Disclaimer: Characters and premise of HP belong to JKR. My dreams are the only place I'm making money off this.
A/N: Yes, it's been done a thousand times. Here's one thousand and one.
Summary: Family should love and stand by you, no matter what. At seventeen, Sirius learns that friends are the family you chose.
WHERE THE HEART IS
What are you going to do now?
He. . . .didn't know.
It might be worse. It might be raining.
He had that to be grateful for, at least. He hadn't been turned out in miserable weather. But it was summer, London or not. It couldn't rain all the time.
It feels like it should be.
Though that wasn't really right, either. He wasn't sad. Just cold. A little relieved; this had been a long time in coming. Since I was eleven. Maybe before.
Definitely before; he remembered being dragged to social functions with his parents and sitting stubbornly on the sidelines, refusing to play with the other children as they hexed and toyed with a mouse. 'Practicing', his parents had called it. He'd been unsettled by it, and hidden that under a pretense of arrogant aloofness.
Regulus had killed the mouse.
But he was seventeen now. Old enough to be accountable for his decisions, to make his way in the Wizarding world on his own merit and his father's name. Legally recognized as an adult, and punished accordingly by law and family.
But he was going to be an Auror.
He didn't remember consciously making the decision; and he definitely hadn't told James, Remus, or Peter. It was just something he felt deeply, though some would doubt that Sirius Black, prankster extraordinaire, was ever capable of actually being serious.
He shifted on the curb, glancing at his school trunk. It was filled with the few possessions he truly owned. School clothes. A few books. Some gifts from his friends. A little money. Not much – not enough to get through school. Enough to get some food, and a place to stay, for a little while.
I need help.
He grimaced rather than admit it, glad once more for this deserted nook in Diagon Alley that meant he had his thoughts mostly to himself. The anger had run dry some time ago, leaving him listless as well as directionless. Fingers resisted the urge to rub sore knuckles. Slamming a hand out at the wall hadn't been the smartest thing he'd done all day, but it was far from the dumbest. At least it's part of an upward trend.
He'd been disowned, but not completely. He could feel the magics tugging at him now, poking and prying through his soul for the subtle hooks of inheritance charms about him. Old magics that his parents were peeling away. Painful magics. He'd retained enough sense to go to Gringotts first, and close off his bank account from parental access before they could drain him dry. He'd been barely in time.
He'd felt their rage, poured into ripping from him the magics binding him as heir. Regulus will be happy.
But he was a Black, after all. He knew how the game was played, even if he refused to play by their rules. Making up his own had always worked better for him anyway. Even now.
His parting from his family had been cold.
"You are a disgrace to the House of Black," his father said quietly. "You will not return here. You will not contact us, and we will not contact you. You are dead to us."
A thin tendril of smoke rose from the place his name had occupied on the tapestry of the family tree.
Sirius nodded jerkily. Words were gone, had been shoved forth and shunted aside, and for once he had nothing left to say. So he took the few things in the world that were his, or would be thrown away when the need for them was gone. And he left.
He had loved them. He could admit to himself, in this privacy, that he had always harbored the small hope that they would love him back. Some of what his parents had termed 'Gryffindor weakness', and had made his brother laugh at him.
A few minutes, he told himself fiercely. Do what you have to, and then put it away. Never again. So he let himself cry, just a little – and then the few tears were jerking sobs, muffled in his arms as he shook quietly apart in this secluded corner of Diagon Alley.
When the grief spent itself, Sirius wiped his face, feeling strangely calm, and better. I'm done with them. Hard to believe, but all he could touch now was the relief. The tears had been put away, and childhood with them.
Now he would think of the future.
Funny, he mused, shrinking the trunk and slipping the resultant miniature into a pocket. So much for underage wizardry – a statute that lasted until graduation from Hogwarts, no matter how old you were. In Diagon Alley it barely counted, anyway.
He unfolded his Hogwarts letter, and looked at the required books. If it came down to eating or the books – he was going to be an Auror. No question. No doubt. And now, no room for error. And he knew with a frightened chill that it would be the books, and not food. The latter, he could work for.
"Brothers," James said quietly
"Friends," Remus added. Peter smiled.
Sirius nodded, unaccustomedly solemn. "Until the end."
He winced. He couldn't take his problems to Remus' door; and Peter's mother had enough to deal with, sending him to school. But could he really – he'd never been able to lie to James. Not with any real success.
He had not even two months before school started. He could get by, if he had to. Sirius could imagine the fury on Prongs' face, when they found out he hadn't turned to them for help. Followed by hurt, swiftly hidden. He . . . couldn't do that. Not to James.
So when he showed up on the Potters' doorstep, he didn't even bother trying for a smile and a joke.
"Hey, Padfoot!" Prongs grinned at him, opening the door. Hazel eyes lost some of their twinkle, however, at the bare smile he was given back. "Is something wrong?"
Sirius nodded. "Actually, I'd like to speak with you. And your parents, if that's alright."
James' curiosity was just barely in check. Sirius could read it in his face – What's wrong? The prankster Sirius had given way to someone harder. "Sure. They're in the kitchen. Come on." The Potters were just as rich and prestigious as the Blacks, but they were free of the pureblood mania that had swallowed Sirius' family. It was a nice change to walk through a house that was clean and open and airy. "Mum! Dad! Sirius is here!"
"Sirius!" Dinah Potter smiled at him from the kitchen table. "How are you?"
He smiled back. It felt a bit hollow, but – "Not bad, Mrs. Potter. And you?"
"Quite well, thank you." She set her tea aside, getting up to pull a clean cup from the cabinet for him.
"Sirius," her husband gestured to a chair, putting his paper down. "What brings you here today?"
He winced, then, and scrubbed a hand through hair that was shaggy enough to need a cut. "I. . . need some advice."
"Of course, Sirius," Mr. Potter said, catching his uneasiness. The paper went down, and he had all of the man's undivided attention. Father never – Sirius couldn't meet his gaze.
"Sit down, dear," his wife urged.
Sirius seated himself awkwardly, keeping his eyes on his hands. Shook his head against a cup of tea silently offered. Best to be out with it, then. "I've been disowned," he said evenly. The sudden silence spoke volumes. "My parents are working on the technical magics, but as it stands -" he blew out a breath. "I have the means to get through my last year at Hogwarts. Enough to get by until then, even." If I lose my fondness for food.
"Sirius -" James sputtered, surprised. Shocked. "What happened?"
I don't want to talk about this. He inhaled, quietly. He couldn't lie to James. "My father decided it was time for me to make certain decisions about my future. My choices . . . disappointed him." Please, Prongs, please don't make me – not here at the table – not –
Not as if it made a difference. The Marauders had been born into a world with fingers of shadow clawing across its surface, had grown knowing there was more to the blackness of night than ordinary monsters. And his family had never made any secret of their allegiance.
"Sirius?"
He was done with crying; the eyes he turned to face his friend were dry, but that only exposed the pain there.
"I was wondering -" and here he had to stop, and grab tight hold of his courage again. "I was wondering if I could stay here until school begins. I would pay rent of course, and work my way to cover any expenses."
He met Mr. Potter's eyes squarely. He wouldn't budge on this – he wouldn't take charity, or be a burden. It wasn't in him to do that. James sat quietly as his mother said, "Of course. Jacob?"
And her husband nodded, and they hashed out the details before coming to a satisfied arrangement. It wasn't quite what Sirius had in mind, but he knew they had pride of their own.
Dinner was barely over that night before James had grabbed his sleeve and dragged him from the table and to the privacy of his room. The question tumbled from his lips almost before the door closed. "What happened, mate?"
I can't –
Hazel eyes, always able to see through to the truth of him, gleamed in compassion. "Can't you tell me?"
Sirius started at the pain there. "Prongs – no, it's not that. It's -" Fingers clenched in his pockets, and he was cold despite the warm August wind blowing through an open window. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" James whirled, startled.
The bed barely made a sound under his weight. "For dragging you into all this."
"Don't be daft!" Sirius got a good shake on his shoulder from his irate friend. "I meant it, last year. You and Remus and Peter are the only brothers I would ever want, and the best friends anyone could ask for. You needed help, Sirius, and that's what family is for."
Is it?
"Padfoot . . ." Comforting weight rested on the shoulder that had just been shaken.
It took a moment for him to grasp he'd spoken out loud, and he could feel his face heating when the realization bludgered into him.
Hazel eyes wouldn't let him flinch away, but the question was gentler than it had any right to be. "D'you want to talk about it?"
Sirius shrugged. "It's nothing like what you're probably thinking." James didn't really understand his family. None of the Marauders did, and he sometimes wished they wouldn't try.
"And what's that?" The thin face was propped on upturned hands leading to bent elbows. Prongs was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, kicking one bare foot lazily against the wall.
"Screaming, shouting. Maybe a good kick to my backside on the way out the door."
"Hunh."
Sirius would have shoved Prongs; he thought about it, after all, James was so invitingly near the edge of the bed. But he was too tired to start a prank-war now. "It was all – very calm. My father called me to his study to tell me that he had made some decisions about my future. The one everyone knows must exist, the one responsible for the Darkness . . ." His throat closed up. "He wanted to introduce me. Said it would be fitting, after I'm done with school. I said no."
"And?"
Hazel eyes held too much compassion to bear. Outside, the sun was going down, painting the bed. A crimson ray soaked James in bloody light. But in shadow, Sirius felt safe enough to continue. Squeezing tears from a stone was easier than pushing those words from his mouth. "He asked if I knew what I was saying. I said yes. He asked if I was certain. I said yes. He told me to leave, and not come back."
"Feel better?" James tried a smile.
Throat raw, Sirius nodded. "Yeah."
"Never mind them, Sirius. This is your home."
Inside his soul, something tore. He couldn't breathe. "James -"
He heard Prongs shouting as darkness slammed into him.
Voices. There were voices.
"What's left?"
"Only the last hold of the deepest binding magic." Mother was concentrating. He shouldn't interrupt her. But. . . he needed to tell her. It hurt. . ."Wards?"
"We can't spare the strength, if we want it to come loose cleanly with enough power to bind again." Father was using the same voice he had when he had first taught Sirius how to levitate.
Sirius felt his mother nod, even though he couldn't see it. "Now?"
"Now!"
Pain snarled through him, stealing the breath he might have used to scream. There was a moment of stillness that seemed to stretch for an eternity . . .
A heartbeat battered the calm. Lungs heaved; Sirius coughed. More voices, different, but just as familiar.
"Steady, Sirius."
"It's all right," a woman soothed. Not Mother. She'd never said anything like that to him in his life. "Everything will be fine, Sirius."
Fine? Sirius thought blankly.He risked opening an eye, and found the Potters staring concernedly at him. "The binding -"
"It's gone." Dinah Potter's lips were thin, hands gentle as she brushed his hair out of his eyes.
Gone? "I'm not dead." How can it be – Sirius remembered his 'dream', and the thought unraveled.
A hand eased him down when he wanted to sit up. "Easy, son," Mr. Potter cautioned. "Your heart stopped."
I guess I was dead. Shaking fingers fisted over the comforting beat. "I feel like I've been hit in the chest with a bludger."
James came into his field of vision, looking shaky. "Dad gave you a bit of a jolt to restart it. You're whiter than cracked ice, mate."
Sirius snorted, short of breath. "You too, Prongs."
"Yeah, well."
"We should go to St. Mungo's." Mrs. Potter was nearly out the door before Sirius' soft negation registered. "Why not?"
"I'm seventeen." He had been since the twenty-first of June. One week ago. "No protection from anyone trying to get word of my condition. And my – my family will want to know."
Hazel eyes behind glasses were exasperated. "Sirius -"
"I'm not fool enough to think they give a damn," Sirius cut him off, struggling upward. He got as far as the pillows and stopped to pant. "My parents were the only ones who could have done it."
James hit the quilted coverlet with a growl he'd picked up from Moony. "Then why -"
"This," Sirius flapped a hand around the room. Head Boy or not, you can be a bit thick sometimes, Prongs. But he was glad his friend had no idea how things really worked among the purebloods. The Potters were unconventional by many standards. "This is not the usual way one removes binding magics from an unfit heir. It's usually easier to arrange for something to happen, and let the bindings transfer to the second son on their own."
"Something to happen?" James sounded horrified, and Sirius stared at him.
"An heir and a spare," he quoted. "Sometimes the accidents are just that, and sometimes the parents decide their firstborn son is unfit, for some reason or another. The end result is usually a quick funeral and a rewritten will. But the kid usually hasn't been formally recognized as the heir. That happens when they get accepted to Hogwarts."
"What are you saying, Sirius?"
Sirius flinched. He'd forgotten Prongs' parents were in the room. "I'm saying," he said quietly, "that I don't think my parents were trying to kill me. Not intentionally. They didn't take any steps to prevent it, though. A lot of people wouldn't bother trying to remove the magics; they'd just kill me outright if they could." Father's family, for one. "But there are protections against that in the bindings." On to the point. "They'd save face if I was dead; but since I'm still here, it will reflect negatively on them. Not only did they make the mistake of having an unfit heir, they didn't recognize it before I went to Hogwarts." Sirius held up a third finger. "Added to that, they couldn't even take care of the situation cleanly, conventionally. Three really good reasons to do what they can to contain the situation. I have no intention of just handing information about me over to them."
"St. Mungo's is bound to patient confidentiality." Mrs. Potter looked determined, but she'd forgotten how stubborn Sirius could be when he wanted.
"You'd be surprised how easy it is for unauthorized individuals to get access to patient files," Sirius said bluntly. He shifted toward the edge of the bed, tightness easing in his chest. "The files for minors have a few more complicated spells, including one that prevents anyone who reads them from spreading the information unless they are a mediwitch or mediwizard."
Both knees were shaky, Sirius decided, but serviceable. One hand on the elaborately carved bedpost kept him steady. Someone had turned on the lights – it had been dark when he'd -
"All right."
Sirius blinked. Wh – what – Time had gone on without him, apparently.
"Padfoot. Sit down before you fall down," Prongs gumbled.
His elbow was pulled toward the bed. James. James was pulling him, Mrs. Potter was out of the room and Mr. Potter was on his other side. The three of them managed to get him undressed and under the covers. He was left alone momentarily, before Prongs came back with a pillow and blankets to take up stubborn residence on the floor.
A grunt accompanied James' flop onto the blanket-covered boards.
Tucked between a thick mattress and light quilt, Sirius couldn't resist. "Comfy?"
"Prat."
He laughed.
The next morning was not as stiff and uncomfortable as he had feared; it seemed the Potters were treating his stay like any of the many others that had occurred in the past six years, disregarding this one's extended length. Politeness became easy familiarity during the last few weeks of summer that were left.
He recognized what the new, comforting feeling was only when stepping onto the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9 ¾. When he and James found the compartment where Remus and Peter were waiting, happiness filled him for the first time since the previous school year.
He was home.
Fin