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 7

June 21st, 1989, 10:00 am

Potter Manor

Remus slumped against the sturdy support of his chair in the kitchen of the Potter Manor. There were various appliances against the walls along with cabinets that held expensive cookware and dishes. In the corner, however, there was a four person table set up where the first light of dawn filled the room from the side window. While the dining room was much more impressive than the little nook that was in the corner of the kitchen, Remus avoided the dining room. Remus pass the eggs! James' hair was standing straight up from the roughhousing he and Sirius had gotten up to before breakfast. The black colour of his fringe stood out against the bright yellow walls of the Potter Manor dining room.

He hadn't known when Harry would awake. After their tense talk in the middle of the night, Harry had politely asked if he could go back to sleep, looking only slightly fearful of Remus' reaction to his question. Remus had walked the child back up to the bedroom he had been resting in before – a guest room on the second floor – and lingered in the doorway as Harry climbed into the large bed. He had stood there for several minutes, debating with the idea of tucking his godson in, wondering how Harry would react. Sure, Harry had been adjusting remarkably well, but Remus had a suspicion that it would not last for long. He probably should have just told the child a heartfelt "Goodnight," and left it at that. However, Remus had walked into the room, pulled Harry's covers to his chin and kissed his forehead. And Harry had watched him, wide-eyed and without protest. Remus had gone almost eight years without seeing his godson. His godson had gone almost eight years without someone tucking him in at night. Every child should have at least one memory of someone brushing their hair back from their forehead to kiss them goodnight. And if Harry made a point to tell Remus to never tuck him in again, at least he got to do it once. At least Harry got to be tucked in once.

Remus had sat up for a time after that, replaying the events of their conversation in his mind, wondering if he had said the right thing – if it had been the right time to say anything. He eventually came to the conclusion that he would treat Harry as normally as he could – not as an abused little boy that could very well have a fragile state-of-mind. Remus would treat Harry like an adult in the current matters, unless he displayed evidence that he couldn't handle what was going on. Of course, Remus would not tell Harry absolutely everything…some concepts would be best left until he was older. But hiding his story from him? Not telling Harry why his parents had died? Not telling Harry why they may not be able to leave the manor without some sort of disguise? That would have been too many secrets for one man to keep. Before, there had been four of them to share the burden of secrets. It was when one of them only was trusted with a secret that it became too much for them to handle.

Remus would not make that mistake again.

A tingle down Remus' spine alerted him that Harry had awoken – the monitoring charm doing its job. He sat his teacup down on the mahogany table. I'll wait a few minutes and if he doesn't come down, I'll fetch him. There were leftovers from their last night feast still in the cupboards under preservation charms, waiting to be re-heated. Remus had not had the appetite for breakfast, but Harry could not afford to skip meals. He was too small already.

Once it become apparent that Harry would not make his way to the kitchen on his own, Remus stood, rolling his shoulders briefly, and headed up the stairs. The door was open, as Remus had left it last night, and Harry was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes roaming along the walls.

"Hey." Remus said lamely, pausing in the threshold of the room. Harry's eyes whipped around to meet his, a fragile smile falling onto his lips.

"Hi." Harry said softly, reaching a hand up to smooth his hair, which was in a chaotic display.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Harry answered, looking down at the sheets he had carefully smoothed across the bed.

"There are some very comfortable beds here, huh?"

"This is the most comfortable bed I've been in." Harry flashed a timid smile in Remus' direction. Remus' heart swelled.

"Well, I don't know how well you like this room. There are several others you could choose from, if you'd like to look around after breakfast."

Harry looked torn, biting his lip. "Breakfast?" He finally managed.

Remus swallowed. "Yes, there's breakfast downstairs. Pancakes and eggs and I could probably fry up some more bacon if you'd like…?" Bacon had been the only food Harry had touched last night, despite the many options that Remus had provided to the young boy.

Harry's face had lit up to a hopeful expression as soon as Remus mentioned bacon. However, he quickly ducked his head.

"Why don't we head downstairs and see what we can find, okay?" Remus said softly.

"Okay." Harry slid off the bed, straightening his oversized shirt which, Remus realized, still had faint speaks of blood imbedded in the fabric.

"We'll see about getting you some new clothes today as well."

Harry didn't respond, but trailed after Remus as they made their way to the kitchen.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Harry ate all that was on his plate, but did not ask for seconds. Remus stared at his eggs, wondering what he should do now. He had thought for years about what he would do once he was in the position to raise his godson – all the wonderful things he would tell him about his parents, teach him about magic. But now that Harry was here, sitting, breathing right beside him, Remus wasn't quite sure what to do. He knew logically that he and Harry needed to venture somewhere – Harry needed clothes and toys and books and all the other things for which children wished for – and that Harry should have the opportunity to decorate his room. Maybe, even, Harry would like to try flying. James had been an impressive flyer after all. And Harry had zoomed so effortlessly on his toy broom when he was barely a year old.

However, flying was something they could put off for a while. Harry needed to feel safe here. And giving him his own things, his own space, would help accomplish that. Remus worried about taking him in public, however – having to disguise him.

No doubt Dumbledore was searching far and wide for The Boy-Who-Lived.

Remus was just about to open his mouth to bring up the discussion of what they could do today with if Harry was willing when the said boy finally gained the courage to speak.

"Do you… I don't know what they look like."

Remus paused, curling on of his hands into a fist. "Your parents?"

"Could you tell me their names?" Harry's cheeks were bright pink and he was looking stubbornly down at the cup of tea he had carefully poured a splash of milk in earlier. Remus felt his stomach burn. This isn't the way was supposed to be.

"Your dad's name was James. James Charles Potter. He was a wonderful man, Harry. He was mischievous and incredibly loyal. He loved you more than anything. And your mum, her name was Lily. Lily Rose Evans. She was the most intelligent witch I ever met. She had this brightness about her that no one could resist. And she would sing to you every night." Remus felt his eyes blur with tears as he stared intently into Harry's green orbs, which had risen to watch his godfather with a sort of amazement. Harry's parents had actually existed, at some point in time. They had breathed the same air as their son. They were not just faceless stick figures on a poorly draw first-grade family tree anymore. "Never, ever, doubt that they loved you, Harry."

"She sang to me?" Harry's voice was watery.

"Every night."

After a very meaningful hug from Harry, Remus gathered his composure and tried to steer the topic to a possible outing that afternoon.

"I'd like to go out and get you some new clothes – you don't have any of your things here, after all." Remus doubted that Harry actually had many things.

Harry eyes widened. "My wolf!"

"Your wolf?"

Harry looked mortified that he had actually spoken his realization. However, he managed to answer Remus softly. "I have a stuffed wolf…. Aunt Petunia hated him. But I've had him, well, forever…. I think it was left with me, when my parents…" Harry looked incredibly sad that he did not have his stuffed wolf within his arms at this moment.

Remus swallowed thickly. "I… I gave you a stuffed wolf when you were born." He admitted. "It was grey, with black – "

"With black ears and a black tail." Harry interrupted, looking at Remus in a whole new sense of awe.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I think it would be tremendously difficult to return to Privet Drive to retrieve him. I would, however, be very happy to get you another one."

"Grey with black ears and a black tail?" Harry asked softly.

"Grey with black years and a black tail." Remus confirmed. You should see yourself when you transform, Moony. You look like a skunk! Sirius bounced on the four-poster bed in the boy's dormitory. Padfoot, don't tease him! James' eyes were dancing. You're all grey, Moony. Peter said, his voice comforting. But you've got black ears and a black tail.

"Okay."

And Remus thought, just maybe, everything would be okay.