AUGUST 2
"Captain Rogers?"
Steve woke instantly at the words, his feet landing on the floor before he registered that JARVIS spoke at a low-normal volume, so it wasn't likely an attack. A glance at the clock beside his bed told him that it wasn't quite two in the morning.
"What is it, JARVIS?"
"My apologies for waking you," JARVIS said, "but Sir left instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed for anything short of another alien invasion."
Steve chuckled and stretched. "So what's up?"
"If you'll direct your attention to the screen?"
Steve almost asked which screen JARVIS meant, but a section of wall above the dresser opposite his bed came to life, showing a view of the rooftop garden, where the dog Harry had adopted - Paddy - wandered from bush to bush, sniffing each most thoroughly.
Paddy finally stopped and stretched, and when the stretch was complete, the dog was gone and a man as skeletal as the dog had been, with dark hair hanging almost to his elbows, stood in its place.
Steve blinked.
"Could you run that by me again, JARVIS?"
"Of course."
JARVIS replayed the footage, and for a second time, Steve watched a dog become a man. He checked the timestamp on the video and saw that it was just a few minutes before. "What is he doing?"
"Walking around," JARVIS replied, and the image on the screen shifted to a real-time image of the man as he walked the paths built into the rooftop garden, swinging his arms and occasionally pausing to twist his torso.
"What's that he's wearing?" Steve asked more to himself than to JARVIS, but Tony's AI answered regardless.
"He appears to be wearing prison stripes."
"And you want me to talk to him?" Steve asked.
JARVIS paused for a long moment. "His actions do not suggest he represents a threat, but it would be best if someone could confirm that."
"Right." Steve stood and reached for a T-shirt to pull it on. "You have backup on standby?"
"I am not entirely certain what constitutes backup in this instance, Captain," JARVIS said. "I will, however, notify Sir if things go badly."
"Good enough." Steve slid his feet into shoes and his cell phone into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and started toward the elevator.
Night blanketed the roof, but between the ambient lights of a city the size of London and the lighting installed throughout the garden, Steve could see fairly well. Shadows beneath shrubs and in corners, though - those could hide a threat.
He crossed to the gazebo before calling, "Paddy? Here, boy."
Steve had to call a second time, but eventually the dog strolled out of some shadow somewhere and plopped himself in front of Steve.
Steve fought the urge to scratch the dog's ears - ten minutes ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but now, knowing the dog could become a man, it felt wrong, presumptuous, to do so.
Finally, he blew out a breath and smiled down at Paddy - or whatever his name really was. "I don't know where to start, and I feel like an idiot even trying, but here we are."
Paddy whined and laid down, looking up at Steve with an expectant expression - and how had Steve not noticed how intelligent and empathetic Paddy was before now?
"Okay," Steve muttered. "Probably best to rip the Band-Aid off in one pull." He met the dog's gaze without flinching and, he hoped, without aggression as well. "My name's Steve Rogers, and I know you're a wizard," he said, then shook his head.
"That's not entirely true," he said. "I know you can change into a man. I assume you're a wizard."
The dog went supernaturally still but didn't look away.
"I'm going to make a couple more assumptions," Steve continued. "I think you know Harry, somehow, and you want to be close to him, probably to keep him safe. If that's the case, I'd really appreciate it if you'd turn back into a man so that we can talk, because we want to keep him safe, too."
Paddy just looked at him, head cocked to one side, looking somewhere between astonished and puzzled.
Steve chuckled. "I should've known you'd need to be convinced. JARVIS, please send me the footage you showed me earlier."
He pulled his phone from his pocket as it dinged softly to indicate a new message. A few taps later, and Steve had the footage ready to show Paddy.
"I feel like an idiot doing this," he said, turning the phone so Paddy could see the screen before tapping the Play button and letting the video run.
When the video concluded, Paddy whined, and if he'd been human - or in his human form, at least - Steve would've thought he looked conflicted.
"I won't hurt you," Steve said, "unless you try to hurt someone else. I don't know who you are, or how you came to be here, but I promise you - as long as you want Harry safe, you're welcome here. I hope you can trust me enough to take a chance."
For some time Steve didn't care to estimate, they sat together - or rather, he sat, and Paddy lay there - staring out over London. A waning moon was just visible through a thin layer of clouds, and even with serum-enhanced senses, Steve could only make out the very brightest of stars.
Eventually, finally, just as Steve was considering returning to bed for the last hour or so before dawn, Paddy got to his feet.
In the second or two it took for him to finish standing, he'd transformed into the man Steve had seen on the video.
"My name is Sirius Black," the man rasped. "I'm Harry's godfather."
Steve tensed at the name - he'd seen it in the newspapers he'd started skimming before bed. Black noticed.
"I promise - I swear by Magic itself - I don't want to hurt Harry," he said. "No more than I already have."
"Explain," Steve said.
Black winced. "I've no right to ask anything, let alone a favor - but may I please explain it to all of you just the once? You, Harry, and Mr. Stark? It's a difficult and embarrassing story, and I'd rather humiliate myself only the once."
Steve considered the request. Without knowing specifics, but judging by the man's tone and posture that he was being honest, it wasn't unreasonable.
"Fine," Steve said. "I hope you understand that I can't invite you inside yet."
"I understand," Black replied. "I wouldn't let me in, either, if our positions were reversed." He offered a wry grin. "I'd probably have kicked me out, too."
"Harry remembers you," Steve said simply. "Or I'm assuming it's you?"
"I spent a lot of time with him, before … that night," Black replied. "In both human and dog form."
"Paddy?" Steve prompted.
"Short for Padfoot. It's part of the whole story."
Steve nodded, then frowned at the rooftop. "Is there anything I can bring you for the rest of the night?"
"I'm good," Black replied. "That bath I had earlier helped more than I thought it would. But … if I could borrow some clean clothes tomorrow? I'll pay you back when I can."
"Of course," Steve said. "I'll come and get you when everyone's ready for breakfast."
It had been an emotionally grueling few days, Harry thought as he made his way into his bathroom and turned on the hot water for a shower.
Harry would rather the days had been physically grueling - he was used to that, after all.
Then again, he supposed the day of the accident and the days after, until Tom had healed him at the Leaky Cauldron, were physically grueling. It was just the days after those that were emotionally grueling.
He definitely preferred physically grueling. That could be helped with potions, salves, or just time and rest.
Emotionally grueling days, though - those required more than just a little time, and he wasn't sure what that more might be. Maybe he could ask Tony.
Or maybe not, he amended as he turned on the water. Maybe he should talk to Steve. Steve might not know any more about it than Tony did, but Steve had been in combat - and, Harry had realized this morning during one of the times he'd woken after disturbing dreams, that's just what he had been in, too. There was no other way to describe what had happened with Professor Quirrell and the shade of Voldemort that had been possessing him, nor what had happened with the basilisk.
At twelve, Harry had seen deadly combat twice. It was a heavy realization, and one that had made falling back asleep after very difficult.
As a result he'd slept in this morning - until almost eight, which would've gotten him at best a very loud scolding from his aunt, and at worst a thrashing from his uncle and a week locked in his room with one meal a day.
The shower felt good on muscles that were still sore, despite Tom's healing work, and Harry let himself linger a little while under the spray.
Not too long, though - before he really wanted to, he shut off the water, dried himself and dressed quickly.
For the first time that he could remember, Harry had nothing to do - no chores that had to be completed or else a tongue-lashing from his aunt, no schoolwork to complete or else a mostly-gentle nagging reminder from Hermione.
Perversely, having nothing to do - though he should do his homework, or at least make a significant start on it, before Hermione got back from France - made him want to do something. He'd decided that something was make breakfast for Tony and Steve, so he headed down the short hallway through the living area and into the kitchen.
Where his aunt and uncle's kitchen held all dark walnut-stained cabinets and printed wallpaper, the kitchen Harry found himself in was sleek and modern, and at least twice as large as the one at Privet Drive, with stainless steel appliances, white cabinets, and a six-burner stove that Harry stared at for a full minute before finally shaking himself out of his surprise and turning toward the refrigerator.
"Good morning, Master Harry," JARVIS's voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Good morning, JARVIS," Harry replied, opening the refrigerator door.
He wasn't entirely comfortable with the disembodied voice - Mr. Weasley's words from their brief meeting after he'd rescued Ginny came back to him: "Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." - but so far, JARVIS had been unfailingly polite to Harry, even formal, and Harry could only return courtesy with courtesy.
"Might I inquire what you're doing?"
Harry didn't reply immediately as he'd been struck dumb once again, this time by the contents of the refrigerator. Dozens of eggs, bins of fresh fruit and vegetables, an entire drawer full of cured meats and more cheeses than Harry knew existed, jugs of milk and cream, and a variety of condiments greeted him.
"Master Harry?" JARVIS prompted, and for the second time in about as many minutes, Harry shook off his surprise.
"Sorry, JARVIS," Harry said, closing the door so as not to waste energy - that was another of Uncle Vernon's requirements. "I came to make breakfast, and I wasn't expecting, well, this."
"The kitchen was restocked while Sir was en route from New York," JARVIS replied. "If there's something specific you want, I can tell you where it is."
Harry appreciated the offer, but he had a more pressing question. "JARVIS? What does Mr. Stark - I mean Tony - like to eat? Does he have any allergies?"
"He has no allergies," JARVIS replied, "and I believe he will be quite happy to eat whatever you make."
Which didn't narrow the options down at all, Harry thought. But there was one other question that might. "What time do you think he'll be awake? And Steve?"
"Captain Rogers is awake and has completed his morning run," JARVIS said. "He is currently on the roof. Sir asked to be awakened when you got up. I have done so, and he should be joining you within twenty minutes."
"Right, then," Harry muttered. "Full English?"
"If I may," JARVIS said, "I believe Captain Rogers requires more calories than most. You might consider a double portion for him, at least."
"Frittata, then," Harry decided and opened the fridge once more to retrieve eggs, milk, cheese, butter, and whatever vegetables caught his fancy.
He worked diligently, absently humming under his breath, chopping and slicing onions, mushrooms, spinach, and tomatoes while the oven heated. A quick saute of the vegetables later, and he was shifting the skillet into the oven just as Tony came into the kitchen.
"You sure you got that?" Tony asked. "Cast iron's heavy."
"But it has two handles," Harry said, "so I can manage."
Tony started toward the coffee maker, and Harry mentally kicked himself for not remembering to turn it on. Then he frowned as Tony poured a cup. Maybe it was on a timer - or, maybe JARVIS had started it. Either way, Harry was glad Tony had coffee, but still annoyed that he'd forgotten to turn it on.
"You know," Tony said after draining what Harry supposed was half the cup, "that brings up something we haven't talked about. Chores. Kids are supposed to have chores, right?"
"At Aunt Petunia's, I cooked, cleaned, and weeded the garden," Harry said. "Those were my regular chores, anyway - sometimes I had to do other things, too."
Tony blinked at him, and a second time, and Harry was oddly reminded of Hedwig when she didn't understand what her silly human was up to.
"That seems like a lot," Tony said finally. "I was thinking of things like walking the dog and picking up after him, keeping your room clean, and putting away your laundry."
"Oh." Harry covered his embarrassment by turning to the drawer where the silverware was kept and pulling out knives and forks.
"Harry." Tony's voice was firm, but gentle at the same time. "Don't be ashamed of where you grew up - you didn't choose it, right?"
"I would've chosen someplace-" better, he thought, but decided instead on, "-different."
"Well, you're someplace different now," Tony said, and his cheerful manner didn't seem at all forced. "So - do those things sound all right? The dog, your room, laundry?"
"Those sound fine," Harry said. The breakfast bar wasn't quite big enough for the three of them, so he crossed to the dining table and focused on laying out the place settings.
"Harry," Tony said again. Harry laid out the next knife and fork. "Harry, look at me," Tony said more firmly. When Harry finally looked up, Tony offered him a smile. "I'm new at this parenting thing, too, you know? I don't think those chores are too much - except for the dog, they're what I had to do as a kid - but if you do, then you need to tell me, and we'll figure something out. Together. Okay?"
Harry took a breath and let it out before nodding. "Okay. I'm just - not used to-"
He broke off, unwilling to finish that sentence.
Tony smiled again, this time sadly. "I get that, too. My dad wasn't around much - always stuck in his workshop, just like I probably will be, so you'll have to come and drag me out of there when you need me, okay? And my mom … she wasn't exactly a mothering type. Not that they treated me as badly as the Dursleys treated you. Just that they weren't … emotionally available that much."
Tony's words brought back Harry's ruminations in the shower, but he shoved that thought aside as Tony said, "So, we're okay on the dog, the room, and the laundry, at least for now? We can renegotiate as needed."
Harry smiled. "Brilliant."
Harry finished setting the table, and he'd just put four slices of bread in the toaster when the oven timer dinged.
"JARVIS?" he said. "Would you please tell Steve that breakfast is almost ready?"
"Of course," JARVIS replied.
Harry took the frittata from the over and put it on the table, then started another four slices of toast in the toaster. Before the toaster popped up again, Steve came in, Paddy trailing at his heels.
"Is Paddy joining us for every meal?" Tony asked, and Harry hid a smile as he stacked the toast on a plate. He hadn't found a toast rack in any of the cabinets, so he'd folded a cloth serviette small enough to fit on the plate and hoped that would keep the toast on the bottom from getting soggy.
It took Steve long enough to answer that Harry looked up. He was surprised to see Steve's uncomfortable expression.
After a long moment, Steve cleared his throat. "We should set the table for one more."
Automatically, Harry turned to the cabinet where the plates were kept, but Tony's voice, sharper than it had been, made him look back.
"What's going on, Capsicle?"
Steve glanced down at Paddy, then at Harry, and finally looked back at Tony. "It's best if we show you. Promise you'll listen."
"To what? Howling?" Tony asked, but blew out a breath. "Yeah, I'll listen."
Steve cleared his throat and said, "Last night, JARVIS woke me up because he noticed something strange on the roof. Can you play the video, JARVIS?"
"Of course, Captain," JARVIS replied, and after a moment, the far wall in the living room came to life.
Harry watched the screen, amazed, as Paddy transformed into a man with black hair that fell to his elbows.
"What the hell?" Tony slammed his coffee cup on the table and shot to his feet.
"It's okay, Tony," Harry said. "Or, well - my Transfiguration professor can turn into a cat."
The Paddy in the room with them became a man and smiled, just a little, his eyes sparkling. "Professor McGonagall's still at Hogwarts, then?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and the man winced. Harry froze. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No, of course not," Steve replied quickly. "You were very polite."
The look Steve gave the newcomer said more eloquently than words that he, too, had best be polite. Or else.
"It's just - I'm your godfather, Harry," the man said. "Hearing you call me sir when you used to call me Paddy because you couldn't say Padfoot yet … I wasn't expecting it."
"Godfather?" Tony said, and Harry was glad that someone had said something, because he couldn't speak around a sudden tightness in his throat.
"Sirius Black," the man said and sketched a brief bow. "At your service."
"I know that name," Harry said, though he didn't know why.
"I recognized it, too," Steve said. "From the Daily Prophet."
"You escaped from Azkaban!" Harry cried at the same time Sirius Black said, "You knew?"
"Is there a reason you brought an escaped criminal into my apartment?" Tony said, his tone colder than Harry had ever heard it.
"To be fair," Steve said reasonably, "I didn't know he was human when we adopted Paddy."
Harry coughed to cover a snort of laughter, and Black flashed him a quick grin.
"Rogers," Tony said warningly and Steve held up his hands, palms out.
"Sorry. But after JARVIS alerted me to what he'd seen, I went up there and talked to him," Steve said. "He asked if he could explain everything to us at the same time. He agreed to stay on the roof, I agreed to hear him out, and here we are."
Harry watched emotions flit across Tony's face, unable to identify more than a couple of them - disbelief and anger chief among those he could identify. Finally, Tony blew out a breath.
"Fine. Pull up a chair, have some breakfast," he said. "But I swear to God, Rogers - he makes one wrong move, I'm gonna put the suit on, and we're gonna go a few rounds."
"I won't even fight back," Steve promised, and Harry laughed to himself at Black's expression. Then Steve gestured Black to a seat, and Harry remembered the plate he was holding.
A serviette, knife, and fork later, Harry crossed to the table. Before he could put the items on the table, Tony took them from him and passed them over to Black.
"No offense," Tony said.
"None taken," Black replied as he arranged plate and utensils to his liking.
Minutes later, they had all served themselves, and it looked like it was all Black could do not to rip into his meal.
Black took a bite, and as he chewed his eyes widened. "This is good - better than I expected. No offense," he added.
"None taken," Tony replied in the same tone Black had used. "Harry made it."
Black smiled at Harry. "It's very good. Better than your mum made, and that's saying something."
Harry ducked his head, wanting to ask about his mum - he'd spent all his life knowing nothing about his parents, nothing true, anyway, and then when he got to Hogwarts, people told him a few stories of larger-than-life people that were more legends than anything else. Then there was Tony, who knew his parents, but only briefly so wasn't a good source of stories about them.
Now, there was Sirius Black, who claimed to be Harry's godfather and spoke casually of Harry's mum, the way an old friend might.
"So," Tony said. "You were going to tell us your story?"
"How about you start by telling me what you know about James and Lily, especially how they died," Black said. Tony raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry.
"There was a dark wizard called Voldemort," Harry said as Black took another bite of frittata. "And he attacked my parents' house one night. They died - he killed them - and I survived."
"That's it, in a nutshell," Black replied. "Let me fill in a little more. Your parents were in hiding, their location protected by something called the Fidelius Charm. In essence, it protects what it's cast on by making its existence and location a secret. Whatever it is effectively disappears - you can't even see it unless you know the secret."
"So the Fidelius Charm hides things - even if you already knew about the thing?" Harry asked, just to be sure he understood it.
"Close enough," Black said. "Now, when the charm is cast, one person is designated the Secret Keeper, and only he or she can tell anyone the secret. In this case, it was that the Potters lived at number seven, White Willow Lane, Godric's Hollow."
"But if it's a secret," Harry began, "how could you tell me?"
"Two possibilities," Black said. "First, I could be the Secret Keeper. Second, if the Secret Keeper dies, everyone that person told the secret to becomes a Secret Keeper themselves."
"That," Tony said, "sounds insane."
"In my admittedly limited experience, much of the magical world is," Steve said.
"There have to be other security measures," Tony muttered, his expression taking on a faraway look as he, presumably, rolled the Fidelius Charm over and over in his mind.
"Tony," Steve said sharply, and Tony jumped a little in his chair.
"Sorry," Tony said, more to Black than anyone else. "I'm a tinkerer - give me a problem, and I'll start figuring out ways to solve it. You were saying?"
Black finished another bite of frittata before saying, "James and Lily's Secret Keeper was a man named Peter Pettigrew. He betrayed their location to Voldemort."
Harry sat forward, his own breakfast all but forgotten in front of him as he listened to Black's story.
"But," Steve said, "according to the articles in the Daily Prophet, you betrayed the Potters."
Black snorted. "That rag."
"They quoted you as saying you killed them," Steve returned evenly, and Harry's heart clenched.
Black claimed to be his godfather - how could he have betrayed his parents so thoroughly?
"I did - as good as, anyway," Black added, even as Harry saw Steve's muscles tense. "They were going to use me as their Secret Keeper - James and I were like brothers, so who else would he choose?"
"You said they chose Peter Pettigrew," Harry said.
"I convinced them to." The anguish in Black's expression was echoed in his tone. "I thought it was smart - change what everybody knew. Then everybody - Voldemort and his minions - would come after me, not Peter. I thought it was an extra layer of protection. Instead -" he paused, took a breath, and met Harry's gaze directly. "Instead, Peter went running to Voldemort and told him the secret. And for that, I can never forgive myself. If I'd held the secret, I would've died before betraying your family, Harry. Before betraying you."
Black smiled, though tears welled at the corners of his eyes. "I was the first one to hold you, after your parents, and when they asked me to be your godfather, it was the greatest honor of my life. And then I betrayed you twice."
Harry frowned at that. "Twice?"
"By convincing your parents to name Peter their Secret Keeper," Black said. "That was the first time. The second-" He blew out a long breath. "The second was when I ran off to track Peter down rather than take you someplace safe."
"Why?" Tony's voice cracked across the table, echoing in the room. "Why'd you do something so stupidly irresponsible?"
Harry eased back in his chair. That kind of anger from Uncle Vernon never presaged anything good. To his surprise, though, Black's shoulders slumped.
"Because I was young and dumb and arrogant," Black said quietly. "We all were - barely out of Hogwarts ourselves, and thrown into a war. And I was grieving and angry, and I let those emotions guide me. I wanted Peter to pay for what he'd done, and I didn't trust anyone else to do that right." He laughed bitterly. "Turns out, I shouldn't have trusted myself to do it right, either."
"What would you do differently?" Steve asked quietly.
"After I got Harry out of the house, I'd get him out of Britain as fast as I could," Black replied. "Not anywhere in Europe - too close to the UK, too easy to get to. America, maybe, or Canada, at least as a stopover point. Request asylum for Harry and me as his guardian. Find a place, ward it to hell and back, and do everything I could to keep my godson safe. I should've done all that before, and I didn't, and I'm sorry, Harry. So sorry."
The strong front Black had been presenting crumbled, and the man buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking, quietly sobbing.
Harry lunged from his chair, intent on comforting the man who'd been his parents' friends, only to be caught by a firm hand. He tried to jerk free, but was held fast. He turned to yell at Steve, but found himself facing not his amiable, affable Uncle Steve, but rather Captain America.
"Don't," Steve said. "He's spun a good story - and I'm inclined to believe him - but that doesn't mean you should blindly trust him."
"But-!" Harry cut off his own protest, unsure how to put his urge to comfort Sirius Black into words.
"He's - he's right, Harry."
At those croaked words, Harry turned back to Black, found the man wiping his eyes with a serviette.
"I'd never hurt you," Black said. "But you have only my word for that, so he's right. I shouldn't have your trust yet. I hope to earn it - all of you," he added, looking first at Steve then Tony.
"If all this is true," Tony said, "why were you sent to prison? Didn't any of it come out at your trial?"
"I'm sure it would have," Black replied. "If I'd had one."