Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Heir

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harry decided pretty much right away that he didn't much care for St. Mungos. It was sterile and clinical and the nurse who directed him to his godfather's room had been too busy staring for several moments before she'd finally realized he actually needed something and paid attention to his question. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually have to stay there for any length of time, and pitied his godfather for requiring the place to recover.

~And let's be careful to make sure that you don't wind up being stuck here or anywhere else. Because as bad as it is here, Azkaban is far worse,~ Tom sent quietly. He'd been much more nervous about Harry's darker activities as of late, and Harry couldn't really blame him. He knew that the spirit worried more and more as his time... as his time drew near. But Harry took comfort in the fact that he still hadn't had another dream. That meant that Tom's time couldn't be all that near, right? ~And this is the room, Harry,~ Tom added gently, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

Harry froze. He felt quite nervous, all of a sudden. ~I don't want to go in there,~ Harry hissed to Tom, as though there might be somebody else who could hear his thoughts. He stared at the open door and added, ~Nobody in my family has ever liked me. Why should this man, this stranger, be any different?~

Harry could feel Tom considering the question. Finally, gently, Tom said, ~So do you not want to meet him? Because if you do that, I know you, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been different if you'd only had the courage to introduce yourself to your godfather once he'd finally made it out of prison.~

Harry frowned at the open door. Tom was right, and he knew it. ~But what if he doesn't like me? What if...~ Harry paused and then, in the smallest voice that Tom had ever heard from him, Harry said, ~I'm allied with the man who killed my parents, who killed his best friends. I'm a monster, Tom. And if I'm not now, I will soon be. You know it and I know it. What if...~

Harry could feel Tom's affection, his pride, his adoration wrapping around him like a warm security blanket. ~What if he doesn't?~ Tom asked, and Harry nodded slowly. Tom had a fantastic point, after all. What if he didn't? Did it really matter in the long run? It wasn't like he knew Sirius, after all. ~So here's my proposal: Don't go in there trying to get him to like you. That's only going to lead to heartache in the end. You have to go in there as yourself, Harry, or you'll only make things worse.~

Harry closed his eyes. He knew that Tom was right. He knew it. He just didn't like it. With a deep, slow breath and a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach, Harry entered the room. It was a very nice room, for all that it was sterile and white. And the bed upon which his godfather rested seemed incredibly comfortable. his godfather's eyes were closed, his hands almost skeletal, his skin pale enough to be nearly translucent. There were deep shadows under his eyes. His long black hair, however, was neat and clean, and there was no dirt under his fingernails, so at least they'd taken the care to bathe him.

~Right, I've been to see him, he's asleep, I should go,~ Harry said desperately. ~He looks like he could use all the sleep he can get, after all.~

~Harry,~ Tom sighed, fond exasperation bleeding through into Harry's mind. ~You can't actually do anything but go and say hello to him. Better to do it now than to wait until you have to move in with him, after all. It could be very awkward to find out that you're entirely incompatible when you're already living with the man.~

~Curse you and your logic,~ Harry hissed. But he stepped forward, hesitantly, and eventually settled next to Sirius' bed in the incredibly uncomfortable chair placed there for visitors. He'd always heard how uncomfortable hospitals were, but he'd hoped never to have to find out in person. Now, it seemed, he would have the opportunity to become intimately familiar with that very fact.

The sound he made settling into the chair must have been enough to wake his godfather from his sleep because bright, burning grey eyes shot open the minute Harry settled himself. Sirius' eyes darted swiftly around the room before alighting on Harry. "Who..." he began, then stopped and whispered, reverently, "Harry."

"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. Tom had fallen entirely silent within him, now, and Harry realized that he was on his own. Perhaps the spirit had gone to sleep? Bastard. "You... you must be my godfather," he said, then flinched at how... at how stupid that had sounded. Of course he was his godfather; why else would Harry be there?

"Yes, yes I am. And you... you must be... oh Merlin, how you've grown," his godfather said. His hands twitched once in Harry's direction and he asked, rather plaintively, "Don't you want to give your godfather a hug?" Then he shook his head. "No, wait, sorry, you don't know me. I know you. I mean, I remember you from when you were a little baby, but I don't... you don't know me." Sirius finally wound down and he sounded so very downtrodden.

Harry hesitated. He didn't know the man. He was being a sentimental idiot. But... he seemed so upset. He hesitantly shifted over to sit on the bed, leaned in, and carefully wrapped his arms around his incredibly frail godfather. "I don't know you," Harry agreed softly in the man's ear, "but I'd love the chance to get to fix that."

His godfather's all-too-thin arms crept up and locked around Harry with a strength that Harry wouldn't have believed the fragile-looking man to have. Harry could feel the man's shoulders begin to shake and felt his godfather bury his face in his neck and felt the wetness of tears as his godfather cried brokenly for several moments. "I'm in no kind of shape to be taking care of you, Harry. And you're probably so happy with your Aunt and Uncle. That's where you were going to stay, right?" he asked once he'd finally stopped crying a few moments later. He lowered his arms reluctantly and Harry drew back but didn't return to the uncomfortable chair.

Harry's breath left him in an explosive sigh. "You couldn't have started with anything easy, could you?" he asked dryly. "I'm not... I don't stay with them anymore," he finally settled on saying. Further, more in depth conversations could be held later, when there weren't so many potential people listening in on the conversation. He had to be very careful not to say anything that might be able to be used against him later should this man decide that Harry was too Dark for him to associate with, or that Harry needed to be locked away for his own good.

"You don't... why?" Sirius asked. His eyes were now greedily scanning Harry's face, though what he was looking for Harry couldn't say. His hands had now reached out and clasped Harry's own rather tightly, his hands almost clawlike in their grip.

Harry didn't have the heart to pull away. "My Uncle and I... we didn't get along," he hedged, "And both my Aunt and Uncle were terrified of magic. When I started to get my Hogwarts owls, well, they decided to try and run and, well, just before Hagrid fetched me for my first ever trip to Diagon Alley, Uncle Vernon had a heart attack. He didn't survive, and I guess Aunt Petunia blamed me. I haven't seen her since."

"She just... she just abandoned you?" Sirius asked. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Who did you stay with over the last summer? Does the Headmaster know about this?"

"I stayed with the..." Harry stopped, realized that maybe saying what he'd just been about to say might not have been such a good idea, and said hastily, "I stayed with the family of one of my two best friends. And yes, the Headmaster knew about it but wasn't terribly happy." That was an understatement, judging by the fact that the Headmaster had apparently managed to get his godfather out of prison just to get him away from the Malfoys.

"Why would the Headmaster be unhappy? He should have been happy that you have such good friends to stay with. I know that I'm grateful to whatever family took you in for the summer. That was wonderful of them," Sirius said warmly. He looked to genuinely mean it. Harry wondered if he'd change his tune when he realized just which family had taken him in for the summer.

And then Harry remembered Tom's advice, to not try and convince Sirius that he was something he wasn't. And so he bowed his head and said hesitantly, "Yeah, I was really grateful to Draco and his family."

"Draco... Malfoy?" his godfather asked, eyes widening in startled surprise. "I... you spent the summer last with the Malfoys?"

"And Christmas," Harry said quietly. "Draco was the very first friend that I made in the wizarding world. He's very special to me." He stared down at his hands rather than looking at his godfather. He wasn't sure that he could stand to disappoint the man and he had the feeling that was exactly what he was about to do.

It didn't help that he had no idea why it was that he cared so much. It wasn't like he knew this stranger. And yeah, okay, objectively he knew that he should feel sorry for this poor man that was coming out of Azkaban to find the world a much different place than he would have expected it to be and his godson to be much different from what he would have wanted, but that didn't explain why Harry actually did feel sorry for the man. He wasn't in the habit of pitying strangers, and this man was a stranger.

After several awkward moments of silence, his godfather cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm very glad that you've had such a good friend to help you through, even if that friend isn't exactly the one that I might have chosen for you." His godfather's voice was low and quiet and sad, and every word he spoke was measured and weighed, as though he was judging for each one for the amount of damage it could potentially do to Harry.

"That..." Harry paused, considered what he was about to say, then mentally shrugged and soldiered on. "No offense, but from everything I'd heard about you prior to this meeting, I didn't think that was the stance you were going to take on this. I'm glad to hear that everyone was wrong."

"When you live for almost twelve years in the deepest pits of hell, you learn that a lot of the things that you cared about before don't actually matter, and you learn to be grateful for what chances you get." When Harry looked up, Sirius was staring at him, his eyes burning bright with fervor. "And I am grateful, Harry, for the chance to get to know you, no matter how different you are from what I expected. And I won't... I won't do anything to mess up the chance I've been given to get to know you, even if that means making friends with the entirety of Slytherin house."

Harry cracked a smile at that, how could he not? "Well, now that you mention it, I am a Slytherin," he said softly, teasingly. "The hat didn't even really have to think about it before it assigned me there."

"Oh, no!" Sirius groaned theatrically. He chuckled a bit, then the chuckles faded and he said softly, "I just told you, Harry. You're my Godson, and there isn't a damned thing you could do to drive me away."

Harry had to swallow the sudden lump that appeared in his throat before he could speak again. When he did, he was horrified by how choked the whisper came out when he said, "I'm really glad to hear that, I think." He offered his godfather a suspiciously watery smile and asked, "So what are you going to do with yourself when you get out of this joint?" in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. "I understand that you really want me to stay with you?"

"Yeah," Sirius said with a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. It was better than the fiercely... protective, maybe, expression that had been there before. "It's just that I doubt the family home is in good enough shape for a kid, and I'm not really sure what other Black holdings are available, if any. There's always a Muggle hotel or something until we can figure something out," Sirius said cheerfully enough, considering that he was essentially homeless at the moment.

Harry hesitated. He remembered what the Dark Lord had instructed him to offer should Sirius seem even remotely willing, but, despite his easygoing acceptance of Harry's Slytherin status, Harry wasn't entirely sure that Sirius would go for this. Finally, quietly, he offered, "The Malfoys have extended an invitation for you to join us at their Manor while you try to get yourself back on your feet."

He could see Sirius fight down his first reaction, which was doubtlessly a loud and resounding, "No!" The man closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then said quietly, "I think that would be nice, Harry." He then proceeded to offer Harry the most painful smile that Harry had ever seen.

Harry smiled back, as genuinely as he ever had. After all, his godfather was willing to, apparently, sacrifice quite a lot for him. The least he could do was give the man an honest smile or three.

ooOOooOOoo

The summer solstice typically passed without fanfare among the Weasley clan. They weren't ones to celebrate the traditional holidays, and Ron generally didn't feel the lack. This year, however, knowing that he was actually being Courted, Ron wondered if he shouldn't maybe celebrate in some way. The problem, of course, was that he didn't know any of the traditional celebrations and he strongly doubted that his parents would be willing to teach them to him. If they even remembered them, considering that they hadn't acknowledged them in a very long time.

In the end he decided not to celebrate, and instead did exactly as had become his habit for the duration of the summer: he stayed up in his room, studying. The twins would occasionally attempt to draw him out with warnings that he was 'becoming a little too like Percy,' and his parents would every now and again try to talk to him, but Ron had nothing to say. They'd given him up like a lamb to slaughter. Never mind that was actually what he'd wanted, never mind that he thought they were all insane. The point was that they thought they were sacrificing him for the 'greater good', and they weren't bothered in the least by it. It was sickening.

He huffed and tried to distract himself with a very lonely, very easy game of chess. Yes, it was lovely having pieces that could play themselves against him, but they weren't very bright, were they? He sighed and checkmated the other side once more. He put the set away, then, and settled in to study some more Potions. It wasn't like he didn't desperately need the help, after all.

A pecking on the window startled him a few hours later and he frowned as he stood to let the owl in question into the room. It was lovely with beautiful black and white feathers and piercing eyes. It hooted at him and extended its leg, and Ron immediately took the parchment from it. It, meanwhile, settled on his windowsill and began preening cheerfully, as though it hadn't a care in the world.

Dearest Ron,

I was so pleased to see you wearing my locket. As you have accepted my Courtship, I have chosen to send you the lovely, incomparable Xochiquetzal, named for the Aztec goddess. Though you are no woman, I believe you will appreciate the vague meaning behind her name. Attached is a transporter with a perch for her, as well as a cage and her favorite brand of owl treats. I am given to understand that your parents have cut your allowance; I hope you will not find it too forward to say that I have arranged for a shipment of them to arrive each week. I would not wish you or her to suffer for your parents misconceptions.

Yours truly.

Ron's breath left him explosively. "I don't suppose I can call you 'Xochi' for short, can I?" he asked the owl. Because there was no way in hell he was going to give her up. He'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to discuss his Courtship with his parents, but now it looked as though he wouldn't have a choice.

She hooted at him cheerfully, and Ron took the answer as a yes. "Well," he said quietly to her, "At least now I won't have to talk just to myself. I'll talk to you as well."

And then, with the perfect timing that all parents had, Ron heard a tapping on his door. He sighed. He didn't want to do this now. But... "Come in!" he called, and much to his amusement both of his parents entered the room together. Speaking of having to discuss things with his parents...

"Ron!" his mother exclaimed, staring bemusedly at the owl. "Who does she belong to?" she asked, and walked hesitantly over to stroke Xochi's pretty black and white head.

"She's mine," Ron said shortly. "She was given to me as a gift. And don't worry, I'm sure she can hunt for herself and my gifter has already seen to it that I'll have enough treats for her without your allowance." And that was an interesting thing. Who had been in the car when Ginny had blurted out that bit about his allowance but Draco and Harry? Nobody. So how did whoever it was know, unless one of the two had been talking about him behind his back? But no. They wouldn't do that to him.

"A... Ron, son, this is a very handsome gift. Who was it from?" his father asked, the concerned frown that Ron was so intimately familiar with coming over his features once more.

Ron sighed, because this wasn't going to go over well at all. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" his mother asked, turning to stare at him curiously.

Ron tucked the letter inside of his shirt before answering quietly, calmly, "It's a traditional Courtship gift. I don't know the gifter's name, or even their gender, though I'm beginning to suspect a male much higher in status judging by the feminine overtones of the gifts. I will undoubtedly be the lesser power in the marriage, should I accept."

He watched as the color drained from both of his parents faces. "Ron," his father began hesitantly. "You know that... your mother and I don't hold with all of that nonsense, and that we didn't teach you about it so that you would go out and... and accept a Courtship. We taught you so that you would know to avoid them!"

"I do," Ron said simply, calmly, his eyes snapping up and daring, just daring, his parents to argue with him.

"You're so young," his mother began.

Ron cut her off ruthlessly. "Twelve is when the announcement of intention is made. It's tradition. I've accepted the first gift already, and it's my intention to accept Xochi as well. And to keep accepting, until the point when I have to make a decision. Which won't be for years yet, anyway. So you can both please just let me have this. It doesn't hurt anything."

His mother closed her eyes as though Ron had just dealt her a mortal blow. She began to sniffle, then, and she walked slowly, dignifiedly from the room as though her shoulders weren't shaking and there weren't tears rolling down her cheeks. His father gave Ron, and Xochi, one last, agonized look before leaving the room after her.

Ron laid down on the bed and asked Xochi, "Shouldn't I feel worse about making my mother cry? I think Harry and Draco are bad influences on me."

Xochi said nothing in reply, but did hoot in his general direction. Ron was oddly comforted by the soft noise, and wondered what he was going to do with Scabbers now that he had Xochi to take with him to Hogwarts. Because he definitely wasn't going to leave her behind.

ooOOooOOoo

Sirius wasn't entirely sure what to think about his godson. The boy had managed, with no effort at all, to convince Sirius to stay with the Malfoys for the summer. It had been a month now, and on the one hand, Sirius was rather glad of the invitation as he had nowhere else to conceivably stay over the summer with Harry, on the other hand, they were the Malfoys. And how could they possibly even come close to counting as good influences on Harry? There was no way.

And there was something... off about his godson. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it was a little bit alarming the way that the boy would sometimes just fall silent in the middle of a conversation and stare off into space. He'd snap out of it swiftly, and then continue on as though nothing had happened, as though stopping in the middle of the conversation was perfectly normal and regular for him. And then, of course, there was the fact that when the event in question happened at dinner, nobody else acted as though there were anything at all wrong. The Malfoys all seemed to think the way that he would freeze, fork halfway to his lips, was perfectly normal. It was... worrying.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" Harry offered, a bright little smile on his face. He'd been spending a few hours every day with his godfather, and while Sirius was grateful for his presence, it still managed to raise even more questions. For instance, wouldn't a wizard raised as a Muggle be more likely to say, 'A penny for your thoughts?' It was almost as though Harry had been raised as the Pureblooded Lord that he technically wasn't. It wasn't that Sirius cared about blood, of course, Merlin knew he didn't, but it was strange.

"I'm just thinking about how very weird you are," Sirius said absently, then frowned when he realized what he'd just said. "I didn't mean it like that," he added hastily, not wanting his godson to think him cruel. Not when he was trying so very hard not to be. That cruelty was partially what had made it so easy for him to wind up in Azkaban, after all.

Harry frowned. "I am very strange, aren't I?" he finally said, after several of those strange moments of silence. "I don't talk at all like a Muggle would, and I don't behave much like one either, do I? I suppose I'm nothing like you imagined I would be when first you met me."

"I don't know that I could have ever anticipated a Slytherin for a godson," Sirius said with a small chuckle. They were in one of Malfoy Manor's many sitting rooms, this one decorated in pale creams and blues. It was quite soothing and lovely and Sirius was very glad that this was the one closest to his suite. It was very calming and bright after the dark chaos that had been Azkaban. He thought maybe that the Mindhealer the Malfoys had arranged for him, one Collin Rosiver, had perhaps had a hand in that. "Your father must be rolling in his grave. I'm pretty sure he always wanted to start a Blood Feud with the Malfoys."

Sirius frowned when his godson flinched and then, as Sirius was beginning to realize was painfully normal for his godson, went into that oddly frozen state. He'd just been making a joke, really. He hadn't meant anything by it.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry closed his eyes against the pain those words brought to him. He'd tried his hardest to avoid thinking about it. After all, he'd never known his parents. How could he possibly be expected to care what they thought? He couldn't. Who could think that he would? But the fact of the matter was, he did care. His parents, after all, had loved him enough to sacrifice themselves to save his life as a child. How could he, realistically, not expect to care about what they might have thought?

It was just that it had been so very easy to tell himself that he didn't care when there was nobody around to remind him of how much he did care. After all, who was going to tell him that he was being a bad person and that his parents would have been horrified by his decision to feed his Defense professor to the school basilisk? Really, it sounded so sordid when he thought about it like that. Of course he'd known it was a very not good thing to do, but without anybody around who cared, well...

~Harry, please,~ Tom whispered in his head. ~Your parents would have-~

~Would have what, understood? I'm siding with their murderer, Tom,~ Harry hissed to him, his temper flaring hotly as it was prone to do these days. He knew that came from Tom, knew that his reading of Tom's emotions was getting worse and that only served to make things worse.

~So what, you'd rather side with the negligent asshole that left you with the Dursleys? Because while it may not have been that bad for you growing up I think we both know that was only the case because they were terrified of me.~ Tom's voice was calm and reasonable and Harry forced himself to calm down a bit. ~You know that we've got the right idea of it, Harry, even if our methods are rather monstrous.~

~I know that. I do. I'm not doubting siding with him, I just...~ Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ~I have to tell him, Tom.~

He could feel Tom's instant rejection of the idea. ~You absolutely don't, Harry. You don't. You can't. What will you do if-~

~If he rejects me? Don't you think that's something that I need to know now? Before I get even more attached to him than I already am? Because I have to tell you, Tom, I really like him. He could easily be...~ Harry stopped, but it was too late.

~He could easily be a father figure for you,~ Tom said softly, quietly, mournfully. ~And you'll need one, after I'm gone, because you'll still be so very young, Harry. And you deserve a father who can hold you outside of your own mind, who you can introduce to your girlfriends and who can play practical jokes on you and embarrass you in front of your friends. Not somebody who your friends are terrified of.~

~You've always been... you're a brother to me, Tom. And some day very soon we're going to be one person. And I... I think I'll need somebody to tell me when I'm pushing myself too far too fast the way that you try to do now.~ Harry was horrified by the fact that Tom would be gone, soon, that he would need somebody else who was older and more experienced in the ways of the world to bounce ideas off of, but there it was. He couldn't ignore the facts. Tom's time was coming, and coming quickly. He'd had the first dream and had no doubt that there would be others to follow.

~Then you're absolutely right. You need to tell him,~ Tom said, his voice now brisk and businesslike. ~You can't go on not knowing what he'll think of you once he knows the truth. And you need to know for certain that he'll stand by you.~ And then, softly, more grimly, ~And I need to be around to take steps if he won't.~

Harry finally opened his eyes once more. His godfather was still and silent, an expression of concern on his still far too gaunt face. "My parents must be rolling in their graves, yes, but for more reasons than you can have possibly guessed. Would you like to hear them?" he asked, as quietly and grimly as he could. He couldn't make this any easier on his godfather and he had no delusions that the conversation coming was going to go well at all.

ooOOooOOoo

There was something in his godson's tone that told Sirius that no, he probably didn't want to know what would have James and Lily rolling in their graves. His godson looked more serious than Sirius had ever seen him, and that was unnerving because Harry was such a very serious boy.

"Harry, I would be honored to know anything that you cared to tell me," Sirius finally said after a moment of consideration. He wasn't entirely certain that was actually the case, but he knew that to not listen to whatever it was his godson had to say would likely be the death of their blooming relationship. And Sirius wanted so desperately to be the father that Harry clearly needed. He thought that was the least he could do considering that he'd been incarcerated for so long.

He watched as his godson sighed and braced himself; for what Sirius couldn't say. Then, quietly, Harry said to him, "I totally fed my Defense professor to the basilisk that lives under Hogwarts."

It took Sirius a moment to realize what Harry had just said, and when he figured it out, he let out a dog-like bark of laughter. "That's great, Harry, you almost had me going there! Your deadpan is fantastic!" he said cheerfully. He hadn't realized that his godson knew how to prank.

But Harry... wasn't laughing. In fact, Harry was frowning rather severely at him, his arms crossed defensively. "I'm not joking," Harry said softly. "I fed Lockhart to the basilisk. It was rather anticlimactic watching him be crunched in half like that. And it wasn't nearly as gory as one might have expected. But it was incredibly cathartic."

Sirius gaped at his godson for several minutes before saying, hesitantly, "You're not kidding?" He couldn't... why would Harry... when had Harry even gotten the idea to... this couldn't possibly be right. It just... it couldn't. "Harry, why?" he asked, not even able to form more words than that. His godson was, in fact, a murderer.

"When I was four years old, my Uncle broke my arm for an infraction I can't even remember. He'd done it before. I lived my formative years in a cupboard under their stairs. When I was six, I broke a glass, spilled some water, I don't know. He beat me bloody with his belt. And when I went back to my room, I heard a voice. I thought I was crazy; who wouldn't? And I suppose in a way I am. But he's real, and he's inside me. There's been a part of him within me ever since he tried to kill me when I was a baby."

Every word was like a dagger in Sirius' heart. His godson spoke in a low, soft sing-song, his eyes vague and distant. Sirius wanted to say something, to stop the terrible words pouring from his godson's lips, but he just couldn't. He kept listening, though he really didn't want to.

"He taught me all about the world that I was destined to live in. He kept me safe, and eventually the Dursleys learned to fear him, and by extension, me. I moved out of the cupboard and into Dudley's second bedroom. And when my Hogwarts letter came, and my Uncle refused to send me, I wasn't willing to accept that. My Aunt and Uncle dragged me and Dudley to some island out in the middle of nowhere. My Uncle was frightened, panicky, and he pulled a shotgun on me. Tom wouldn't have that. He killed him... we killed him with a wandless, wordless Killing Curse."

Sirius let out a soft little noise, mournful and broken. His godson had killed. More than once. And he looked so serious even now, so grim, like he was expecting Sirius to turn and run the other way. And maybe Sirius should. He probably should, anyway. Because Harry was Dark. Darker than Sirius had ever anticipated. Sirius would only hurt himself trying to stay for Harry.

The litany continued, though. "When I went to Hogwarts, I realized quickly that I would have to make a decision. The piece of him inside of me, of Tom, of the Dark Lord, acknowledged that there was another of him floating about in the ether somewhere in Hogwarts. He was after the Sorcerer's Stone, which Dumbledore had hidden in the school. It would help him regain his body. At the end of our first year, Draco and I helped him to take it. The Dark Lord walks the earth once more, and it was in part due to my assistance."

"Harry," Sirius breathed, "the man murdered your parents."

Harry's head dipped in a formal, cold, shallow nod. "He did. The part of his soul inside of me also spared me from countless unnamed horrors at the hands of the Dursleys. I love him like I would love any of my flesh and blood friends, and the Light would destroy him and in doing so destroy me. I can't... I won't let that happen. So I chose my side. And last year, the Dark Lord gave me a task. And I fulfilled it to the best of his expectations."

"The Petrifications. I read about them in the paper, but I'd never imagined you were involved," Sirius said softly. "You're a Parselmouth, aren't you?" Of course he would be. If he really bore part of the Dark Lord's soul, he would have to be. That would be the only way to hope to control a basilisk, anyway.

"I am," Harry said with another shallow inclination of his head. "And you must have some guess as to why I've told you all of this now."

"You're making your final decision about me. If I can be trusted to remain as your godfather, or if I'm going to be Obliviated or... or worse," Sirius said grimly. He closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing that he was right. "I can't... Harry, he killed my best friends. Your parents, even!"

"And I understand that. Which is why we're not asking you to side with him. I'm just asking you not to stand against Harry." Harry's eyes, when Sirius finally reopened his own, were locked on his. They weren't green right now, no, they were dark and red. There was a strange expression on his face that Sirius hadn't seen in the month that he'd known Harry.

"You're... you're him," Sirius guessed. "You're the monster who took possession of my godson."

The abomination before him smiled slowly, all teeth and hostility. "I'm a monster, absolutely, but far less of a monster than I could have been. I could have, no, should have taken him over. Turned his body into mine and destroyed his mind and soul. When he was only six, it would have been so very easy. He was so desperate for a friend, for somebody to listen to him and love him. But I couldn't... I couldn't do it. So I taught him, instead. I raised him and I loved him and I gave him all the support that he needed. And I tried so hard not to influence him, but I suppose I failed miserably at that. I guess that's what happens when one has a black knight to rescue them instead of a white, yeah?"

"If he has you, then why does he need me?" Sirius challenged. He couldn't... he couldn't imagine standing with Harry when Harry was... going against everything that Sirius had ever believed in. But nor could he imagine standing against his godson. After all, he only had the one. And it wasn't like Dumbledore had even bothered to see about his release until he needed him, anyway. Sirius wasn't stupid; he knew exactly why he'd been released when he had been. Dumbledore wanted to pull Harry away from the Malfoys because he thought their influence over Harry was something that could be undone. If he only knew how wrong he was.

"He won't have me forever," Voldemort said quietly. "I was never designed to communicate with my host like this. I was an accident. My soul is slowly merging with his own, and it's changing him. He's so young yet, and I don't want him to... I don't want him to be the monster that I was. But it's too late for that, I suppose. He's already killed once. I didn't take my first victim until I was in my sixth year."

"So you're going to vanish and you want me to make sure that he has, what, a father figure?" Sirius asked, incredulous. "And you're out because... oh, in case I can't do this, in case I won't, you're here to either Obliviate me or to do worse. This is the only shot I'm going to get at this, isn't it?"

"We can't afford to take risks, Black. You should understand that. We cannot be cavalier with the safety of your godson. He's... more powerful than you can imagine and will very likely be the turning point in the coming war. If the war were a game of chess, Harry would be the King. You can't win on either side without him. And I won't allow him to be taken to the Light where he would be miserable."

"He wouldn't have been miserable there if you hadn't taught him," Sirius said bitterly. "But what's done is done, isn't it? For good or ill, I won't stand against my godson. Whether I'll stand with him or not remains to be seen." And then, quietly, before it could be asked but knowing that it would have to be required, Sirius drew his wand and said firmly, "I, Sirius Orion Black, do formally swear upon my blood, my bone, and my magic to never betray my godson. He shall always have a safe harbor in me." He felt the snap of the magic taking effect.

Harry's eyes faded back to green and his godson offered him a tremulous smile. "I'm so glad," he whispered. He stepped forward hesitantly, as though unsure of his welcome.

Sirius' heart ached. As much as he hated the thought of what his godson could become, he knew that he had a duty to James and Lily to see this through. he stepped forward as well and, gently, carefully, enfolded his godson into a hug.

He couldn't change what already was, and he wouldn't be able to take Harry's feet from the path that he'd already chosen, but he could damn well make sure that his godson had at least one good, moral person to tell him when he was being entirely unreasonable.

Sirius would just have to get a little bit better about the whole, 'good, moral person' thing.

A/N: So, Sirius. What do you all think? I just couldn't stand the thought of Harry losing his godfather. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!