Hermione was considered the envy of witches the world over, which she found hilarious. She was reflecting on this as she was striding (she had rather forgotten there was such a pace as a leisurely walk) from her own office in the Deparment of Magical Law Enforcement, to her husband's office in the Department of Education.
On the surface, it looked pretty good, her life. She was a pretty, talented, well-connected—enough so that she'd had the option of marrying the likes of Bill Weasley and Draco Malfoy. And now, she was married to a man who'd graced the covers of everything from Magical Creatures Quarterly for his relationship with merpeople to Witch Weekly's "Superlatives" Issue for Best Body and Most Charming Smile. They had an adorable, intelligent, and high-spirited four-year-old that made them incredibly happy. They both worked high-profile jobs in the Ministry, but they had far more money than it warranted, because Harry had played four years of professional Quidditch and put away almost every penny of it.
It looked good, but it had been the hardest and most painful journey Hermione could imagine. She wouldn't trade what she had, not for anything, but she wouldn't wish what she'd gone through to get it on anyone. Having the man you loved go missing for four years was bad enough, but the fact that he was the most aggravating man in the world made it almost as hard to accept him back. He'd decided, when he'd come back, that the best way to deal with his fear of fame was to immediately join the professional Quidditch league. So, the two of them were working for werewolf rights on top of their regular jobs, and then Hermione was pregnant, and then they had James. Who was a beautiful boy, but whose parents had never so much as brought up the topic of marriage. Hermione's life with Harry had been almost as painful and uncertain as her life without him.
When James was two, Hermione had come home one day and her son hadn't been there. It was just Harry. He'd cooked dinner for her, and when they were cleaning up in the kitchen afterward, Harry had suddenly dropped to both knees and begged her to marry him. She'd been so stunned and angry that he was springing this on her when he'd never mentioned that he even thought about marriage, she almost said no. She did glare at him for awhile, but he just bowed his head like he was prepared to accept it if she said she didn't want him. So she'd said yes. The next day, Hermione woke up thinking about the fact that it was Teddy's eighth birthday. Suddenly she'd rolled over in bed and woke her fiancee up with fierce kisses interspersed with tears and apologies for her attitude. She had figured it out. Harry hadn't felt like he was able to propose until he'd been back for the same amount of time he'd been gone. Which was just another stab in the heart, really.
So they'd married, and after Harry had led England's team to win the Quidditch World Cup for the second year in a row, he'd decided he was finished and left the sport entirely. He'd filled his days up after that with any number of things, all of which he called "nothing much," from assignments with Vanderlay Securities to experimental projects in the Turncoat Research Laboratories, to guest lectures in Sirius' class. He'd briefly worked under his old friend Oliver Wood as an assistant coach for the Puddlemere United Quidditch team. He'd also managed to get his master's degree in Roman history during that time. Hermione had despaired that he was ever going to grow up and settle down, even as a married man with a child.
Then, when James was three, and they realized it was time to start his education, Harry abruptly got serious. There was no system in place for James. He had known, but not really understood, that England did not have schools for magical children. That before Hogwarts, almost all of its students were homeschooled. Harry didn't have any problem with teaching James anything and everything, but that wasn't the point, to him. There were any number of children being disadvantaged by inferior education prior to beginning their formal schooling. He didn't like it, and he took education far too seriously to ignore the situation.
So he got himself hired in the Department of Education at the Ministry of Magic. And just two months ago, he'd campaigned for and won the position of Head of the Department. He'd immediately begun to work on his master plan, without any waste of time. He was setting up a curriculum guideline and trying to forge support for private schools for magical children between the ages of four and ten. He was trying to create a system that would test these children every year to ensure they were on track. His own son was getting a decent education from Molly Weasley, who had a ton of experience and was one of the first people Harry planned to recommend as a teacher once the first school got up and running. He had designs on the first headmaster, as well, who was working in the Department of Education with him until they could get a school going.
So, Hermione's life finally felt like one she could admit was enviable. Harry was still entirely aggravating, though, as she noted when she walked into his department and saw him and his right hand wearing identical expressions of exhaustion and short temperedness.
"You could always tell everyone you'd been out drinking last night," she said lightly, sitting down at her husband's desk and sending a smile at Remus.
Harry's entire face lit up when he saw her, and that . . . That was the reason this was all worth it. Hermione found it impossible to feel unappreciated or ugly or not worthwhile. She was Harry's whole reason for being, and she knew it. Having him finally find a focus for his life, other than her, was actually kind of nice, so she hadn't been at all upset about the amount of time he was giving to this project.
Remus gave a weak chuckle. "But since everyone and their mother already knows I'm a werewolf, there's little point."
"They're probably starting to wonder if you've turned me," Harry answered, his own humour just as weak.
And this was why he was still aggravating, but infinitely beautiful and loveable at the same time. He stayed with Remus, every full moon, the whole night. Things being as they were, it was an incredibly difficult time for Remus, and he'd always refused to let his wife see him that way. He was no more able to walk as a werewolf than he was as a man, and it was even harder to be disabled as an animal. The wolf mind that came out on the full moons would whisper to him that he was old, and sick, and should be abandoned, that his pack shouldn't waste their time on him . . . So Harry stayed up with him, all night, keeping him in his right mind, thinking that it was his duty because it was all his fault . . . Sometimes, despite the Wolfsbane, Remus would lose his human focus, would harm himself, and Harry would stop him. It was a bad night for everyone.
The two of them made quite a pair, the day after. Dejected, tired, and depressed, and generally in need of something to break them out of it. So, here she was.
"I feel quite certain in saying that you two haven't eaten a thing today," she said, withdrawing a tiny basket from her pocket, and pulling her wand with the other hand. She restored the basket's original size. "Picnic lunch, anyone?"
"When did you put that together?" Harry asked in amazement.
"James helped me with it while you were in the shower."
"You mean James made a mess of the kitchen while you packed it," Harry said dryly.
"Something like that," she smiled.
"Which means you made this, cleaned up James and the kitchen, and shrunk it before I got out of the shower."
"Yes," she said, a little surprised by his statement of the obvious. It wasn't his usual thing.
Harry turned to Remus. "Have I expounded lately on how amazing and incredible my wife is?" "I believe you have."
"Well, I wasn't finished. My wife is an almost psychotically talented witch, and she's beautiful, and she pretty much wins at everything."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "I would like to say that my wife is better, but you might hurt me."
"That's why I wanted him here," Harry said to Hermione with satisfaction. "He's so smart."
Hermione giggled, and felt accomplished. She'd fulfilled her mission. Harry and Remus were smiling now, and looking a little less like something the cat had dragged in.
"Dora and I are having dinner with Jeremy and Ad tomorrow night, speaking of my wife. I'm supposed to ask if you wouldn't mind having the kids at your place so we can have some official grown-up time."
"Of course," Hermione said after a brief flick of her eyes to confirm it with Harry. "Jeremy and Ad spend enough time looking after our kid."
"I'm surprised the little snitch has left them enough house to have company over to," Harry smirked. James was a bit rambunctious, if one was inclined to understatement.
"He's hardly any worse than Winnie," Remus shrugged. Teddy had a tendency to be quiet and patient, but his daughter made it a point to be the exact opposite of her older brother.
Hermione shook her head, knowing exactly how much more exciteable her son was than Winnie. But the movement made her notice something. "Harry."
He was busy rummaging in the picnic basket. "Hnnh?"
"Did you know you've got a letter, here?" Hermione said, pointing the international post sitting on top of his inbox.
"No," he said, pulling his attention away from the food to look at it. "Must have come while I was talking to Kingsley."
"Who do you know in America?"
"Just Cameron and Megan," he said, interested now, and taking the letter from her. He'd stayed in contact with his college roommates, and she'd been able to meet them once. They'd rather fawned over her, which had been embarrassing, but she'd liked them for taking care of Harry when she couldn't. "And obviously neither of them would write to me here." He slit open the outer envelope, and withdrew a plain one from within.
His breath caught.
"Harry?"
He stared at the envelope in his hands.
"Babe? What's wrong?"
"You are never going to believe this," he muttered, and took the letter out of the envelope. He didn't say anything else for several minutes. Remus and Hermione looked at one another with worry, but all they could do was wait.
Dear Mr. Potter,
It is a great honour to be addressing you, and I hope this letter will find you and your family well. At this point you are most likely wondering who I am and why I am writing to you, but I hope that you will bear with me until that comes into the story. Yes, a story—I beg for your patience as I try to explain by telling you about my life.
While my earliest memories are hazy thoughts of another country, I spent the majority of my childhood in San Francisco, in the United States. I lived there with my uncle, who owned a martial arts studio there, and my mother. After the move, she quickly completed her education, and then became a college professor of South American literature. We were very successful and my childhood was very happy. But there were a few "incidents" that made it clear I was not a normal child, and it was not long before my mother and uncle (for they both raised me) were seeking out some other people that might not be considered strictly normal.
I imagine you are beginning to suspect the truth at this point (indeed, wizards had to come into the tale eventually, for me to be writing you!) and you are correct. It turned out that I was a wizard and I was sent to a school in Oregon, which was widely considered the best American school for instructing young wizards in their craft. I learned your name through our studies of wizarding world history—your name was the name to know when it came to recent history. I don't know if you would have been so famous in my area, if it weren't for the way you used to disappear and travel around. But I became a great admirer of yours, and I decided to use you as the subject of a class project this year. My knowledge of you because of my research comes into the story, but bear with me.
I spoke very enthusiastically of you to my mother and my uncle, as well as my other studies, because I do love being a wizard. It's always been plain to me that my family is Muggle to the core, and I always meant to ask them about who my father had been, but the time never seemed to be right. Recently, the decision was made for me.
It came about when I was telling a story, this past summer, about your godfather. I told my mother she would have been impressed to see a schoolteacher who was so integral to your war with Voldemort. I did not notice right away how fascinated she was by the story of Sirius Black, but when I told her that he not only survived the war, but continues to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, she burst into tears and ran from the room. I was, as you can imagine, a little confused. I figured out quickly that my shock was nothing compared to hers, hearing about Sirius Black and finding out that the stories I had been telling them were stories of a person they knew! In the end, it was my uncle who told me the truth of just how closely I was connected to my childhood hero—to you, Mr. Potter.
I have struggled for several months now, trying to decide whether or not to write you, but now I think I should, because my family's grief is too much for me to ignore. I don't think you'll recognize the name on the envelope, the name I've always gone by, because why should you know the name Richard Oliveira? I spent my entire childhood correcting people who thought my name was Ricardo, not understanding why my first name would be English. Even I didn't know the full name printed on my birth certificate until just a few months ago. I am Richard Miguel Oliveira Black. You knew my mother and my uncle when you were a child, Catalina and Miguel Oliveira. They assure me that my father and my (dare I say this?) brother did not know of my existence and had no reason to suspect it. So now you have been told. Your godfather had a child of his own, and I'm almost fifteen years old.
I am sorry, because I know that this letter will come as quite a shock, but you have to know that I felt the same way when I realized the truth. Mr. Potter, I'm not asking Mr. Black or you for anything. My family left Brazil afraid for their lives, but we've been very happy since then, and my uncle said that moving to California was the best thing we could have done. My mother has become well-known in her field, and my uncle spends his days doing something he loves. I'm sure that because you're such a celebrity, you get a lot of requests for help from a lot of people, but this letter isn't like that. I just wanted you both to know, and it was a lot easier to find your address than my father's. I know that you have a family of your own, and that you're probably very happy with them and with your life as it is. This information is yours; it's your choice what you do with it. But I think you should know that my mother and uncle have said they are proud of you.
Respectfully,
Richard Oliveira Black
He had noticed himself fidgeting like a junkie needing a fix, and he had tried to get a grip on himself. The only way he could do it was to sit completely still, which probably made him look just as weird. Assuming anyone was looking, since he'd chosen an utterly random café for this meeting and there shouldn't be anyone paying attention to him.
He couldn't stand the sitting still. Agitated, he ran his hands through his black curls, taking a deep breath. He had to be cool about this. He was the one who always knew what he was doing. The one they looked to, to be calm and collected, no matter the situation.
But who was he kidding? He'd never done anything like this before. Harry had arranged everything for him, all he had to do was show up. Apparently, Harry was the calm one who always knew what he was doing. He would have to find some way to tell Harry how much he appreciated the help. After he survived this, of course. Assuming he did survive.
Then, there he was. Standing in the door of the café, looking uncertain. And he looked just like him. Same black hair, same lean and wide-shouldered build. He probably should have expected that. His look-alike was striding across the room, looking like a man on a mission.
With a deep breath, he stood up.
"I guess we don't really need introductions, after all," he said with a weak smile.
They just stared for a while. He'd never thought eyes could be starving, but looking at him was like feeding a starving belly, so it must be true. He'd always wondered. And now he knew. At long last, he knew.
"Hi, there," said the chipper voice of the server who'd been standing behind the counter and was now beside the table. "Can I get you guys anything?"
Spell broken, they let their eyes turn to the young man with the pink hair.
"Coffee," the newcomer said hoarsely.
The pink-haired server nodded and turned to him. "Refill on yours?"
"Please," he mumbled, and they sat down. "Um, thanks for coming. You . . . Uh, you didn't have to. So thanks."
"Didn't have to?" Suddenly the older man reached across the table and grabbed his hand, squeezing it so hard he bit back a noise of pain. "I only wish I had known to come sooner. I had no idea, Richard. Is that okay? If I call you Richard?"
He nodded, and then he was blinking back tears. He'd never cried about the missing father in his life, not once, and now that he had appeared, Richard was crying, how stupid was that? But Sirius had jumped up from his seat again and come to his side of the table and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked very uncomfortable.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "For not being there for you and your mother. Did she tell you anything about, well, what happened?" "Not really," he answered, trying to get a hold of himself. "I just never asked. I had Mama and Tio Miguel, and that was always enough for me. It wasn't hard to figure out that my father was a white guy, and a wizard, and I thought . . . Never mind."
"It's okay. Tell me what you thought."
"That my father was some guy who used my mother and ran off."
The man that right now he could only think of as Professor Black, the man from the newspaper stories, was sitting back down in his own seat, a look of sick grief on his face. "That's close enough," he said quietly, and accepted his coffee from their server.
Richard shook his head. "No. Harry explained some of it to me. I know you didn't have much of a choice. I guess I didn't expect him to be so open, since he doesn't know me. Is he always like that?"
Surprisingly, Professor Black laughed. "No, not really. But he has a very strong belief in family. You'll get used to him. Have you talked to him much yet?"
Richard shrugged. "Just a couple of phone calls. He seems really cool."
"He's a good guy, my godson. The cameras love him, anyway." Professor Black gripped his coffee. "I don't know what you want to do about all of this. If you want to stay out of the newspapers . . . Don't think that I'd ever be ashamed of you, because I never would be. But if you don't want to get hounded by reporters, we'd have to keep this a secret."
Now, this was the reason that Richard had been sitting here for an hour with his heart pounding and his hands fidgeting with everything they touched. He placed them palms down on the top of the table, just in case he started doing it again.
"I don't really care about that," he admitted. "You know that I found out about this because I was doing a report for school about Harry? When they told me I was related to the famous Professor Black, I was totally excited. How cool is that, you know?"
The man stared at him for a minute, then let out a whooshing breath. "And here I thought I already knew what it was like to have a fifteen-year-old kid. I always forget that Harry was not a normal teenager."
Richard felt like this was not going well. He felt like the enormous gap between them was getting bigger instead of closing. He didn't know what to say anymore.
"Mama says I'm not very normal, either. She says I'm too responsible and studious."
Professor Black barked out a laugh, at that. "So the complete opposite of what I was when I was your age."
"Really?" Richard asked, wanting to know anything and everything, but not knowing how to ask.
But that was it. That was all they needed, because suddenly Professor Black was telling him stories about boys named James and Remus and himself when they were Richard's age. Pranks, jokes, sneaking out in the middle of the night, werewolves and Animagi, girls and falling in love. Then the stories became more serious, and they were stories about James getting married and having a baby in the midst of a war.
Richard knew the story from this point forward, from his research, but he was enthralled with his father's version of events. They didn't notice when they ordered turkey sandwiches or when they switched to water because they'd been drinking too much coffee. They didn't notice customers coming in, leaving, the pink-haired server finishing his shift and being replaced by a girl with a tattoo of a panda bear on her wrist. They spent hours talking about everything that had been happening, during the time that Richard had been growing up without a father.
His mother called him, frantic, to tell him that he was an hour late and she knew she shouldn't have let him go alone, and had he been kidnapped or something. He told her that he was fine, still at the café, and she awkwardly told him that he needed to come home because it was getting dark.
He cast a careful look over the man who sat opposite him.
"I'm safe, Mama. My father won't let anything happen to me."
She was silent, then. For a long time. Finally, she said, "I know he won't," and hung up.
Richard put his cell phone down, feeling embarrassed. Professor Black— Sirius — picked it up and looked it over with interest.
"I've never seen one of these before," he explained, turning it over in his hands. "It's like a regular phone, just without the cord, right?"
Richard tried not to laugh. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Convenient, I guess. But they can break, can't they?"
"Yeah, if you're not careful with them."
Sirius nodded. "Well, then. I'll have to teach you how to cast the spell for a communicative Patronus."
"Huh? Like the Patronus charm? We don't learn that at my school until our final year."
Sirius smiled. "I taught it to Harry when he was twelve. You could probably figure it out. But the communicative Patronus is different, it twists the typical Patronus charm so that you can send it as a messenger to someone, in case you're in an emergency. Can't be broken, and only someone who is familiar with you could follow its trail."
Richard opened his mouth and closed it.
"What?"
"I was going to tease you about being paranoid, but you did kind of fight in a war."
"Sorry. Everybody back home is like that. Well, not the sprites, but even Teddy picked up a few of our habits."
Richard, once again, didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he was doing here, really. He might be this man's only natural-born son, but he wasn't family. Not like those people in England were.
Sirius stood up suddenly, and threw some money on the table. Richard checked it quickly to be sure it was U.S. dollars, then tried to protest against it, but Sirius brushed off the protests.
"Come on, I'd better take you home. I have to talk to your mother about all of this. Obviously, I can't just announce I have a kid without talking to her about it."
He looked very apprehensive about the idea.
"Do you even want to? Announce it, I mean?"
Sirius stopped walking. He turned to Richard, a cautious look on his face. Then, suddenly, the slender teenager was engulfed in a huge embrace, just the kind of thing he used to wonder about when he was younger and less mature about this stuff. And it felt . . . it felt like home. He hadn't even imagined it would feel like this.
"You're my son," Sirius said quietly. "The world can go hang for all I care, but you're my son and now that I've found you I am never letting you go. You'd better get used to that."
Richard nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Well. Harry had tried to warn him.
Sirius had found the café simply by handing the address to the first cab driver he'd found at the airport, which was the most horrifyingly expensive thing imaginable. Richard was a little more canny about the bus routes, and insisted that he wanted to show Sirius San Francisco's famous cable cars, if he was still here tomorrow.
If. What a strange word, and one that made Sirius' heart ache. Of course he would be here tomorrow. His son, this amazing gift he'd been given, didn't even know him, or he'd know better than to question whether Sirius would disappear in the night.
"I've always wondered what those are like," Sirius said with a smile.
Richard grinned back, and it was like looking at a photograph of himself from his school days—almost, anyway. Richard was, if anything, more handsome than he had ever been. The hair and the build were the same, and the face was almost an exact likeness, but he had a few gifts from his mother. The honey-toned skin, warm brown eyes, and sheer elegance of his movements were all from her. And they worked on him, thank Merlin, instead of making him look too pretty to be a boy.
They chatted about Richard as they travelled.
"I'm in the Advanced classes for Magical History and Wizarding Literature," Richard admitted when Sirius asked him about school.
"What does that entail?" Sirius asked, mystified by the very idea of a class on magical literature.
"A lot of extra work in history, is all. But the lit course is pretty cool. We actually got a little training in how to read ancient runes, so we could look at really old stuff, but we spent a unit studying wizard's fairy tales, and then another unit on great novels by wizards."
"What other sorts of classes do you take?" Sirius asked, desperately hoping his son did not walk around with his head in the clouds.
"I'm in the regular third level—we don't start as early as kids in England do—anyway, third level for Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, and Transfiguration. Next year I'm going replace my literature class with Magical Creatures."
"That must be like our Care of Magical Creatures class."
"Care? No, this one is just to learn about them. All different types, the domesticated ones, wild ones, Dark creatures, and all the way up to doing a unit on wizard transformations, like vampirism and lycanthropy."
"That kind of stuff comes up more in my class," Sirius said in surprise.
Richard shrugged. "We don't learn the kind of stuff you teach, not in the classroom. There's an extra-curricular club to learn duelling and defensive techniques, but all the spells come up in our other classes." He looked wistful. "I wish we had a class for defensive magic. That would be so cool."
"Are you in that club?"
"Of course!" Richard said, sounding scandalized. "My tio would kill me if I didn't supplement his lessons with the wizarding equivalent."
"So Miguel keeps you in pretty good shape, does he?"
Richard nodded happily. "He says he's going to make me start at the bottom when I get old enough for the adult class, but I should be able to move through the first couple of belts really quickly. Did you know Miguel has his red belt? He got it a long time ago, actually, like, six years ago. He's so good."
Sirius shrugged. "You'd have to talk to Harry about the belt classifications. I never had any formal training, just lessons from your uncle."
"Where did Harry train?"
"Here, actually. Well, in San Diego, but here in California. He was probably just leaving about the time Miguel got that red belt. He says he's black belt, which is great. We still practice on each other, when we find the time. He usually destroys me." He smiled at Richard. "Maybe you and I can do that, sometime. I think it could be fun."
Richard gave him a shy smile, which made his heart leap. This was working out better than he'd believed. Richard signalled the driver and then led him off the bus. They only had to walk a very short distance to his house. The house he lived in with his mother. Catalina. Sirius had sort of hoped Miguel would live here, too, because he thought it would take some of the tension out of it. But according to Richard, Miguel was married and had a nine-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son, so Sirius was just going to have to do this one his own.
Richard paused with his key in the lock of the front door, and took a deep breath. Sirius was stunned by, but certainly not complaining about, how quickly they'd been able to bond. Whatever happened with Catalina, his son was still going to exist, and that changed his perspective on any number of things. So he laid his arm over Richard's shoulder, and they stepped into the house. Together.
"I hope your mother isn't too angry with me for making you so late," Sirius said cautiously, hearing no noise as they entered. "She always did have . . ."
What she always had, Richard would never hear. Because she was standing on the other side of the front room, leaning lightly on her hand, which she'd placed on the wall where a hallway led off from the room. She was the same. Just the same. Beautiful. Captivating. He couldn't look away, even if he wanted to. He was bespelled.
"Cat—" he breathed.
She stood up straighter, and gave him a hard look. He began to notice the little things. Her body had fuller curves, which was not a bad thing at all. She had lines around her mouth, a few crinkles at her eyes. So did he. A thin streak of silver in her hair. So what? She was forty years old, and he was forty-eight, so those things didn't bother him.
It was the way the wrinkles told him that she'd laughed. The way the smooth muscles of her calves, below her knee-length skirt, showed him that she still danced. The way her polite, respectful, son took school so seriously and so obviously adored his Mama. It meant that she was still the same woman, just more mature and even more amazing.
"You haven't changed at all," he said in surprise.
"Neither have you," she answered.
"That's not true," he said quietly. "I have."
"How so?"
"If I had to do it over again, I'd never have left you behind," he blurted out, and tried not to wince. He hadn't felt this much like a dunderheaded schoolboy since he was one.
"Alas, life does not allow us to do things over again," she said starchly.
He wondered if she could see how much it hurt him to think that she was still angry with him after all this time.
"Not even things that are so important?" he asked.
"Did you come here to try to beg me for another chance at this?"
"No, I came here for my son. But I can't say the idea never crossed my mind. I always wondered about you. I'd convinced myself that you married, had a family, that I wouldn't be welcome in your life. But I never forgot."
"I'm not easy to forget, Sirius Black."
"No, you aren't," he smiled.
"And neither are you, for all that you are such a bastard," she said, and crossed the room so quickly he'd have sworn she Apparated. She was standing right in front of him. "And here we are. We never married anyone, we never stopped thinking about each other, and we're the parents of the most wonderful boy in the world. And there is no reason why we shouldn't try, is there?"
"I can think of about a thousand reasons we probably shouldn't," he said dryly, and immediately cursed himself for his flippant mouth.
"So can I, but I'm ignoring them for a moment. I just need to know if this is how I remember it—"
He hadn't been kissed like this in fifteen years, and it was exactly how he remembered it. He should be stunned that it was happening this way. That he'd met his son and hit it off with him right away, that he'd walked into the Oliveira household as a stranger and been kissed in under five minutes. But he wasn't surprised at all. Because falling in love with Cat had always been so very easy, for him.
October had been a really inconvenient month for Richard to write that letter, all told. Harry had contacted the kid, discovered him to be bright, funny, and responsible, and had immediately arranged for Sirius and Richard to meet. But between October and Christmas, Sirius had taken a total of three weeks of time off, to make a few trips to San Francisco. Harry and Remus were both too busy in the Department of Education to cover substitute teaching for him, and Neville hadn't been able to clear out his schedule. Just when Sirius had begun to think he wouldn't get to make his second trip, Dora had volunteered to fill in for him—she'd gone back to the Aurors when Winnie was five, and she was way overdue for some time off. She had the requisite knowledge, and after the time spent on her hell-raising ten- and eight-year-old children, a classroom full of teenagers didn't seem too hard to her.
Of course, now that Christmas hols were here, Sirius wasn't taking advantage of it to make another trip. He'd come back from his first trip gushing about Richard, but very tight-lipped about Catalina, so Harry hadn't suggested that he and Hermione go to visit. He'd waited. And waited. Wondered what in hell was going on between Sirius and Catalina. And now it turned out that Catalina and Richard were spending Christmas here in England, with them.
"Sirius," Harry said mildly, "sit down."
"What?" "You're pacing. We're not going to the airport for an hour, yet. Sit down, relax. There's an open bottle of wine, here, let's have a glass."
Harry poured two glasses, and sat down in the chair opposite his godfather, in front of the fire in the study. Sirius was staring at him. Harry felt his face turning red, even before Sirius asked, but he knew he didn't have to be embarrassed about this conversation. Not with Sirius.
"You're drinking?"
Harry rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. "Not often. And not alone. But Hermione and I have talked about it quite a bit, and I'm going to see how this goes. It's James, mostly. I don't want him to grow up thinking of alcohol as something that's scary or unmanageable. He needs to be able to see his mother and I being responsible about drinking. That's what we think, anyway. What do you think?"
"It sounds like the right idea," Sirius said, mulling it over. Then he smiled and raised his glass. "Here's to you, then, Harry."
They took their first sip, inhaled slowly to get the taste. Then Harry went back to twirling his glass while Sirius took another sip of his. Sirius lifted his brow.
"Sounds good on paper, harder in practice?"
"Something like that," Harry said quietly. In truth, it hadn't been a problem yet. It just made him nervous. He didn't even know why, since he was so certain that he could do exactly what he was setting out to do. But the whole thing was making him recall the person he'd been seven years ago, and he didn't like remembering that.
"Harry, you've made me so proud," Sirius said, rather abruptly. "Look at you. You're here, you made it. An adult, with a wife and a son. A son who reminds me a great deal more of your father than of you, I might add. But you have a good life, and you're doing right by then. You've done well, kiddo."
Harry smiled, knowing it looked painful. "Thanks."
"What's wrong?"
"I've just been thinking a bit about all of this. I don't deserve it. I shouldn't have found it before you did, not with the way I acted—"
"Harry. Stop. I'm not even going to argue with you, okay? Whether or not you believe you deserve it is something that's up to you, at this point. Not to mention what I believe I deserve. But I figured out a long time ago that life doesn't always give us what we deserve, and thank whatever powers be, for that. You were given a wonderful family, and you are working hard to do right by them. That's enough. Now I've been given the same thing, and I'm doing everything I can, and I hope it will be enough. Does that make sense?"
Harry nodded, and took a sip of his wine. "Richard seems like such a great kid, Sirius. I hope he makes you far more proud than I can."
"He is a great kid," Sirius said, completely avoiding Harry's self-effacement. He had gotten good at that. "He's frighteningly mature, and he studies too much, but he's really funny, too."
"I noticed that, when I talked to him. I'm really happy for you, Sirius. And I'm excited about seeing Catalina again. This is going to be great."
Sirius looked concerned. "I don't even really have a house for them to visit, you know? I pretty much gave this place to Remus's family, and there's kids underfoot all the time, and—"
Harry sighed. Loudly.
"What?"
"You're usually so much more intelligent than this, Sirius. Come on. Miguel has kids, it's not as if they're not used to it. And it's not as though they don't understand that you work at a boarding school, since Richard attends one. I know you're nervous about making a good impression, but at least pick something realistic to worry about."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that you should get your coat, so we can leave. We don't want to be late to the airport."
Harry was enormously gratified by the way Sirius jumped to his feet with a squawk of panic, demanding to know what time it was.
Harry might consider it entirely normal to be given a gigantic hug by a woman who immediately began to babble about how grown-up he was, but Hermione was surprised to be given similar treatment. Then it was Remus and Dora's turn, who both received enthusiastic kisses on each cheek and exclamations of how nice it was to finally meet them. Teddy and Winnie submitted to it with good graces, but James hid behind his mother.
Richard was slightly more reserved, offering handshakes all around. His handshake for Harry was maybe a bit more enthusiastic, and the two of them decided quickly that they felt no qualms about calling one another "brother," no matter the technical details of bloodline.
"It's a shame your uncle couldn't come," Hermione said to Richard, when Sirius, Catalina, and Harry began reminiscing about some finer point of their history in Rio de Janeiro. "I would have loved to meet him, as well."
Richard grinned. "I know, that would have been awesome. But it's their year to go to Colorado to have Christmas with Ellen's family. Ellen's his wife. My cousins are Beatriz and Gabriel. They're pretty cool, for kids."
Hermione tried not to laugh. Fifteen had once seemed pretty grown-up to her.
"But you and Harry should go visit him sometime, I know he'd like that," Richard added.
"Maybe we'll come with Sirius, next time he visits," Hermione answered.
Richard shifted his eyes away, and Hermione was immediately suspicious. Richard didn't know a thing about keeping a secret, did he? Hermione immediately began to wonder if Sirius had been talking to the Oliveiras about his moving to San Francisco. What he would do once he got there, Hermione couldn't imagine.
Sirius took Catalina and Richard on a tour of the house, while Teddy and Winnie were setting the table for the lunch their parents had been making. It was to be a very light meal, just some cold cuts and snacks, because Harry was planning to make a huge dinner. He wanted to surprise Catalina with some of her own favourite recipes that he remembered from living with her.
Hermione and Harry took the opportunity to corral their own very rambunctious little one and introduce him to some semblance of cleanliness and order before the meal. Harry took him into the bathroom to make sure he was actually washing his hands instead of just running the water, so Hermione just happened to be standing in the hall when Sirius brought Richard and Catalina back downstairs.
"What do you think?" Sirius asked anxiously.
"It's lovely," Catalina answered.
"I think it's great," Richard pronounced.
"You don't think it's a bit, er, unusual? Or crowded? Or anything?"
Hermione had never seen or heard her so-called "father-in-law" sound so unsure about anything. She began to wonder if things with Catalina weren't as strained and difficult as she'd been assuming.
"It is unusual, but that's not a bad thing," Catalina said with assurance. "I think it's nice, that you have so much family with you. Even when you were younger, you always talked about Remus like a brother, and it's wonderful that you've been able to stay close."
"But if what we're talking about—"
"There would be some adjustments, of course. Perhaps the easiest thing, though, would be to look for a home near the school where I would be teaching. I cannot travel so far and fast as you and my son, after all. It is more important for me to be close to work than for you."
Hermione grabbed her husband and child and yanked them out of the hallway, hushing them. She was wide-eyed as she realized what she was hearing. She told James to go play in the sparring room for a few minutes (because it was covered in padding and he would find it difficult to come to harm), and pulled Harry into the study.
"Harry, I think they're back together," she whispered.
"What? Who?" She rolled her eyes. "Sirius and Catalina, who else?"
"Back together, you really think so?"
"Harry, I just heard them talking. About how they might need to look for a home. Here. For both of them."
Harry was grinning. "I knew it, I totally knew it. Sirius has been freaking out about their visit ever since they decided to do it. And he and Richard are getting along so well that I knew it had to be her that was making him nervous."
"If it's true, how would you feel about it?" she asked him, since it was his godfather they were talking about—his having a new family might be harder on him than he was letting on.
Harry was still grinning. "You're kidding, right? I've been hoping this would happen as soon as I got that letter from Richard a few months ago. I thought all this time that we would be losing Sirius, that he would move there. I was prepared for that. But this would be so much better, because this way Catalina and Richard get the support of our gigantic family."
"I assume they're trying to keep this quiet, right now. Should I say anything, about what I overheard?"
"No," Harry answered. "Let them think it's a secret. I'm going to have fun pretending to be surprised when they do say something."
Hermione gave him a stern look. "You have a son to set an example for."
"I'm going to show him exactly what a snarky troublemaker looks like," Harry agreed. "I'm a very good example of that."
She glared at him, but his preferred method of ending disagreements was kissing her. It was hard to argue with someone so talented.
The sparring room had continued its existence these twelve years, now and then being used to teach a few things to Teddy or give self-defense lessons to one of Simon's various girlfriends. Simon had retained enough interest that he and Harry went and found a martial arts studio they could both attend in London, and they sometimes got together at Grimmauld Place with Sirius so they could all have a little fun.
It was a handy place for Harry to drag Richard, when he decided they needed to talk. Just the two of them.
"I thought you might need to get away for a while," Harry said with a smile. "I know the family can be a little overwhelming."
Richard laughed a little. "There's more of them than I'm used to," he admitted. Grimmauld Place had retained its status as the true gathering place for all of them, but they were all just as comfortable with Thistle Ridge, with the Potter's Willow Cottage, and Simon and Grace's as-yet-unnamed home. Richard had been making a circuit of each home for the past several days, and Harry was right—he could use some breathing space.
"Sirius tells me that Miguel's been training you. Didn't know if you'd want to work out a little."
Richard looked around the room with a smile. "This is cool. I can't believe you actually keep a room here just for this." He stepped closer to the pictures. "Is that Remus, that wolf there?" "Ah, no, that's a guy named Manfred. He was one of the guys in the werewolf network Sirius started up in Austria."
Richard moved on to the next picture and gaped. "That's my mom."
"I know," Harry smiled. "This was the room where we used to keep all the reminders of our old life. Your mom was a huge part of it. I assume you know how young I was when my own mother died?"
Richard nodded, trying not to feel guilty for knowing that.
"Catalina's the only mother I've ever really known. I never wanted to forget her."
Richard didn't know what to say. But Harry wasn't quite finished yet.
"Listen, Richard. I brought you in here so I could say something, and I just . . ." Harry turned his face away, looking at the kimono they still had on one wall. "I need to apologize to you."
Richard was stunned. "What? Why?"
"I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I'm the reason you didn't have a father when you were growing up. Sirius left Catalina behind because of me. And I really need to tell you how sorry I am that I came between you two and him. You should have been together. I'm sorry."
Richard shook his head violently. He'd been warned about Harry, about the way his "brother" took everything on himself. Even if this was, technically, true, that didn't mean Harry had the right idea at all.
"No, don't be. It wasn't like that—"
"Richard," Harry cut him off, turning to him with a brittle look. "I know, okay? I know what it's like to be the kid at school whose dad didn't stick around. My aunt and uncle told me that my dad was an alcoholic wastrel, so I know what it's like to be that kid. Maybe it gets easier as you get older, but that's something I wouldn't know, because I took your father away from you."
"No, you didn't," Richard said firmly. "Maybe it hurt, when I was a kid. So what? Now we've found each other, and it doesn't matter anymore. It wasn't your fault, and nobody blames you for it. Okay? Nobody thinks you have to apologize. Least of all me. I'm happy that it's working out now, and that's all I care about."
Harry didn't believe him, that was obvious. But maybe he'd figure it out, eventually. Richard would make him understand, because he didn't like Harry beating himself up over this.
"Come on, let's just get this over with," Richard said, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his undershirt, and toeing off his shoes. "I know you're going to kick my ass."
Harry shook off his melancholy, and gave Richard a grin. He pulled off his own shoes. "Probably. Should be fun."
It was.
Christmas was an experience unlike anything Richard had known before. On alternating years, it was either just him and Mama at home because they didn't have any family in town, or they went to spend the day at Miguel and Ellen's.
Now, it was a multi-day affair. Harry, Hermione, and James went to Thistle Ridge on Christmas Eve to help Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson put together a party for the teenagers who lived in the home, and they invited Richard to come along with them. Richard was introduced to several of the students of Hogwarts, which was interesting. Sirius had given him and Mama a tour of the school, but Richard was eager to ask questions from people who actually attended. They were just as eager to ask about American wizarding education, and a couple of them were really interested in his literature class and the advanced coursework.
That was when Hermione got what Harry called "a dangerous look in her eye," and Harry reminded her that he was the one in charge of the Department of Education right now. She told him with a smirk that what she was thinking of was a discussion better had with Headmistress McGonagall. Richard wondered what she was thinking, but it got lost in all the holiday cheer.
Then there was Christmas Day. Wow.
Richard and his mother were hardly even noticed as additions to the crowd gathered. There were six Lupins, if you were including Simon Billings and his new bride Grace, the three Potters, Sirius, and then Neville and Veronica Longbottom were there, and Draco and Mathilde Malfoy, and their two-year-old daughter Solene, were in England this year as well. They spent every other Christmas in France—apparently just so they could get away from Narcissa Malfoy once in a while.
The kids tended to make Richard's head spin. Teddy was ten going on thirty-five, so he was content to sit at the table and make polite conversation, but his sister Winnie, and Solene, and James (who, unable to figure out the family connection, had decided to call him Uncle Richard), made more than enough noise to make up for Teddy's unnatural maturity. He was incredibly grateful when all four of them decided they were done eating and ran off to do something more exciting.
Draco Malfoy was the one who noticed Richard slump in relief at their exit, since he was seated directly across from him.
"Just think," he said with a glint of laughter, leaning over what remained of the gravy, "Mathilde and I are trying for a boy, and Veronica has actually admitted aloud that she's ready to think about children. Who knows what Simon and Grace have in mind? Next year, there might be three more of them."
Richard took solace in simply having a single conversation to focus on. "Is it really judgmental to say that the Longbottoms don't seem like the parental type?"
He just laughed at that—it was the sort of hearty-but-not-annoying laugh that had to be practiced, and Richard took notice of it. "They're both complete softies underneath the rough exterior, believe me."
"I'm not sure I do, Mr. Malfoy," Richard said with smirk, since just at that moment, Veronica was telling a story about a tough assignment that had led to her needing all the bones in her arm regrown.
His wife overheard, and her tinkling little laugh was just as cultivated as his. "Oh, ma chere, you surely are not going to let him call you that?"
"I don't see why not," he answered with offended dignity.
She pinched the back of his hand lightly, and smiled at Richard. "I had to learn it, myself, so perhaps I can be the one to show you. The people who come to this house, they are family. You don't have to say things like Monsieur Lupin or Madame Malfoy when you are with family."
Richard had been told much the same by Remus and Dora, but he was stubborn about proving that his mother had raised him to be polite, so he continued to use the proper form of address until told otherwise. Besides, these two sort of invited it, being international businesspeople and almost ridiculously sophisticated and all. It was one thing to find out you were related to famous people, it was another to find out that automatically made you friends with millionaires.
"Fine, you can call me Draco," the blond man grumbled, but then he smiled. "So, tell me something about yourself, Richard. I've had my ear talked off about you from Harry and Hermione, but I just wondered what you might have to say."
Feeling rather put on the spot, Richard fumbled for an answer, but Mathilde Malfoy came to his rescue.
"He's always doing this," she said, rolling her eyes. "He never stops being in his business mindset. What he is really trying to say is that they have said such good things about you that he is ready to recruit you for Turncoat Enterprises."
Richard's eyes widened. "Oh. Um. I really don't think . . . My school only does Potions through second-level, anything further is optional. I haven't really . . . I was thinking about doing a course during my final year."
Draco looked horrified. "Harry!" he called out across the several dinner conversations taking place. His wife was pinching him again. "Do you realize that your brother, here, has almost no Potions training?"
Harry began to wear the same horrified look. "I assume you're thinking the same thing I'm thinking."
"Research facility, starting tomorrow?" Draco asked with an expressive eyebrow quirked upward.
"Definitely."
"What are you talking about?" Mama cut in, looking amused. "You want to do research on my son?"
"No, this is an emergency intervention. We have to teach him as much as we can before you go home next week."
Sirius and Mama both gave Harry very level looks, but Richard was grinning.
"I'm in," he said.
"You are?" Sirius asked in surprise.
"Yeah," he said enthusiastically. "Getting taught Potions by these two? First teenager to successfully brew Wolfsbane, and the Potions Master for the Order of the Phoenix? How cool is that?" Sirius laughed. "I guess you're going to need to get up to speed, anyway," he mused. "If you want to be in fifth year with your peers."
Richard nodded.
"What do you mean, Sirius?" Hermione asked, but the sly look on her face was strange. Like she already knew the answer.
Sirius and Mama looked at one another, which made Remus and Dora look at one another, which made Simon and Grace look at one another. It made Harry and Hermione both grin like crazy people. So they already knew, Richard thought with amusement. They were both very observant people, after all. Draco and Mathilde were taking their cues from their friends, and beginning to smile as well.
"Richard is going to be attending Hogwarts next autumn," Sirius said. "So he's going to have to work very hard to be sure he is ready for his OWL year. He can likely use whatever help Draco and Harry can give him. And me, of course."
"But Catalina, it would be so hard on you to have him so far away," Hermione said, but she was still smiling. Because she did know, somehow.
"Oh, didn't I say?" Sirius asked airily. "She's going to be moving to England, as well."
"Oh?" Hermione choked.
"Because she and I are going to be getting married," Sirius grinned, raising Mama's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there. It made Richard blush, but he was glad to see it.
Harry suddenly stood up, eyes wide. "What?"
The smile froze on everyone's faces.
"You're getting married?" he repeated, like he didn't believe it. "Whatever," he growled, and strode out of the room.
Richard felt sick. Slightly dizzy, he fixed his eyes on his mostly empty plate. After what they'd said in the sparring room, he'd thought . . . He'd thought it would be okay.
"I'm sorry," Sirius was saying to Mama. "I didn't think he would—"
"Go talk to him," she urged, waving him away, and Sirius jumped up from the table.
That's when Hermione let loose her laughter. She was just dying with it, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. They all stared at her.
"You f-f-fell for it," she gasped.
Harry reappeared in the doorway, laughing like a maniac, and he hurried over to put his arm around his very pale godfather. "Really, Sirius, I thought you knew better."
"Knew better?" he repeated faintly.
"Remember? The rock band I was going to be in? My drunken foursomes? You know better than to believe a word I say," he was wheezing. "Hermione accidentally overheard you two talking about this days ago, and I've been planning this ever since. My god, Sirius, your face . . ."
"I hate you so much," Sirius mumbled, and sank back into his seat. "I thought you were angry or something."
"Are you kidding?" Harry said, and moved to give Mama a huge hug. "I'm so happy for you guys. I think it's great, that you'll be coming here. I'm so excited that I'll get to see more of you."
Richard was only now beginning to find this funny, and let out a weak laugh. "You scared the hell out of me!" he called out. "Just for that, you have to get me up to speed on magical creatures and Herbology, too."
"You're going to regret asking me," Harry vowed. "I'm a slave driver."
Richard just crossed his arms. "I can handle anything you dish out."
"We'll see about that. Draco?" Harry said.
Draco nodded. "See you tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp."
"Eight?" Richard gasped. "I'm on vacation!"
Hermione gave Harry's arm a gentle slap. "Oh, be nice."
"Eight-thirty, then."
Hermione shrugged, giving Richard a helpless look. "Good luck."
"You're going to need it," Simon muttered, shooting a look at Draco. "He's impossible."
"I'm impossible?" Draco squawked. "Who was it that deliberately tried to blow up my lab last week?"
"I told you you'd regret hiring me," Simon shot back, grinning.
Mathilde shook her head. "You are so sure that you want to be part of this family?" she asked Richard in a dry tone.
Richard felt a warmth spreading through him as he watched all the people at the table teasing, smiling, trading kisses with their spouses . . .
"Absolutely."
There is a warning at the top of the next chapter. READ IT.