I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Language, AU, Character AU, Human! Dumbledore, Logical, Abused, Young! Harry, Godfather! Remus, Abusive! Dursleys, and umm... I'll probably add/change more later.

Pairings: None as of yet.

Summary: "Hey, Moony?" Prongs whispered, his lips curved in a small, contented smile. "Would you be godfather?"

A Two Arrowed Sign

Look both ways before crossing the street. You never know when you may fall and weep. There is no right or wrong, but what is human and what should remain unsung.

Chapter 5

June 19th, 1989

Dear Remus,

I hope you are doing well, my boy, and enjoying your freedom abroad! You are still enjoying the weather in France, I assume? I am writing with a yearly update on Harry's condition, as per our agreement. The young lad is doing quite well, according to his aunt. He had a bit of accidental magic – turned his teacher's hair blue! I am of the belief our dear Harry will turn out just like his father.

Do take care of yourself,

Albus Dumbledore

The letter that Remus had received from Dumbledore was worrisome. The owl, of course, would be unable to communicate to Dumbledore where it had delivered the letter. Remus had already scanned it for tracking charms, only to find the one attached to the letter itself had been neutralized by the wards around the Potter Manor. At least we know the wards are working.

Remus knew exactly what Dumbledore was trying to accomplish with this letter – or at least, the two possibilities. He signed, slumping onto the desk he was seated at, staring at the bare walls of the main study.

Possibility #1, Dumbledore had been notified of the magic being performed at Privet Drive and had investigated the area thoroughly. Moreover, having investigated, he arrived at the conclusion that Harry Potter had been kidnapped by a rouge Death Eater out for revenge. A very competent Death Eater, who had somehow managed to find a loophole in the wards... Dumbledore was writing to him the hopes that he would still be ignoring British Wizarding news, if the kidnapping of Harry Potter somehow became public knowledge. Or, if Dumbledore believed that Remus was still in contact with mutual allies, ones that Dumbledore would reach out to should Harry Potter be missing.

Which he is, Remus snorted.

Dumbledore would intend to keep Remus uninformed, fearing his reaction most likely. Of course, Remus hadn't made Dumbledore's life easy since James' death.

Possibility #2 was much worse. Despite Possibility #1 showing Dumbledore is a less favourable light – how dare he not inform Remus that his godson had been kidnapped? – it would be the best one for Dumbledore to be acting upon, for Possibility #2 suggested that Dumbledore suspected Remus of the kidnapping, which inspired the letter. A letter, feeling Remus out, trying to see what he was up to without being overly obvious. A letter trying to find out if Remus had indeed kidnaped Harry Potter.

Which I did, Remus snorted again.

Of course, Dumbledore had always underestimated the Marauders' intelligence in their school days. Most teachers had. But if you put a group of boys together, all above average wizards and gave them a purpose, they would well-exceed expectations. Even if there was only one of the boys remaining to succeed.

And he would succeed, Remus decided fiercely. There was a damaged godson upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms that needed him. Remus had never been needed more.

So, careful of the two Possibilities that Dumbledore may be considering, Remus wrote his reply and sent it on its way. In the meantime, he would wait for Harry to wake. In the meantime, he would figure out how to keep Harry safe.

Even if it meant lying to, arguably, the most powerful wizard alive.

We're Marauders, it's our job to cause chaos. Sirius' eyes, painfully bright, arms thrown casually over Peter's shoulders. And all the better if it's to protect our own. Don't let those ugly Slytherins get you down!

June 20th, 1989, 11:00pm

Potter Manor

He could hear singing. It was a familiar voice, the one that would hum to him in his dreams. He reached out, but his arms were heavy and his vision was foggy, like he was trying to stare through a large cloud or his glasses had been smeared with dirt. The voice curled around him, as if sensing his desperation, tightening around him a loving embrace. He felt safe, protected, and indestructible. He could surely take on the world right now and win.

And then the voice fled, ripping itself from his ears as if burned and dropping him to the cold, uneven floor of blackness. He couldn't feel, couldn't see. His cried rang loudly around him, echoing in the darkness. What happened to the voice? Where did it go? It was just silence. And pain, curling into his soul and tainting him with its sinister smirks and crude ideals. It carved scars into his delicate flesh and pierced holes into his lungs, leaving his coughing for air. Was he dying? Death wasn't supposed to hurt, right? Death was supposed to be calm and peaceful. But then there are some people who meet violent ends, who never wake up from dreams or their dreams become their realities. He closed his eyes and tried to forget – forget the pain and just find the voice – the loving, soothing voice that always made him feel whole.

It didn't come back.

He rose with a final scream of haunting pain and abandonment, his lips parting and his eyes clinching together with the force of thousands. It twisted in his ears, sounding just as real as a the voice and he flung himself forward –

Gasping for breath, Harry heard the last lingering sound waves of his previous scream ring in his ears as he opened his eyes, glancing around wildly. He almost feared he was back in his nightmare, when he was only met with darkness. But this was different, he thought decidedly. He could locate his limbs and they felt a sort of sore-numbness. Eyes adjusting, he could make out several shapes. There was a large window to his right and he was lying on a huge bed, with soft sheets. There was a small spot of light from under the door, shining into the room like a ghost.

He tightened his arms around his body, feeling the collective soreness everywhere. It didn't so much as hurt, but feel extremely uncomfortable. He curled on his side and tried to remember where he was, but it wouldn't come. The last he could remember was his Aunt Petunia and backing into his mind, content that it was time for his death and shocked that he had made it this long, and then that voice – it had said some funny word; in another language, Harry thought for sure. Panic rose inside of his like a rising sun, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut long enough, the world would disappear.

But that didn't happen. The door swung open in a hurry, but didn't creak, like his cupboard door did. He kept his eyes shut, tightening his body in its protective ball. Who was this person? Was it his relatives – his Uncle come to yell at him? Or was it some stranger? Had he been kidnapped like all those kids on the telly? But why would they put him in such a soft, comfortable bed? And why was he not hurting terribly from the injuries his Aunt had enforced upon him? He knew what his injuries normally were, and this was a lot less. His brain was screaming at him as the mysterious figure moved close, tensing for the expected attack. What he did not expect was the gentle touch of fingers on his forehead, brushing his fringe from where it had fallen against his nose. The touch sent an electric shock through him. It was unfamiliar with its kindness and lovely depth, nothing like the harsh strikes he was used to.

"Harry..." It was spoken sadly, almost guiltily. He frowned, before freezing his action and hoping the man did not see. It was a man, of course, with a deep tone to his voice. But it was a warm voice, like honey or chocolate. It wasn't husky or raspy, just deeper than a woman's and much more comforting than any other voice he remembered hearing. "Are you alright?"

His heart sped and he thought about opening his eyes or his lips to answer the question, but he couldn't seem to move. A light switched on around him, attacking his close lids.

"I know you must be scared, but I swear I'd never hurt you." It was still spoken softly, as if the man was speaking to a frighten snake ready to attack his throat, not that of a small boy. But, Harry thought warily, I'm probably acting like a frightened snake.

Opening his eyes a crack, he surveyed the room within the shield of his thick, black lashes. It was blurry around the edges and he wish he had his glasses. There was no one else in the room but the foggy figure of the man who had been speaking to him. He couldn't make out his face, but he could see the blonde on his head and a curtain of gray around him, almost as if he were wearing a dress. Finding his eyes fully open without his permission, he stared at the man. His gaze wasn't accusing nor threatening, more scared and wondering.

"Hello." said the stranger in that same, gentle, reassuring voice. He held something out to Harry, an instrument of some kind. No, it wasn't a thing – it was his glasses. He took them with awed fingers, staring at the shiny frames. He couldn't see all that well, but he could feel the tape was gone and they seemed longer than before, and the lenses weren't cracked at all – a remarkable feat considering he was sure they had broken at some point during his Aunt's rampage. "I, uh, fixed them for you. You should be able to see better. If not, I can try again..."

"Thank you." Harry murmured, his tongue finally follow his commands, shoving the spectacles up his nose and staring with new eyes around him. He had never seen anything so clearly before.

The man was staring at him attentively, almost frighteningly so. He looked as if he was trying to drink in Harry's very appearance. He had a long, thin scar across his cheek and thick, slightly curly blonde hair and kind eyes. The gray blur he had seen around him before, was actually robes swallowing the man's thin, worn form. They seemed to have been stretched and repaired many times. It was then that it dawned on him he had seen this man before – on the street outside the Dursleys home.

"Who are you?" His voice was awkwardly loud and he blushed slightly, wishing he could go back seconds and stop himself from speaking. He had no idea what this man was planning to do to him, but he didn't seem to be in any danger at the moment. In fact, he felt better than he had in ages – plus the man had fixed his glasses for him.

Clearing his throat and looking as if he had been fully prepared to answer Harry's question, the man said, "My name is Remus Lupin. I was a close friend of your parents."

Eyes widening, Harry's lips parted as a gush of air exited his lungs. A friend of his parents? Where the silly dreams he had long since given up coming true? It looked like it. He definitely wasn't in the Dursley's home anymore. But could he trust this man, Remus? How did he know that Mr. Lupin wasn't just going to treat him as the Dursleys had? But he could recall the gentle brush of his forehead and he could see the man's kind eyes – something very familiar around those eyes.

"Where am I?"

"This is your family's manor – the house your father grew up in."

"But... my parents don't have a manor. They were poor, drunken freaks who got themselves killed in a car crash." Harry repeated the words that Uncle Vernon had engraved in his mind. A part of him still didn't believe them, but he wanted to see what this man had to say.

"W-what? How could – nevermind." Remus' face contorted in fury and Harry flinched back before he could control his actions. The older man's face immediately softened. "No, your parents were kind, wonderful people. They loved you more than life itself. They couldn't bear to leave you for practically a minute." Remus chuckled to himself, the sound as warm as his voice.

Harry felt kind of awed. All his life he had been dying to hear those words – have the testimony that his parents had truly loved him and hadn't just gotten themselves killed and left him with his horrible relatives. That they had cared.

"Oh." Harry settled for saying, but he was positive by the small sparkle in the blue eyes across from him that the small upturn of his lips had not gone unnoticed.

"I'll tell you all about them." Remus promised. "But I need to know how you're feeling, first. I healed you as well as I could."

"Just sore, sir."

"You seem to heal remarkably quickly. Your injuries were quite…severe. You've been out for two days, however. Normal, I suspect."

"I've always healed easily." Harry said, making sure he didn't mention his 'power'. He didn't know why the man had taken him away, but he didn't want to be sent back so soon. The large bed was so comfortable, from where he had sat up and was now playing with his fingers. The walls were a pale blue and there was a large cherry desk and dresser, empty as far as he could tell. It was completely impersonalised, but it was so big and different than his cupboard. He had always dreamed of getting out of there and maybe that was finally happening – without him having to run away. Don't get your hopes up. "Er, thank you Mr. Lupin, for, a…."

"Remus," The man immediately corrected firmly. "Remus, or Moony if you'd like."

Moony. There was something familiar about that, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it.

"What am I doing here, Mr – uh, Remus?"

"Well you see, Harry, you're my godson. Your parents, they wanted me to look after you should anything...happen to them." He swallowed noisily. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to raise you before – there were complications with me obtaining guardianship."

"Godson?" Harry echoed, his mind drawing a blank. He was someone's godson? He had a godfather? This man was supposed to take care of him?

"Yes."

"You – you want me?" Harry's throat constricted painfully, shouting at him for his loose tongue. He shut his eyes tightly, as if hoping to shield himself from the reply he knew he would receive. He had never been wanted, why would that change with this man? But he just said that your parents had wanted you, loved you even!

"Oh, Harry, of course I want you!" A hand reached under his chin and Harry opened his eyes, meeting the face of his godfather. "You're like a son to me. I know we don't know each other that well, and I'm sure it'll take time for you to trust me, but... You didn't deserve to be treated like that. I'm sorry it took me so long to get you out of there." He said firmly and tears welled in Harry's eyes.

"But you won't want me later!" He protested, unable to help himself. "You'll think I'm a freak! I can do things – weird things! I can heal myself and I turned my teacher's hair blue and..." Harry paused, staring in horror at the man whom still grasped his chin lightly. Remus was laughing at him.

"Trust me Harry, there's nothing you could do that would make me want or love you any less. I swear."

Harry was speechless, just staring gobsmacked at the man. He had been waiting all his life for this moment – to here that someone wanted and loved him no matter want – completely unconditionally. And maybe he didn't fully believe him or really trust him, but Remus had saved him. He had taken Harry away from the pain, healed his bruises, fixed his glasses, and given him more in a few hours than the Dursleys had in his whole life.

His limbs moved against his will, or according to his will, and wrapped themselves around the man's middle in a hug, hiding his face in the strange robes. Instead of being shoved away, he was enveloped in warm arms, a soft hand stroking against his hair.

"You're not a freak, Harry. You're my godson."