"Really look at him, Harry. Don't you see it? He's the spitting image of Sirius."
Harry felt like laughing. Sirius, be the father of Blasie Zabini? What a ludicrous idea! He pulled the photo from Ron and studied Blasie's face, looking for the slightest thing that would prove Hermione wrong.
But he couldn't see anything. He looked harder. Still nothing. The high cheekbones, the square jaw, the dark curly hair, it was all Sirius. Harry pulled his picture of Sirius from his pocket and held the two side by side. His breath was stuck in his throat. The only physical difference was Blasie's eyes. They were bright blue, probably inherited from his mother.
"Harry, there's no way of knowing for sure, but I don't think it's a coincidence," Hermione's soft voice rang through his head. She was wrong; she had to be. Sirius would have told him.
Unless he didn't know. Sirius admitted to being a ladies man in his school days, was it possible that a one night stand got out of control?
"Harry, you alright mate?" it was Ron's voice that time.
"You're wrong. You have to be," Harry breathed, crunching the pictures in his hands. He let them fall onto the table. But with the spell on his picture of Sirius, it folded itself back out, in perfect condition.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione soothed, placing her hand over his. But even with her warm, small hand on his, he still felt like he was going to be sick.
He needed his own proof. An eyewitness; someone that knew Sirius in his school days. Remus Lupin should be at the Grimallud Place. He would try him.
In a flurry of robes, Harry sprang from his seat and took off running to the door.
~*~
"Remus! Remus!" Harry screamed into the fireplace in the Room of Requirement. Normal floo did not work in Hogwarts, but because of the room's special power to give the occupants anything they wanted, Harry was able to connect to the fire place at Grimullad Place.
"Harry? What are you doing?" Remus Lupin came into the kitchen looking around for his best friend's son.
"Here, Remus," Harry called. Remus knelt in front of the fire on his hands and knees.
"Is everything alright?" he asked hurriedly.
"Sort of. It's nothing with Voldemort or the Order, but it's important," Harry could see the werewolf's shoulders slouch a little, signaling that he was relieved.
"Go on then, Harry. But you better make it fast, you don't want somebody tracing this," he nodded for Harry to start.
"Did Sirius have a girlfriend in 7th year?" the pain in his knees was growing, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Sirius had a few girlfriends. Why?" Remus shifted so he was sitting Indian style on the rug. Harry launched into Hermione's theory about Blasie Zabini. He was sure that his legs were going to fall of at the knee when he got out of there, but he continued.
"Harry, I don't know what to say," Remus confessed.
"Anything, please," he begged.
"Sirius never said anything about being a father, but then again, she could have never told him," he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to pull out any memory that could assist Harry.
"Isn't there anything?" Harry continued to plead.
"I'm sorry Harry," Remus said finally.
"It's fine, I guess. See you at Christmas," and with those final words, he pulled his head out of the green flames.
There had to be someone else, anyone that knew Sirius in his 7th year. Of coarse, why didn't he think of it before! Snape knew him, even if they did despise each other. Harry tried to stand, but his legs gave under his weight.
"I hate floo," he grumbled, flexing his legs to get feeling back in them. He looked around for a clock. One appeared on the wall in front of him as if it had been there the whole time. It read 9:07. It would be to late to see Snape, but he needed more proof. He stood slowly, making sure his legs could hold him. They wobbled for a second, but supported him easily enough. Thinking quickly, Harry slipped out of the door and pulled a familiar piece of parchment out of his pocket.
"I seemly swear I am up to no good," he recited. Lines began to appear on the parchment, creating a map of Hogwarts. His eyes glanced all over the castle until they rested on a dot named Blasie Zabini. He was on his was back from the library. If Harry hurried, he catch him before he got to the dungeons. "Mischief managed."
Walking quickly, he turned corner after corner, the Marauders map image still in his mind. He stopped suddenly, peering around the corner of the stone wall. Blasie was walking by himself, his eyes focused on a piece of parchment held in his hand. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He ran a hand through his already messy hair and turned the corner, acting as if he was just out for a stroll.
"Blasie," Harry greeted, passing by the boy he wanted more than anything to talk to.
"Potter. Out a little late for a walk, eh?" he stopped and turned so he was facing Harry, pushing the parchment he was looking at into his bag that hung loosely on his shoulder.
"What about you?" Harry asked in return. He was desperate for anything that would start a conversation.
"Heading for my common room. You?"
"Same. How's your Quidditch game going?"
"Good, actually. I think we may give Gryffindor a run for the Cup this year," Blasie smirk reminded Harry so much of Sirius. Reaching into his pocket, he ran a finger over his godfather's picture.
"We'll see about that," he smirked in return to Blasie's. An idea ran through his head at that moment. It would be a small gesture, most likely not noticed. "Must be off then, Blasie," he said, nodding a goodbye and walking in the direction he was heading earlier.
"See you later, Potter," Blasie nodded at Harry and began walking in his original direction also.
Carefully, Harry pulled out the picture of Sirius, looked at it for a split second, then tossed it gently in Blasie's path. He continued walking, turning once to see if Blasie had seen the photo. He had. He looked at it for a minute on the ground before bending and picking it up.
"Potter!" he called. Harry stopped in his tracks, pretending to be annoyed.
"What, Zabini?" he walked forward up to the place Blasie was standing, looking at the photo.
"You dropped this," he said, but made no move to give it back.
"Thanks," Harry said, letting Blasie study it.
"Is this… who… is this?" he managed to get out, not taking his eyes of the picture.
"My godfather," Harry answered simply.
"He looks like me," Blasie replied. Harry pretended to be slightly surprised. He leaned over to look at the photo, then back at Blasie.
"He does, doesn't he?" Blasie nodded dumbly. "What do your parents look like?"
"Both have blonde hair. I got my mum's eyes," he explained, glancing up at Harry then back down.
"Odd. You want me to see if I can find a family tree, see if you are related to him?" Blasie nodded again, handing the picture back to Harry.
"That would be cool. I'll see you around, Harry," he spun on his heal and was out of sight within seconds.
Harry began mentally going over ways to tell Blasie what he knew. While doing this, he realized that for the first time, Blasie had called him Harry.
Harry felt like laughing. Sirius, be the father of Blasie Zabini? What a ludicrous idea! He pulled the photo from Ron and studied Blasie's face, looking for the slightest thing that would prove Hermione wrong.
But he couldn't see anything. He looked harder. Still nothing. The high cheekbones, the square jaw, the dark curly hair, it was all Sirius. Harry pulled his picture of Sirius from his pocket and held the two side by side. His breath was stuck in his throat. The only physical difference was Blasie's eyes. They were bright blue, probably inherited from his mother.
"Harry, there's no way of knowing for sure, but I don't think it's a coincidence," Hermione's soft voice rang through his head. She was wrong; she had to be. Sirius would have told him.
Unless he didn't know. Sirius admitted to being a ladies man in his school days, was it possible that a one night stand got out of control?
"Harry, you alright mate?" it was Ron's voice that time.
"You're wrong. You have to be," Harry breathed, crunching the pictures in his hands. He let them fall onto the table. But with the spell on his picture of Sirius, it folded itself back out, in perfect condition.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione soothed, placing her hand over his. But even with her warm, small hand on his, he still felt like he was going to be sick.
He needed his own proof. An eyewitness; someone that knew Sirius in his school days. Remus Lupin should be at the Grimallud Place. He would try him.
In a flurry of robes, Harry sprang from his seat and took off running to the door.
~*~
"Remus! Remus!" Harry screamed into the fireplace in the Room of Requirement. Normal floo did not work in Hogwarts, but because of the room's special power to give the occupants anything they wanted, Harry was able to connect to the fire place at Grimullad Place.
"Harry? What are you doing?" Remus Lupin came into the kitchen looking around for his best friend's son.
"Here, Remus," Harry called. Remus knelt in front of the fire on his hands and knees.
"Is everything alright?" he asked hurriedly.
"Sort of. It's nothing with Voldemort or the Order, but it's important," Harry could see the werewolf's shoulders slouch a little, signaling that he was relieved.
"Go on then, Harry. But you better make it fast, you don't want somebody tracing this," he nodded for Harry to start.
"Did Sirius have a girlfriend in 7th year?" the pain in his knees was growing, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Sirius had a few girlfriends. Why?" Remus shifted so he was sitting Indian style on the rug. Harry launched into Hermione's theory about Blasie Zabini. He was sure that his legs were going to fall of at the knee when he got out of there, but he continued.
"Harry, I don't know what to say," Remus confessed.
"Anything, please," he begged.
"Sirius never said anything about being a father, but then again, she could have never told him," he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to pull out any memory that could assist Harry.
"Isn't there anything?" Harry continued to plead.
"I'm sorry Harry," Remus said finally.
"It's fine, I guess. See you at Christmas," and with those final words, he pulled his head out of the green flames.
There had to be someone else, anyone that knew Sirius in his 7th year. Of coarse, why didn't he think of it before! Snape knew him, even if they did despise each other. Harry tried to stand, but his legs gave under his weight.
"I hate floo," he grumbled, flexing his legs to get feeling back in them. He looked around for a clock. One appeared on the wall in front of him as if it had been there the whole time. It read 9:07. It would be to late to see Snape, but he needed more proof. He stood slowly, making sure his legs could hold him. They wobbled for a second, but supported him easily enough. Thinking quickly, Harry slipped out of the door and pulled a familiar piece of parchment out of his pocket.
"I seemly swear I am up to no good," he recited. Lines began to appear on the parchment, creating a map of Hogwarts. His eyes glanced all over the castle until they rested on a dot named Blasie Zabini. He was on his was back from the library. If Harry hurried, he catch him before he got to the dungeons. "Mischief managed."
Walking quickly, he turned corner after corner, the Marauders map image still in his mind. He stopped suddenly, peering around the corner of the stone wall. Blasie was walking by himself, his eyes focused on a piece of parchment held in his hand. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He ran a hand through his already messy hair and turned the corner, acting as if he was just out for a stroll.
"Blasie," Harry greeted, passing by the boy he wanted more than anything to talk to.
"Potter. Out a little late for a walk, eh?" he stopped and turned so he was facing Harry, pushing the parchment he was looking at into his bag that hung loosely on his shoulder.
"What about you?" Harry asked in return. He was desperate for anything that would start a conversation.
"Heading for my common room. You?"
"Same. How's your Quidditch game going?"
"Good, actually. I think we may give Gryffindor a run for the Cup this year," Blasie smirk reminded Harry so much of Sirius. Reaching into his pocket, he ran a finger over his godfather's picture.
"We'll see about that," he smirked in return to Blasie's. An idea ran through his head at that moment. It would be a small gesture, most likely not noticed. "Must be off then, Blasie," he said, nodding a goodbye and walking in the direction he was heading earlier.
"See you later, Potter," Blasie nodded at Harry and began walking in his original direction also.
Carefully, Harry pulled out the picture of Sirius, looked at it for a split second, then tossed it gently in Blasie's path. He continued walking, turning once to see if Blasie had seen the photo. He had. He looked at it for a minute on the ground before bending and picking it up.
"Potter!" he called. Harry stopped in his tracks, pretending to be annoyed.
"What, Zabini?" he walked forward up to the place Blasie was standing, looking at the photo.
"You dropped this," he said, but made no move to give it back.
"Thanks," Harry said, letting Blasie study it.
"Is this… who… is this?" he managed to get out, not taking his eyes of the picture.
"My godfather," Harry answered simply.
"He looks like me," Blasie replied. Harry pretended to be slightly surprised. He leaned over to look at the photo, then back at Blasie.
"He does, doesn't he?" Blasie nodded dumbly. "What do your parents look like?"
"Both have blonde hair. I got my mum's eyes," he explained, glancing up at Harry then back down.
"Odd. You want me to see if I can find a family tree, see if you are related to him?" Blasie nodded again, handing the picture back to Harry.
"That would be cool. I'll see you around, Harry," he spun on his heal and was out of sight within seconds.
Harry began mentally going over ways to tell Blasie what he knew. While doing this, he realized that for the first time, Blasie had called him Harry.