So many Reviews!
I really didn't expect this much interest in this story; you guys are great! :)
As promised, here's the next chapter! (Might be slightly confusing as I felt like experimenting stylistically a bit with this one. I apologize in advance)
The Headmaster
The old man was worried as he sat in the abnormally tidy living room, the two muggles perched in front of him with identical looks of horror and disgust. Not because of the open hostility, or even the distinct lack of concern they seemed to have for their nephew's well-being, but because of the fact that said nephew was gone, despite his very best efforts to prevent it.
He sighed once more, as he had done quite a lot during the last days. "Maybe we can start once more, from the beginning," he said slowly, wondering why he was still wasting his time with the Dursleys who obviously were of no help whatsoever in finding Harry Potter. "Were there any signs that he was unhappy? That he was planning to run away?"
Vernon Dursley huffed. "We took him in, we fed him, we clothed him. If he's still has the nerve to be unhappy, then he's one ungrateful little-"
"Vernon," his wife interrupted him, looking pleadingly at him to make him go silent before slowly turning back to the wizard sat in front of her. "There was...one thing..."
Wisteria Walk, about one week earlier
"What's a godfather?"
The old woman looked up from where she was crouched over the cat photographs she'd been showing him. "A godfather?" she repeated, looking rather unhappy at being broken out of her reverie over the adventures of Mr Tibbles. "Why do you ask?"
Harry looked down to his feet, already regretting his question. "I just... it's what Uncle Vernon's doing," he explained slowly. "He's godfather to one of his friend's children." The Dursleys had left this morning to go to a rather ominous-sounding "christening", and, explaining to a whining Dudley why he had to come instead of watching cartoons, Aunt Petunia had mentioned his father's role in the whole affair. It had sounded very important, even though Harry had no idea what it meant. After all, little Lisa Binningham already had one father.
"Ah," Mrs Figg made, nodding. "Well, a godfather is someone who gets appointed by a child's parents to become something like an uncle. He's not a real father, of course, but he cares for the child in case...well, in case something happens to them."
"Oh," Harry made, looking down at his feet once more. Then, quieter, he said: "Is Uncle Vernon my godfather?"
There was an audible intake of breath, and when he looked up Mrs Figg seemed to have gone a little pale. She smiled at him, but it was a false smile, the one grown-ups gave children when they wanted to hide something from them. "No, my dear. I don't think he is."
"Then why do I live with him? Didn't my godfather want me?" Harry didn't know where this was coming from, but he was unable to stop himself. To dream...
Mrs Figg seemed to go even paler. "You...I'm sure he'd have loved to have you, but...Your aunt and uncle are your family. Surely your godfather thought you would be happier with them."
Harry gave her a doubtful look, but she had already returned to the pictures of her cats. "He must be rather terrible, then," Harry muttered, more to himself. "If the Dursleys are nicer to live with."
Mrs Figg didn't answer, but he heard her mutter something herself that sounded a little like "He certainly must be," before showing him yet another picture of an adolescent Mr Tibbles climbing the tree in her back garden.
Harry hadn't given the matter any more thought for the time being, but when he lay in bed that night, he couldn't get Mrs Figg's words out of his mind.
Was she right? Had his godfather given him to his aunt and uncle because he thought Harry would be happier? Had he been sad to do so?
He remembered how unhappy the Dursleys were about his presence, and thought that it was more likely Mrs Figg had been trying to make him feel better, and that this ominously absent godfather had just seen it as a convenient way to get rid of un unwanted burden. After all, surely he could've visited at least once during the past six years?
But what if she had been right?
Unable to go to sleep with that thought nagging at his mind, he sat up, careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling, and turned on the light. He would write to his godfather, he decided. He didn't know the address, much less a name, but maybe he could ask Mrs Figg, who seemed to know about him – which was rather strange, but he didn't dwell on that.
Reaching over to the school bag sitting next to his tiny bed, he extracted his pen and a notebook, quickly tearing out a page. Crouched over his pillow, he began to write.
Dear Mr Godfather
He paused, wondering if that was the correct way to address this mysterious person, and how he should go on.
My name is Harry Potter, and I'm living with my aunt and uncle, but I don't like it very much.
Was that too rude? He made to erase the last words, but then he remembered Mrs Figg's words. If his godfather thought that Harry really enjoyed living with the Dursleys, he wouldn't come to fetch him. He decided to add a bit more, to make sure his godfather got the point.
They don't like me very much, too. They like Dudley much better and give him many presents, and I have to do work.
He paused again. The next part was harder to form. Wouldn't it be terribly rude to outright ask this person who he'd never met to take him in?
But then again, he was his godfather, and as Mrs Figg had said that was a godfather's job.
If you want, I would like living with you very much. I don't know you, but you must be a nice person if my parents made you my godfather. If you don't want me to live with you, that's alright. But could you maybe write to me so I know you got my letter?
'So I know you exist' would be more honest, but that sounded too whiny even in Harry's own ears.
Best wishes,
Your godson Harry
He set down the pen and read over what he had written. He felt like it was a rather poor letter, and cringed at his own messy handwriting and the creased paper. He almost wanted to start over and write it down in a neater way, but decided against it. He could still do that in the morning, once he figured out how to send it.
How to send it...
He tried not to think too hard about how he would do it, because if he was honest with himself it promised to be a rather hopeless endeavour. Maybe Mrs Figg didn't actually know his godfather, but had simply assumed he had one...
He folded the letter in half and safely tucked it under his pillow before settling down into bed once more, turning off the light.
I'll manage, he swore to himself into the darkness, Somehow I'll send that letter to my godfather.
Yet in the morning, the letter was gone. Panic gripped Harry as he was frantically groping around his mattress for the missing scrap of paper, and terrible scenarios started to form in his head.
Had Aunt Petunia found it? He could barely imagine his aunt and uncle's fury should they learn what he had written about them. Or maybe Dudley had taken it – that might be even worse, because his cousin would laugh at him, telling him how nobody would want him anyway.
He didn't dare to leave his cupboard for half the day, until hunger drove him out of his hiding place. But the expecting shouting never came, and Dudley didn't spare him more than a mean look as he made to snatch up the last of the muffins his mother had made.
Either they hadn't found the letter, or they were playing a long game, planning to bring it up later. But that wasn't the Dursleys' style, and when another day went by without anybody mentioning any letters or godfathers, Harry felt his anxiousness ebb away.
Which, of course, left the question of who had taken the letter.
Because letters didn't simply vanish in thin air, did they? Harry was seven; too old to believe in Santa and mysterious wish lists that got delivered by elves. (Not that Santa had ever brought him anything anyway)
For a while he entertained the mad notion that while there certainly wasn't a Santa Claus, maybe there was a magic godfather that fulfilled the wishes of orphans. Then he laughed at his own foolishness and decided that he had probably just dreamed writing the letter. After all, it was a very hopeless thing to do, as there was no way he would ever have managed to send it, even if by some miracle he found out whom to send it to.
And yet...There was a page missing in his notebook, evidently torn out in great haste...
So he hid in his room...judging by their appearance, nothing too unusual.
Albus sighed once more. Nothing, then. "The man who took him. Can you describe him?"
The Dursleys exchanged a short glance, shifting nervously in their seats. "There were two," Vernon Dursley finally said, his moustache quivering with rage at the memory. "They said they were friends of that...of the boy's father."
A rundown cottage in Yorkshire, three days earlier
"The fourth. On his left hand."
It had been quiet in the small house since Sirius had answered the question, but judging by the wand that was now hanging loosely in Remus' hand he was certain that his chances of being cursed were almost non-existent at this point. If the werewolf had called the Aurors, they'd have been here by now, and if he planned on hexing the escaped convict himself he'd have done it.
Instead, Remus had sunken back into his armchair, his face pale as a host of emotions flickered across. Sirius left him to gather himself and curiously looked around the small cottage.
It looked almost exactly as it had the last time he'd been here, almost seven years ago. The old wooden furniture had grown a bit more shabby, there were more flecks of rust on the grate over the fireplace, and the narrow shelves were stuffed with a few more books, just as worn as their older brothers. Even the pictures on the mantelpiece were the same. Sirius winced when he saw his own face smiling back at him, from between a young James and Peter, and quickly averted his gaze, searching for anything else that might give a hint about the man now sitting in front of him.
But there wasn't anything. Surely, it all looked a bit older, a bit more worn, but there was no sign of anything new, other friends, maybe even a girlfriend or wife. It was as if life in the small cottage had simply stopped the day Sirius' own life had.
The same could not be said about Remus. Sirius knew he himself didn't look like the picture of youth – Merlin knew he didn't feel like it – but he was still shocked to see how old his friend had grown, how lined his face had gotten. He was barely twenty-eight years old, and yet there were grey streaks in his shaggy hair. And new scars, angry marks by the beast that befell him every month.
Because you weren't there. Because you failed him, just as you failed James. Just as you failed Harry.
"I'm sorry," he croaked finally, when Remus kept still kept silent. "It's my fault, it's all my fault...I trusted Peter, and now...it's my fault."
Finally Remus looked up, but his blue eyes were unreadable as he slowly got to his feet. Then, sluggishly, a smile crept onto his face. "You're back," he whispered hoarsely, and Sirius felt something loosen in his stomach.
They moved forwards simultaneously, and then he felt his friend's arm close around him. "You're really back," Remus said again, and as he returned the hug Sirius couldn't help but smile as well, for the first time in six years.
The despair that had housed in his mind for so long vanished, driven out by the warmth of human contact, the first contact in so many years. "I am, Moony. I'm back."
They separated, staring at each other, suddenly lost for words. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things that had to be cleared up, but right now he could only think about one thing. "I need your help," he said, reaching into the pocket of his ragged robes and extracting the piece of paper. "Harry wrote to me."
Remus' eyes widened and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Sirius wordlessly thrust the letter at him. It didn't take the other man long to read – it wasn't a very long letter, after all – and when he had finished Remus stared at him, dumbfounded. "How...how did you get this?"
Sirius shrugged, looking around. Now that the anxiety over Remus had faded he suddenly felt terribly hungry. "Dunno. Woke up one night, found it lying in my cell."
Remus noticed his longing looks and quickly flicked his wand, turning on the kettle and summoning a half-eaten packet of biscuits. "But...Harry doesn't know about you, does he? He didn't even write your name. Somebody must've mailed it for him...and why would he even write this?"
He looked completely flustered, muttering to himself while Sirius hungrily wolfed down the food. "It's obvious, isn't it?" he said, pausing mid-chewing. "Dumbledore sent him to Vernon Dursley of all people – of course he's miserable. That's no place for him to live."
Remus eyes widened when he realized the meaning of those words. "You – You want to take him away?"
Sirius snorted. "Of course I will. You read the letter."
Remus fell down into his armchair again. "Sirius – you're an escaped convict. How would you even...this is a seven year old child we're talking about!"
"A seven year old child, my godson, who is miserable!" Sirius grew restless again, pacing through the narrow room. "I'll take care of him – better than those muggles, anyway. Does he even know about our world, Remus?" The look on his friend's face told him everything he needed to know. He swore, feeling his anger rise once more.
The Dursleys... what in Merlin's name had Dumbledore been thinking?
"Look," he said, still seeing doubt in Remus' eyes. "You've seen him, haven't you? Dumbledore's set the order to guard him; surely you must've glimpsed him once or twice. Did he look happy?"
Remus frowned. "How do you know about-oh. You were there, weren't you?"
Sirius nodded, remembering that terrible moment two days ago when he had almost run into Elphias Doge. "Went there straight after I got out, hoping to get there before Dumbledore's men did. Didn't work out, Order was already there. That's why I need your help. I saw you last night; you're one of the people guarding him. You must help me get him out."
Remus was silent again, but there was something flickering through his blue eyes, something Sirius remembered well from their days at Hogwarts. It was defeat in the face of yet another of James' and his mischievous schemes. "If you don't help me, I'm going on my own," he said, causing Remus to snort.
"You just told me you needed my help, otherwise you'd already have gone and done it." But the look in his eyes told Sirius that he had won. "He really didn't look very happy..."
Albus felt his stomach sink. He had suspected it, of course, after Remus hadn't shown up to report this morning, but to have it confirmed like this... he wondered how Sirius had done it, what kind of spell he had used...or had Remus always been on his side, lurking, waiting for his chance to strike?
It doesn't matter. All that matters is that the danger Harry's in has just doubled.
He felt his anger rise. "I told you six years ago," he said slowly, looking over to Petunia Dursley. "That the boy's life depended on him living him here. And you hand him away to the first strangers you meet? When you know who's out there to harm him?"
Petunia flinched, but her husband snorted indignantly. "These...people were threatening us! We never asked for the brat, we took him in out of sheer kindness, but when he puts my family at risk..."
"They were threatening us!" Petunia said, looking ashamed and angry at the same time. "That black one...they had a...he said he'd take the boy by force if he had to. And he wanted to go..." She shivered, extracting something from her back pocket. "The other one, with the scars. He told me to give you this. He said you'd understand it wasn't our fault."
Dumbledore didn't react at once, staring at the piece of parchment that was handed to him. Was it a threat? A ransom demand for the boy? Merlin knew Remus could use the money...but then, that wasn't the sort of thing Remus would do. What, then? Slowly, he took the letter, getting to his feet.
"Thank you for your time. You will hear from me." As he made his way out of the abnormally clean house, he tucked the letter away. He would read it later. First, he would have to try and find the boy.
Now where would Black and Lupin go?
The cottage in Yorkshire, three days earlier (a little later)
"So we're actually doing this...we're kidnapping a child." Remus shook his head, wondering why his life only ever oscillated between depressingly dull and absolutely bonkers. Much as he had grown to hate the dreary routine he had fallen into, it would be nice for things to actually find a middle ground for once. Instead, he was finding himself plotting to steal Harry Potter away from under the nose of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of his age.
"Not a child, Harry," Sirius corrected him, stuffing another sandwich in his mouth. The pile that Remus had made for him was shrinking at a rather impressive rate. But then, it had probably been over six years since Sirius had last eaten a proper meal. "And he asked me to come and take him. It's not kidnapping if you're being invited, is it? It's more...liberating."
Remus sipped his tea, rolling his eyes. "Pretty sure it's still kidnapping if the person in question is underage," he pointed out, but quickly conceded at the irritated glare that Sirius shot his way. "We're liberating Harry, then, " he sighed. "And what do you plan to do with him once you got him out? You can't just go back to your old flat, can you? I'd offer you to stay here, but the Order will probably come looking. And it's not exactly big enough to house a child and hide an escaped convict."
Sirius stopped eating, and a rather grim expression came onto his face. "That flat's not the only place I own."
It took Remus a moment to catch on. When he did, he raised his eyebrows. "Grimmauld – you're planning to take him there?"
Sirius shrugged defiantly. "My mother died a few years ago, Reg's dead. It's mine now. And you know how crazy my father was; there's tons of protection on the place. Half of that's banned by the ministry nowadays, but I'll clean out any dark magic before I take him there. If I add a few wards of my own, it should be safe."
Remus ran his hand through his shaggy hair, shaking his head. "I thought you had sworn never to set foot in that place again?" In fact, he vividly remembered a teenaged Sirius dancing on the Gryffindor table on his seventeenth birthday, singing a rather rude "Good riddance"-song to the confused cheers of his fellow students.
Sirius face grew harder. "Well, yeah," he said, not meeting Remus' eye. "There's a lots of things I never intended to happen." Remus swallowed, not prying any further. There was so much left unsaid between them, so many things that they needed to talk about. But now wasn't the time. Now they had to get Harry.
"Alright," he said after a few minutes of silence had passed, rising to his feet to refill the sandwich platter. "Grimmauld Place it is, then. My next shift in Little Whinging is on Sunday; that leaves tomorrow to get the house cleaned up."
Sirius got up. "We can do it now. Can't you swap with someone so we can get him tomorrow?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "You're dead on your feet, Sirius. When was the last time you slept in an actual bed? We will get him out of there soon; one more day is not going to make a difference."
Sirius looked ready to argue, but he couldn't hide the yawn that went through him. "And maybe take a shower and put on some fresh clothes," Remus added, making himself a new cup of tea. "The way you look, Harry'll probably want to stay with the muggles."
...
As Remus had suspected, there was a pair of Aurors lurking in the sparse piece of green in the middle of Grimmauld Place, their crimson robes an odd splash of colour in the otherwise dreary surroundings. They were vigilantly watching the front door, and as he and Sirius apparated on the top step of number twelve, Remus was almost certain they would see them. But Orion Black's wards held, and the Aurors didn't even flinch.
"See? Perfectly Safe." Sirius shrugged off the hood of one of Remus' old travelling cloaks and examined the door. "It's locked," he said. "Can I-?" Remus nodded, wordlessly handing him his wand, and a moment later there was a click before the heavy black door swung open. Sirius returned the wand, not without a certain look of longing – Remus made a mental note that a wand was one of the first things they'd have to acquire once the whole Harry business was done – and stepped inside.
The door swung shut behind them with an ominous thud, just as the gas lights on the walls flickered into life. For a moment they simply stood, watching the eerie scene.
"So this is where you're going to raise a seven year old?" Remus finally managed. Sirius didn't respond, but in the dim light Remus could make out his expression, a mixture of disgust and determination. It was obvious how much he hated to return to this place of so many horrible childhood memories, a place that had haunted his nightmares even when he had no longer lived there. And yet he was going to bring Harry here – and make damn well sure that this house would be home to another, much happier childhood. Remus nodded, and shrugged out of his cloak, gripping his wand more firmly. "Alright. Where do we start?"
It quickly became evident that there was no way they could make the whole house inhabitable in just one day, not even so much as a single floor. In the end they settled for cleaning out the kitchen and the downstairs study, removing the magic that was downright dangerous and barring the rooms that they had not yet cleared to prevent Harry from accidentally wandering in. They had a rather tense encounter with the house-elf, Kreacher – Sirius had hoped he'd died while he was away – who seemed less than pleased with the arrival his new master, and downright uncooperative when it came to cleaning. In the end Sirius snapped and told him to stay upstairs and out of Harry's sight. He also had a shouting match with the portrait of his mother that hung in the hallway, while Remus tried – fruitlessly – to remove it. After much swearing and screaming they at least managed to cover the portrait up with some thick curtains, shutting her up temporarily if not permanently.
"Well," Sirius said when they had retired to the newly cleaned kitchen after the gruelling day, clutching his cup of tea – Remus had had the foresight to bring mugs, teabags and milk from his own place – "The place is even viler than I remember."
Remus, who'd only once, and rather shortly, set foot in the house, couldn't help but agree. "It'll be alright," he said despite that, not wanting Sirius to lose his new-found enthusiasm. "It just needs a bit of cleaning. And you were right – it's the safest place you could find. The Aurors didn't get in yet, did they?"
Sirius nodded, but a crease appeared between his eyes. "No. It's not them I'm worried about, though. Dumbledore hasn't tried yet, has he? He knew I hated this place. But he might come back if he's desperate..." Remus felt his optimism falter somewhat. Generations of Black might have built up an impressive web of security, but Albus Dumbledore was a very impressive wizard. Remus struggled to think of many wards that might stop him. Except...
His eyes met Sirius', and he paled. "You can't..."
Not that one. Any charm but that.
Sirius looked just as torn as Remus felt, but he kept his gaze firm. "I'll make it work this time," he said. "I'll choose the right secret keeper, the one we should have chosen six years ago." He set down his mug. "There's no one I trust more than you, Moony. This time there won't be any mistakes."
It wasn't there. Number twelve Grimmauld Place was simply gone. Albus stared at the old brick houses, the curious gap in the numbers that up until recently had only been there in the eyes of the muggles. Now the house was missing for any wizard that looked onto it as well.
So this is where he is hiding.
No, not he. They.
Because the home of Remus Lupin was also empty. And not in the rushed, disorderly way of a home hastily abandoned in a fight or an abduction, or by someone under the Imperius Curse. No, when Albus had gone by there this morning the book shelves had been neatly cleaned, the wardrobe was empty and most of the dishes were missing. Even the photographs on the mantelpiece were gone.
Up until then Albus had held out in the hope that maybe it had been a misunderstanding, that Remus had gone after Sirius to stop him, to get Harry back... But he hadn't. He'd helped the murderer, the traitor that had killed their friend, plotted with him to kidnap the very child he'd sworn to protect.
Feeling a very ugly feeling rising in his stomach, Albus slowly extracted the letter from his pocket. He had no desire to read it, yet he felt it was his duty to do so. Maybe there was some sort of hint in there, a way to get the boy back...
He had to fight a sudden well of tears when he opened the parchment and found the familiar neat writing staring back at him, the hand that had written so many letters to him over the years, first as a hopeful boy, then a thoughtful teenager and later a grief-stricken young man. Now they were dead, and a traitor had taken over the meticulous writing.
Albus.
I know what you're thinking, and I know this letter probably won't change anything. But I have to try nonetheless, if only out of shame over what I am about to do to you.
Islington, London, two days ago
"It feels wrong." Remus lowered his wand, staring at the thin bands of light that moments ago had engulfed the house around him, and were now fading back into him. "Using it again. After all that's happened last time."
Sirius merely nodded, emotion shining in his grey eyes as he remembered the last time he had seen that spell put in place, the day he had committed the biggest mistake of his life. "It'll hold," he said quickly, shaking himself out of his reverie. For Harry. You're doing this for James's son.
"What will you do?" he asked, sitting back down at the table that held the remains of their rather meagre dinner. Mental note: Go get some groceries tomorrow morning. "I can stun you; make it look like you tried to stop me. Do you think Dumbledore will search your memories?"
Remus didn't answer immediately, staring down at the wand he still held in his hand. "No," he said after a short while. "He's...you won't have to stun me. I'm not going back to the Order."
Sirius eyes widened in realization. "You're...you're going into hiding?" He didn't know if he should be happy or concerned. "But...I mean I'd be happy for you to stay here of course – I'd actually be pretty fucked without your help, to be honest, but...what about your own life? You'd be an outcast, everyone would think you a Death Eater. Dumbledore would-"
Remus sighed. "You've seen my cottage. Does it look like I've got much of a life?"
Sirius fell silent at the brutal honesty in his friend's voice, the barely concealed bitterness. He'd suspected, of course, that things weren't exactly peachy for the werewolf, but to hear him like this... "You...you must have someone," he said slowly, mentally chastising himself for being such a lousy friend that he hadn't even thought to ask about how Remus had been. "A...girlfriend, maybe? Wife?"
Remus laughed humourlessly. "Wife? I'd have thought Azkaban would have made you more of a realist. My kind don't date, and we certainly do not marry." He sounded so bitter that Sirius flinched physically.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "What about the others? The Order? Did you keep in touch with any of them?"
Remus shrugged. "Not really, most of us just sort of went back to our old lives – or what was left of it, anyway. Fighting a war doesn't exactly breed the kind of memories you want to get together to reminiscence about. Dumbledore writes, occasionally, offering to find jobs...Actually offered me to return to Hogwarts last week, as his DADA professor is about to resign. In case I wanted to...get somewhere safe."
The look he threw Sirius made it clear what he meant. "In case I came after you to murderize you like the homicidal psychopath that I am?"
Remus chuckled quietly. "Yeah. That's the gist. I didn't take him up on it – no offence, but I wasn't exactly scared of meeting you – but I thought about maybe going next term, if the position was still open." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter now, though. Not like I would have lasted long, anyway. It'd probably have ended in catastrophe." He chuckled again. "Imagine, that, a dark creature teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."
His tone was light, but Sirius could see the pain that flickered over his face.
Great. Not only did you leave him to a life of misery when you got yourself locked away, you also manage to show up and destroy it once more the moment it starts to look up.
He wanted to protest, tell his friend to take the job, the profession he had always dreamed of... but he recognized the determined look in the werewolf's face and knew that it would be pointless. Not to mention that he hadn't been lying when he told his friend that'd he'd need his help if he wanted to build up some sort of life for Harry here. So he just nodded, a half-hearted smile on his face. "Yeah...Imagine that."
He sipped his tea slowly. "So this is it, then?" he said after they had been silent for a while. "We're going to raise Harry."
Remus smiled, his face lighting up from the melancholy look that had taken hold of it. "We are," he said. "And we're breaking about every law in the Magical World while we're at it. It'lll end in disaster, imprisonment, and probably death."
Sirius grinned. "An endeavour worthy of a Marauder, then," he said, raising his mug in salute.
Remus froze, and as soon as the words had left his mouth Sirius wished they hadn't. Marauders...one of them is dead, and the other's responsible for all this suffering. What a glorious company we were...
But the moment of hesitation passed, and Remus raised his own mug, clinking it against Sirius' while meeting his eyes with a determined look. "To the Marauders," he said, nodding slightly. Sirius felt his spirit lift.
Yes. Beaten, but not broken. We still have each other, and Prongs lives on in Harry. We will not let that traitorous rat destroy us ever again.
...
Later that night, Remus found himself on his own, still sitting in the kitchen. Sirius had retreated to the sofa in the lounge – they hadn't yet managed to free an actual bedroom, though they had at least banished the ghoul that had been living in the toilet so that Harry wouldn't be strangled while trying to brush his teeth.
Remus felt tired as well, not used to so much activity – these days he didn't actually do much but read and maybe go for a walk – but unable to get his mind to rest. Tomorrow this time, Harry would be here – the seven year old stranger that neither of them had seen since he had been barely able to walk. Would he even want to come with them? Sure, the letter had made it worryingly clear how desperate the boy seemed to be to get away from his aunt and uncle, but to just follow two strangers that showed up on his doorstep...
He felt that if Harry did come with them, they'd probably teach him a few things about talking to strangers as soon as possible.
Of course, that was only provided they weren't caught on the spot. Dumbledore had not gained his reputation as the greatest wizard of his age by accident, and he had placed the utmost importance on Harry's security. Weren't they fools for even trying to outsmart the headmaster?
And what would Dumbledore do when he found Harry gone? How far would he go? Once more Remus felt guilt creep up in him. Dumbledore had done so much for him, supported him when nobody else would, cared for him with so much energy.
He gave you a life, and you're going to throw it back in his face.
He had suggested to Sirius that they'd try and talk to Dumbledore, convince him of Sirius innocence, but his friend had pointed out how unlikely it was that the old wizard would believe them. Even he had barely believed Sirius, and he had been his brother in all but blood since they were eleven. No, unless they miraculously stumbled on Peter or some other piece of evidence, Sirius would have to remain hidden.
Remus sighed, and went over to the other side of the table where he had deposited some parchment and ink to make a grocery list for tomorrow. He retrieved a blank piece of parchment and began to write.
If he would have to torment the old man like this, he could at least try his best to give him some sort of comfort, however small. Wondering if Dumbledore would even read it, he began to write.
Dear Albus
I know what you're thinking, and I know this letter probably won't change anything. But I have to try nonetheless, if only out of shame over what I am about to do to you.
I know what this looks like, and I know what you think we might do to Harry. But let me assure you that he will be safe. Neither I nor Sirius intend to harm him in any way.
Harry wrote to him – how he managed to, Ido not know, though we suspect accidental magic – begging to be taken away from the Dursleys. And while I respect your choice to send him to live with muggles, I have to agree with Sirius that Harry looks everything but happy. Sirius is his godfather, and it is his right to care for Harry, at least as long as Harry so wishes. We will not take him away by force, merely ask him if he wants to come. If he does, I will leave this letter with his aunt and uncle to give it to you or any Order member that might come.
I know it is pointless to ask you not to go looking for us, but I merely beg you to instruct the Order members to be careful should they approach any of us – Harry will be with us, and neither you nor me want him to come to harm.
I am deeply ashamed to betray your trust like this, and do not expect you to forgive me. But please know that Sirius is innocent. Peter Pettigrew was the secret keeper, and he betrayed James and Lily that night. He also killed those muggles, cutting off his own finger before escaping. As ridiculous as this may sound to you, it is the truth.
You may not believe any of this, but I felt obliged to at least try and put your mind at rest.
I am grateful for everything that you have done for me, and I will never forget your kindness.
Respectfully,
Remus Lupin
Dumbledore looked up from the letter, his gaze wandering back towards the house that wasn't there.
Great Merlin., he thought to himself as dread crept into his soul like an Dementor's icy fingers. Remus, what have you done?
Hope all those time jumps weren't too confusing ;)
I thought about putting a few typos in Harry's letter, but as I'm not a native speaker, I have no clue what mistakes a seven-year-old would make. Let's just say Harry's super advanced at orthography for his age.
There's gonna be more Harry in the next one, I promise. I'm currently up to chapter six with writing, but as I won't have much time to do so during the next time I might space out the updates a little. There will still be at least one or two chapters per week, though, at least for now.
Also, after reading through the guidelines, I upped the rating a little. I don't plan on anything really violent to go in here, but there might be some swearing (it does feature Sirius, after all), and I'm not sure how strict is. (Am I allowed to say fuck? Did I just get myself banned?)
Please tell me what you think! I have a vague direction in which this will go, but I'm still open for suggestions or wishes if there's a certain character or plot you'd like to see :)
