Harry hadn't expected Moody to bring in Crouch. He hadn't expected to be consulted by three different people regarding Crouch Junior and Senior's trials. He definitely hadn't expected to be paid a bounty for providing information that led to bringing in an Azkaban escapee.
When it all culminated in Mycroft inviting him to meet his parents after Christmas, he was pretty much baffled.
"He likes you," Eurus had said, picking through her salad to eat the ingredients in the right order.
"I'd hope so," Harry just replied.
Eurus had smiled her most mysterious I-know-something-you-don't smile and gone about her lunch.
Meanwhile, Harry penciled Meet the Holmes into his calendar for March and let himself concentrate on dissolving the feud Moody was trying to coax him into starting with Dumbledore. Unfortunately the Auror spent most of his pension in The Hog's Head, leaving him with too much time to plan nonsense with Aberforth.
Of all the strange things that could have happened on a random January night, Harry was least expecting Arcturus to come knocking.
Mycroft was still putting Sherry to bed, insisting on reading Macbeth to the boy instead of Beedle the Bard's classics. Harry drew his wand and went to open the door, already anticipating another visit from a half-drunken Mad-Eye. The Auror would have something to say about how best to raise children, or how Hogwarts education wasn't what it used to be. "I'm not in the mood," Harry told the closed door. He stepped to the side as he opened it, just in case there'd be a slurred "Constan' Vig'lace" waiting for him.
"Come with me," Arcturus Black barked. "You have work to do."
Harry couldn't remember how often he'd sat in Grimmauld's drawing room, eyes wandering the branches of a mangled family tree.
The words were there, gold leaf on green tapestry:
Walburga Black
28. Sept. 1925–22. Jan. 1984
On the twenty-third of January, 1894, Harry got to experience what it meant to be in line to become the next Black Paterfamilias. In death, like in life, Walburga was a giant hassle.
It took a week to get everything in order so that the old biddy could finally find her final resting place. The whole time, her newly-awake portrait kept her annoyingness fresh on their minds. Harry wanted to be sad and mourn her just a little, but he was too busy drowning under the paperwork it took to get Sirius released for a day.
Busy as he was bringing Bellatrix back over from France, it took Arcturus a while to realise what Harry had intended about foisting heir duties on the orphan of the hour. "You will be expected to attend the funeral," Arcturus said, ignoring Harry's answering groan.
"You're sure I have to?" Harry asked. He knew the kinds of people that were going to attend a Black funeral—he'd sent out the invitations—and he wanted nothing to do with them.
Arcturus' glare was extremely effective for a man who could barely walk anymore. "Your irreverence is appalling, boy."
It had been a long week of annoying, menial activities, and Harry hadn't had time to tuck his son into bed for days. Arcturus Black held some power over him because Harry was his heir. At the same time, as long as Harry was living up to his end of their vow, it also protected him.
Having been forced to listen to a few too many or Arcturus' rants, and his belittling of Mycroft, Harry crossed his arms. Flopping back in his armchair, he said, "I'll go to Walburga's funeral if you make it worth my time."
It was a bit petty, but interacting with Blacks brought out the petty in him. Harry wouldn't miss out on seeing Sirius for the world, but by some miracle, Arcurus hadn't figured that out yet.
"Stop being difficult. If you attend, I will let your family move into Grimmauld. Salazar knows why you wanted to keep renting with the extortionist rates they're asking these days." A very small elf squeaked, dropping a plate of finger sandwiches onto the table and popping back out.
"I like our flat." Sure, owning a property would make warding it easier, but no convenience could make up for the threatening aura of the Black townhouse. Arcturus was going to die within the decade, and they both knew it, so his ability to bargain was running thin.
"If you attend Walburga's funeral, without that squib husband of yours, I will refrain from mentioning his breeding again. I'll also let you inherit Kreacher."
Harry had learnt more than he ever wanted to about Black finances, Black family secrets, and Black magic from the man. They didn't meet as often anymore, but it would be nice to not have to listen to any more digs about Mycroft. And while Harry didn't like the elf, he also didn't want Kreacher to get carted off to some distant cousin.
"Alright." Harry took a sandwich, shoving it into his mouth in a way that would have made Ron proud. He licked a bit of cream cheese off his fingers before offering his hand to Arcturus.
His paterfamilias sneered, then shook on it. "I expect you'll be on your best behaviour."
"You can't always get what you want, my Lord," Harry said, making his way to the floo. He had a bedtime story to read. He grinned the way Eurus had taught him, from the teeth down to the threatening vibes. "See you tomorrow!"
.oOo.
Shacklebolt and Moon were given the dubious honour of accompanying Sirius to the funeral. Harry's godfather had been freshly scrubbed, barbered, and dressed in fine robes, but they couldn't clean off the gauntness that clung to him like a cloak.
"Hullo," Harry sidled up to the trio. "Kingsley, Moon, Sirius, glad you could make it."
Moon giggled a bit. "You saw the roster, Harry, old chap."
She had a point. Of all the things they could be doing on a Saturday afternoon, standing in the January drizzle by Walburga Black's grave didn't make the list.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," said the fifteenth Ministry worker that nobody recognised. Thankfully Arcturus and Bellatrix were at the head of the line, fielding most of the attention. Harry had hidden himself next to his kind of-godfather, trying to blend into the background.
"Thank you," Sirius said, inclining his head. As the man scuttled off, he turned back to Harry. "You still haven't told me who you are."
"Oh look! Andromeda Tonks, I'm so glad you're here," Harry said, drawing the woman closer. "You may want to dodge Arcturus, he's feeling bite-y. Park yourself here with us for a bit. You must be Nymphadora and Edward Tonks, thrilled to finally meet you."
Yet another Ministry worker had made his way down from the line of assembled family. "I'm sorry for your loss," he mumbled, shaking Sirius' hand and skittering away.
"You're the new heir," Andromeda said. She kissed Harry's cheeks, then promptly moved to put a polite amount of space between them. "I haven't heard much from the family since Walburga blasted me off the tapestry. Your invitation to her funeral struck me as particularly ironic."
"Isn't that a thing people say? The best revenge is a life well lived," Harry replied. The next person to come and express their regrets was Arthur Weasley, who shook Sirius' hand, smiled briefly at Harry, and sidled towards the apparation point for a swift exit.
"You're a Black?" Sirius sputtered, turning his back on the next well-wisher. "How come I never heard of you until my trial?"
Kingsley and Moon were looking off into the crowd, but Harry knew they were listening. "Maybe after your mum's safely in her tomb, we could sit down and tongue-wag? There's a wake after—I did my best, but I'm sure it'll be awful—we can hog a table together."
"Such a shame," came the familiar drawl. Harry saw Sirius' sneer from the corner of his eye.
"Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy," Harry said, bouncing a little. "Thank you for coming. Your condolences mean a lot."
Ted Tonks snorted on Harry's other side. Harry felt more than saw Andromeda elbow the man.
"What is it I'm hearing about a family discussion? An introduction of a new heir, such a surprise that was. Usually people join a family at a much younger age." Lucius' smile was smug.
It had been so long since Harry had felt such a strong desire to punch someone. "Funny, and here you only joined the Black family tree age twenty-four. That must have been a long pregnancy."
Tonks giggled, her hair flashing pink before returning to a dull brown.
Malfoy looked like he didn't know what to say. His wife stepped in, ignoring Harry to smile at Andromeda instead. "It's good to see you," she said softly. "It's been too long."
"It has."
At the front of the line, they heard Bellatrix's voice jump out over the murmur of conversation.
"Until next time, sister dearest," Narcissa said. "Sirius," she nodded to her brother, before turning curious grey eyes on Harry. "And the new heir, Harry Charlus Black. I haven't heard nearly as much about you as I'd like. Expect my owl with an invitation for tea."
Lucius and Narcissa stalked away, robes billowing behind them. Harry wondered if they'd given Snape lessons, back in the day.
"Mum would've been thrilled," Sirius muttered, shoving his hands pointedly in his pockets when the next well-wisher tried to offer his condolences. "She's probably sitting in hell, enjoying all this family drama."
Tonks' hair flashed pink again. Harry had to choke down his own laughter.
.oOo.
"What on earth did he see in you?" Tonks said, poking Harry's arm. "Is it true you're an Auror? Is Mad-Eye Moody as terrifying as they say?"
Harry grinned at her. At fourteen, Tonks had even less of a filter on her words and could manage to trip over literally everything. While the lot of them sat down at a corner booth in Walburga's favourite restaurant, Harry grabbed her hand to stop her from falling. "Moody is retired, but you wouldn't be able to tell by the amount of time he spends in the office. I'm sure he'll love training you, when he's not three sheets to the wind."
With her bright pink hair being the only spot of colour in the room full of reluctant mourners, Harry was really glad to have her there. Not the least because Walburga was probably already rolling in her coffin at the thought of the Tonks family attending her funeral.
Harry should have been used to Andromeda's cold, guarded stare, but it still hurt. She sat directly across from him, leaving Sirius and her husband to fill in the other places. The Auror guard thankfully stayed over by the wall, allowing Harry to throw up a little charm against eavesdroppers.
"Grand-uncle disowned me, yet he blood-adopted you to be his heir. Why."
Harry's story had become more familiar with each retelling, but he tried to keep the monotone out of his voice. "I'm Charlus and Dorea's son, so we were already family. I—"
Sirius squawked. "Charlus Potter had a son? Morgana's tits. You—you look just like him."
Him as in James Potter, except with Lily's green eyes. "…Right. So," he continued.
"You have Harry, that's why he took you into the family." Andromeda was wearing her thinking scowl.
"Technically, I am Harry," he couldn't help saying.
Sirius laughed, then remembered what they were talking about. "You have little Harry. Oh Merlin, is he alright? Tell me he's alright. I was…it should have been me. Lily and James, gone, me in Azkaban, why isn't he with Alice?"
Food appeared on their tables, Walburga's favourite: a pot-roasted bird. Ted took over the process of carving up the pheasant and making sure they all had port wine sauce. It smelled amazing, but Harry wasn't hungry. Mycroft would have loved the way the meat fell off the bone.
"The Longbottoms moved to France," Andromeda provided. "His closest blood relative would have been prioritised to become legal guardian."
Something niggled at the back of Harry's mind about Longbottoms and Shortbottoms. He waved away the thought like a stray fly.
Sirius' turned on Harry. Even his crazed eyes were nothing like the godfather Harry had gotten to know in his fourth year. "Tell me he's alright?"
Harry had thought he'd get to know that godfather again once he served his sentence, but this man was a stranger. "He's doing very well. We call him Sherry, don't ask, it's a long story. He's serious, but he also likes pulling pranks."
At that, Sirius grinned, just like Harry had hoped he would. The man didn't need to know that Sherry's version of pranks involved transfiguring all of Mycroft's right shoes into left ones, or charming Benjamin's hair to catch fire.
"That's my boy," Sirius said.
"Quite literally, he isn't," Andromeda cut in. "You got yourself incarcerated, remember?"
"Is Azkaban as bad as they say?" Tonks asked.
Ted gave his daughter a look he'd definitely learned from Andromeda, and it made her wince.
"Sorry," she whispered. Harry wondered if it was the right time to ask what a Dementor-less Azkaban was like.
And then, to top it all off, Albus bloody Dumbledore stepped through Harry's silencing charm like it was made of candy floss.
"I'm ever so sorry for your loss, my dears," he said, inviting himself to sit between Sirius and Andromeda. Another plate appeared for him, and he helped himself to a bit of pheasant, completely ignoring the way he'd interrupted their conversation. "Don't mind me."
Sirius scowled. "We were talking about Azkaban," he said. "You might have heard of it. You were presiding at the trial that sent me there."
"Most unfortunate, of course, I had offered to speak for your defence; alas."
They all stared at Dumbledore, who pulled a mushroom through sauce while pretending not to notice their looks.
"They did remove the Dementors," Dumbledore said, "I heard you were involved in that, Mister Black? I mean, Mister Harry Black?"
Harry wanted to go home to Mycroft and Sherry instead of sitting at a wake pretending to mourn a woman that nobody had loved.
"Oh, I don't know," Harry said, wearing his politic smile. "A few people talked to me about possibilities is all."
"And yet, you've grown to have quite the realm of influence. Even custody over a child. How do you feel knowing that Sirius' time in Azkaban is half served already?"
"Excuse me." Andromeda's voice was chilling. "This is a wake. You weren't invited. Thank you."
Harry's to-do list read:
Save Neville's parents
Become the Ministry of Magic
Get Henry healthy and safe (Kill Voldemort)
Get Sirius a trial
Figure out a way to uphold the Statute once video cameras become widespread
Get Wizarding Britain into reasonable shape
Mentally, he added, Don't let Andromeda start a family feud.
He crossed it out, and stood. "I'll escort you to the apparation point."
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes sparkling. Harry wondered how he used to love the man and felt port wine sauce churning in his stomach.
"I don't know why you think you can take Harry Potter away from me," he said once they'd left the restaurant.
"I wasn't aware I'd implied any such thing." Dumbledore ambled along towards the end of the alley. "However, you must acknowledge that he is a unique child in most unusual circumstances. He should be raised somewhere in the Muggle world, safe from prying eyes."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, speeding up his pace so Albus had to lengthen his stride.
"Whatever you said to Alastor and Sirius," Dumbledore said, his eyebrows seeming sterner than Harry remembered them being, "you can't lie to them forever. They'll see through your facade. It's a matter of time before they understand the truth."
"You're barmy," Harry said, stopping. "Albus Dumbledore, the power's gone to your head. You can't tell me how to raise my boy, how to live my life, or what to do when my colleagues at the Ministry ask for my advice."
"I can make the Auror department very uncomfortable for you, young man."
"Fine." Harry took a step back, then gestured for Dumbledore to hurry himself up and disapparate already. "Fine. You win. No more Auror-duties for me. Now please leave me the fuck alone."
I should not have said that.
Harry stalked back to the restaurant, forcing his breathing into something that was pretending to be perfectly normal. He smiled and nodded and answered when someone asked, but in his head he was fuming.
How dare Albus Dumbledore tell him all about how saving the world was such a great idea, even going so far as to help him make plans for getting Horcruxes, making alliances, and the time travel itself.
How dare his portrait fail to mention how much of a bloody prick his past self was going to be about it all.
The pheasant was replaced by poached pears. Mycroft would have said they didn't work well with the wine being served. Harry spooned his dessert picturing how he'd be walking into work the next day to tell Amelia he was leaving for another department.
Improper use of Magic, maybe. Or Transportation. Not Sports and Games, definitely not Magical Creature Relations. Every time he tried working with Goblins he bollocksed it up somehow. He still couldn't wrap his head around their culture, and he didn't want them to freeze his accounts over a cock-up
It'd be nice to have a job that didn't need him to do too much actual work, of course. Something where he could write off large blocks of time with networking. He'd heard that International Relations were looking for someone new.
As Harry sunk further into listening to the voices in the back of his head, the room in front of him faded into the background. Andromeda and Sirius started up another round of nostalgia. Harry hadn't even noticed when Narcissa had joined their table.
The chorus was rumbling and rushing; Walburga's death had sent out more ripples than Harry had been expecting. There was unease and malcontent, with pureblood factions in arms about balance and segregation.
When Harry got home he plopped himself on the couch next to Mycroft, setting the man's feet on his lap, and thought, listening some more to the unsettled murmurings of his people.
On Monday morning, he joined the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Letting Arthur show him the room of cursed electronics and the magical map that alerted them to muggle-involved events, Harry knew he was in good hands. In the cafeteria during lunch, three memos found him with requests for private meetings.
He'd done a good job in the DMLE getting the remnants of the war cleaned up and the right people jailed, but now it was time to start changing the laws rather than their enforcement. Harry went to have tea with Mister Diggory assured that, for the moment, he was exactly where he needed to be.
.oOo.
Harry's first meeting with Andromeda went really well. Her wariness hurt, though. Harry had to remind himself over and over that she wasn't his Andy. He knew enough about the way she thought, nonetheless, so a few rounds of poker had him solidly back in her good graces.
They both ignored the elephant in the room: the middle Black sister who'd been strategically relocated to France and was doing Arcturus-knows-what. Harry hoped she was actually studying potions at the university there, but he had bigger worries with Eurus and Sherry and an entire magical government he was slowly shifting towards progress.
Andromeda commented on some of the policies, even, but Harry wasn't meeting her in his capacity as the Ministry. She was a formidable woman he'd come to admire greatly, and now was his chance to help her heal the fractured relationship with her youngest sister—one of her life's main regrets.
For some reason, Narcissa and Andromeda needed him to chaperone their meetings under the title of 'House business' or something, just for a reason to be in the same room together. Once they were actually sitting there gossiping over biscuits, though, they tended to forget he even existed.
Harry breathed into his cup, letting his glasses fog up. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing there, but that was alright. Their chatter washed over him, reminding him that he still hadn't taken Sherry on a trip to the sea.
Draco was almost four and had begun to show signs of accidental magic.
Nymphadora had already begun changing the colour of her hair at that age.
"My son can read," Harry offered. The two sisters looked at him, brows raised in synchronised confusion.
"I'm sure he can," Andromeda said, then turned away again. "Cissy, did I tell you about the time—"
Harry excused himself and wandered over to where Draco was playing with a stuffed Abraxan. "Hello," he said, sitting down on the floor. "What's this one's name, then?"
Draco's grin was happy and real as he answered. His eyes were as grey as Mycroft's, and for a second Harry wondered what it'd be like to have another little child filling the flat with laughter. The vow to Arcturus wouldn't kick in until Sherry turned ten, but still. It would be nice to give him a little sibling.
.oOo.
With the Black family drama all smoothed over, it was the Holmes family that was twisting Harry's stomach into knots. He missed the simpler times decades in the future. That Mycroft had shown Harry the home he'd grown up in briskly, walking from one room to the next to show dust motes in the sunlight and white sheets covering the furniture.
In 1984, the house was very much lived in. Mummy Holmes had been unpleasant enough when she'd invited herself over, but going into her home meant meeting her in her own territory. The guest suite was the exact same one Harry had stayed in once before, but everything else was different.
It was only two nights over a long weekend, Harry told himself when Mummy had made the third cutting comment towards her cook. "We're going for a walk," Harry announced after dinner just to get himself and Sherry out of the house.
Mycroft came with, bundled up with the scarf Harry had gifted him for Christmas. They walked the cobblestones of Henley-on-Thames in silence, moving from one puddle of light to the next.
When a yawning Sherry asked Harry to carry him, they turned back.
"You never met them," Mycroft deduced. "But you know the house. I suppose I was curious before, but now I wish I didn't know."
"I'm sorry," Harry said.
"I had intended this trip to go rather differently. I thought…my father…" The silence stretched until it was uncomfortable. "Nevermind," Mycroft said, and sighed.
Harry didn't have it in him to ask what had happened to the man. Constantin looked like he'd been hit by a boiling curse, and while Sherry had no issue charming his grandparents, Harry found it difficult to look at Constantin Holmes directly.
He knew Dittany wouldn't help, he knew there was nothing he could do to help, but it didn't stop him from feeling stupidly helpless.
By the end of their two days Sherry had finished wrapping the Holmes household entirely around his little finger, while Harry wished more and more to leave the stifling manor house for home.
The whole time, Mycroft seemed on the cusp of asking him something, but by the end of the trip it turned out to be a simple walk through the family plot. Harry understood honouring the dead, but he made sure not to touch the ring in his pocket as he let Mycroft introduce him, one by one, to the generations of Holmeses that had come before.
Coming back to London—with her Black cabs, red buses, and drizzle that never seemed to stop—was a relief.
.oOo.
Eurus didn't say a word when she came home from uni for the weekend to see Mycroft handing Sherry his very own poodle puppy.
Harry didn't say anything either. He wasn't going to potty train the thing, that was for certain. Little Medusa was cute as a button and came with an innate ability to weaponize puppy-dog eyes.
Thankfully, Sherry was the cleverest child he'd ever met, and he saw it as a challenge. Some of his dog training was accidental magic, but the rest was perseverance and enthusiasm. He did try to listen when Eurus was giving him pointers, but he was also of the age where his favourite word was "No."
Sighing, Harry shuffled around so his book would block his view of Sherry teaching Medusa to fetch his toys by name.
Mycroft had wanted this, Harry reminded himself, and it did look like Sherry was having fun. Harry hoped that Mycroft's idea worked out, and went back to reading about ward structures. Eurus had said she wanted to learn how to construct and dismantle them in her next lesson, regardless that Harry's understanding of wards didn't go much beyond Muggle Repelling.
He'd also have to meet with Moody once Mycroft got home, but that would be in Harry's capacity as the Ministry of Magic, and that was a job Harry knew he was good at. A sprinkle of truth, a bit of misinformation, and the occasional manipulative move was slowly but surely moving Magical Britain towards a better version of itself.
Hopefully, he and Mycroft would have their governments in shape before Sherry grew aware enough of the hundred and one reasons someone really ought to be staging a coup.