect himself.
"Just me, Harry," Sirius assured quietly.
Harry's gaze frantically searched the room until he recognised his surroundings. He relaxed then, but he remained where he was with the distance between them. Sirius decided it had been his best idea yet to keep Lily away tonight; Harry was in no state for a visit from his mum anytime soon.
"I'm sorry," the boy apologised quietly and clenched his fists in his sheets.
"You've had a difficult day, mate," Sirius acknowledged, fighting the urge to ruffle his godson's hair. Harry only nodded in agreement and kept his eyes averted. Sirius considered for a moment, desperately racking his brain for something that might help Harry or at least make him less embarrassed about his obvious distress. After a moment, a thought occurred to him. "Look at me, Harry," he requested softly.
Harry nervously shifted his gaze, meeting Sirius's eyes for only a moment before his darted away again. Slowly, Sirius lifted his shirt to expose two long, jagged scars across his abdomen. He did not wear these scars with the same shame and embarrassment that Harry did; they were more a badge of honour for him, but the principle was probably about the same.
"Harry," he called again, forcing his godson to look at him. This time, the boy's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the scars. "I got these when I was sixteen," he explained quietly. "I told you my parents weren't very nice people. We never got on, and it only got worse when the war began. I got these from them the last time they tried to convince me of Pureblood supremacy. One from each."
"Your parents….hurt you?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"Yes," he nodded. "This wasn't the only time, but it was the last."
"Why?"
"Because I ran away," he answered simply. "Same as you. Except I was lucky. I had your dad. And his parents were wonderful as well. They took me in without a second thought. It was your Grandmother Potter who fixed me up that night. But it left these scars, you see."
Harry nodded and dropped his gaze again. "They aren't as ugly as mine," he said quietly.
"I was older and bigger than you, mate. And I knew where to go if there was trouble. But do you know what else?" he asked gently, waiting for Harry to shake his head so he knew the boy was still with him and not slipping into another episode thanks to the bad memories. "I'm proud of these scars, Harry. They remind me what I survived. They remind me that my parents were bloody awful, but I was better than them. You're a survivor, Harry. You went through things no one should ever experience, but you're still here, aren't you? You're better than the people who hurt you. You are strong and brave and wonderful. You've nothing to be ashamed of."
"I had a panic attack in Claire's office," Harry confessed softly. "And then…"
"That's all right, Harry. Claire asked a lot of you today, didn't she?" he asked sympathetically.
Harry was quiet again, but he looked like there was something he wanted to say. "Sometimes," he began after a moment. "Sometimes thinking about my dad…it makes me think about my foster family I lived with. The ones who…"
"Who gave you the scars," Sirius acknowledged. Harry nodded, and Sirius had to fight the urge to squeeze a hand or ruffle his hair as he usually did when Harry was distressed. "I think it's only natural that you would associate one with the other, at least right now, when your dad is still something of an unknown. I had known your grandparents for years, and I still flinched when Mr. Potter raised a wand to heal me," he confessed, amazed how easily the words came when it was Harry he was talking to. He had not spoken of these thoughts or these feelings in all the years since it happened. Even with James, he had never admitted the difficulty, though he knew his best friend had struggled to puzzle it out on his own. He had never offered explanation for his behaviour, nor had he sought the comfort and advice of the boy as close to him as a brother. He was never the sort to seek solace, at least not in the form of venting emotions. But this was Harry. Admitting these things could help Harry. He loved this child as an infant, loved him beyond the grave, and he loved him all the more now that he was flesh and blood and words and sighs and difficult, tricky emotions. For Harry, he could lay his soul bare.
His godson sniffled and wiped clumsily at the tears streaming down his pale cheeks.
"I can promise you that your dad would never do that to you. Not in a million years," Sirius vowed solemnly. "I know why you feel that way, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. But it would never happen. It won't ever happen. He could never do that, and I would never let him."
Harry nodded, but the doubt was still there in his eyes. And then Sirius remembered the stack of letters James had given him, the letters he'd written to Harry each year on his birthday. Perhaps now was the time.
"I'll be right back, Love," he promised, leaning forward to wrap his godson in a quick hug. He stroked the boy's thin back and tried not to think of the scars marring the skin just beneath his shirt. When Harry returned to his parents, he was going to recruit Remus for a little mission to hunt out these horrid muggles. For now, however, Harry needed reassurance, not revenge.
But revenge would come. When their boy was further along the road to healing, every person who dared to lay a finger on him would pay for their transgressions. And one man, in particular, was at the top of his list.
Sirius left Harry alone in his room for a few minutes, and Harry wiped the last of his tears away and fought back the shame he always felt when he'd cried like a little baby in front of his godfather.
When Sirius returned, he was carrying a thick stack of parchment. Forgetting his embarrassment, Harry craned his neck to read what it was. "Letters," Sirius explained. "I think you'll understand when you read them. I'll be downstairs," he said, then handed Harry the stack.
Harry took the first one off the top, recognising his own name written at the top but not the handwriting. He scanned down to the bottom, and saw it was signed Dad. But it was dated thirteen years ago.
Dear Harry,
Welcome to the world, my little man! You were born only hours ago, and you are currently nestled up with your mummy sleeping so soundly and quietly. I am assured this is a temporary arrangement, but a secret for you, my son…your cry is the only one that could never annoy me. It's true, Harry James. You are perfect in every way. So perfect that even your crying is perfect.
By the time you can read this, you will probably know all about the Prophecy that had Mummy and me so stressed. I am not too big a man to admit that I was terrified for this day. Now you are here, and I see again what an utter fool I am. The day you came into this world could never be anything but the greatest day of my life. You are amazing, my sweet little boy, and nothing has ever felt so incredible as holding you in my arms. This will, undoubtedly, embarrass you someday, but you are a very special baby, Harry, not only because you are mine. You have so many things ahead of you, but your daddy is going to be there every step of the way.
I'm thinking of waking your mummy so I can have another turn with you, but I suspect it is in my best interests to let her sleep. Your mum can be a scary lady, Harry, and I'm sure you will learn that yourself before too long. You are destined to follow me into mischief, and your godfather will be only too happy to help school you in our ways. But somehow I also know you're going to be kind and good like your mum, and hopefully infinitely smarter than I am. I am proud of you already, Harry, and you have made me – us – so happy.
All my love,
Dad