When The Sky Falls

by lokilette

Regulus intended to stop the Dark Lord himself, but for some reason he's driven to share his discovery with his brother - a choice that saves his life. He'll have to live with the consequences of that decision and the knowledge that Sirius' problems have now become his own. What he didn't expect was being stuck raising his brother's godson. Rated T for swearing. AU.

9. 1988

[1988]

When Harry first started coming home with scrapes and bruises, I dismissed it as boys being boys. I remembered my own childhood all too well. True, the addition of magic made childhood stupidity all the more dangerous. Still, Muggles managed to get themselves in trouble all the same without it. So a few marks here and there were to be expected.

The black eye was a red flag, though, made more so when Harry insisted he'd simply fallen. Directly onto his eye, apparently. No matter how I prodded and cajoled, he would say no more on the matter.

So I dropped him off the next morning, same as always, and made my way back to our alleyway. Except this time, Kreacher was there waiting for me.

"Are you ready, Kreacher?" I asked, withdrawing my wand from my inner coat pocket where I'd hidden it.

"Master humors these filthy Muggles too much," came the surly response. Honestly, I hadn't expected anything less. He'd been very clear about where he stood on the matter.

With a sigh, I reminded him, for the millionth time, "We cannot go in and blindly hex children until they give up the one we're looking for. For many reasons."

Kreacher waved a hand dismissively. "Bah."

"Just hold still, will you?"

The spells were simple, but easy to mess up, especially given my years-long break from nearly all complex magic. I'd spent years studying theory, of course, but that only got a wizard so far. Magic was never meant to exist solely in pages and hypotheticals.

First came the illusion spell. Child's play, really. Muggles were disinclined to see the wizarding world to start with. When faced with the unexplained, their first instinct was to rationalize it. That made it all the easier to turn Kreacher into a small child in the eyes of passersby. Not a particularly charming one—certainly nothing that would inspire old Nans to stop and coo over him—but illusions worked best when there was some amount of truth to them.

Next came the disillusionment, which was considerably trickier. It was less of a nudge in perception and more convincing a brain there was nothing to perceive in the first place. Brains tended to resist that sort of brute-force magic—even Muggle ones—so the spell had to be convincing.

My disillusionment spells had always been good, but certainly not at the level of professional invisibility cloaks. As I studied my handiwork, I noted there was still a fuzziness where Kreacher stood—a sense of wrongness that didn't quite belong. Good enough for our purposes, though, and should the disillusionment fail, the illusion should hold, just in case.

"Come, Kreacher," I whispered as I pocketed my wand. "Quiet now."

Classes had already begun by the time we made it back to the school. With care, I led us around to the back of the building, where the students would eventually take their break. Kreacher and I settled in for the long wait.

Eventually, our patience was rewarded as Harry's class filed out of the building. He was easy enough to spot, being one of the smallest kids in his class, and with his hair perpetually disheveled as it was.

It didn't take long for me to have my answer. The moment the teacher's attention wavered, a larger boy walked up to Harry and started pestering him. My blood boiled and my hand instinctively reached for my wand before I stopped myself. Hexing this child into oblivion, as satisfying as it would be, wouldn't actually solve anything. There would always be bullies. There always was. Not even the Boy Who LIved was immune to that fact of life. What's more, I wouldn't always be there to fight his battles for him.

As far away as we were, I couldn't actually make out what was said, though I did catch an errant "four-eyes" as the bully snatched at Harry's glasses.

"So help me, if he breaks those . . ." I mumbled to myself. I doubted 'bully at school' counted as a valid excuse for an optical repair voucher, and there was no way I could afford to pay for them myself. As soon as the thought entered my mind, I remembered that I had magic and could simply fix them myself. Merlin, I'd spent way too much time around Muggles. I'd even started thinking like one! The thought sent chills down my spine.

Before long, break was declared over and the children were corralled back into class. Once the yard was cleared, I released a heavy sigh.

"So he is being bullied." I'd had my suspicions, of course. Not that I had much first-hand experience with bullying. Few wizards messed with a Black—and those who did regretted their actions immediately. Still, I'd seen enough to recognize the signs.

"Potter-brat should make the stupid human pay for his arrogance. Pushing around a wizard." Kreacher made a gesture that wasn't very nice—or I thought he had, at least, based on how the House-Elf-shaped blur beside me shifted.

A flicker of warmth flared in my chest at the realization that the House-Elf had finally begun referring to Harry as a wizard rather than a half-breed regularly. In fact, it'd been a while since the phrase 'half-breed' had left his mouth. I doubted Harry noticed, but Kreacher was coming around.

"I don't see how he possibly could make anyone pay. Not without magic. He's still pretty small for his age."

"Bah. Kreacher is small, but would still rather wear the filthy Muggle's skin as a trophy."

I frowned, knowing Kreacher would be unable to see it. His newfound affection for Harry—if that's what one might call it—was suddenly concerning when I remembered all the things the House-Elf would be willing to do for his masters. I knew for a fact that his latest comment was not an idle threat. I made a mental note to watch him more closely, just in case.

With a sigh, I said, "You've been spending time around Mother's portrait again, haven't you? Don't make me hide the bloody thing." Kreacher had found a way to stave off his loneliness while Harry was at school and I was at work by visiting with the blasted portrait. In my grief, I had forgotten how frustrating—and deranged—my mother had been. That portrait had become a thorn in my side.

"Kreacher is merely suggesting a solution," the House-Elf mumbled in his own defense.

"Hm. Indeed. Still, there will be no murdering of children, no matter how tempting. Besides, Harry needs to learn to fight his own battles."

"What will Master do?"

"What I should have done years ago. It's time to teach Harry to control his magic."

...(X)...

I took a week off work to make preparations. Andy was suspicious at first, considering I'd never taken so long off. He somehow convinced himself I was heading on some secret liaison with a girlfriend I was hiding from him. As if I had the time.

The truth was much less romantic. Instead, I squirreled myself away in the flat, buried beneath stacks of research scrolls and tomes, coming up with a foolproof way to avoid detection by the Ministry. We had succeeded in that thus far by simply refraining from using any magic of consequence. Apparations weren't likely to draw any attention, as they were a regular form of wizarding travel in general, even in heavily Muggle areas. Chaotic underaged wizardry, though, was an entirely different beast.

The Trace itself was based on estimation and guesswork. Any sort of magic that imprecise was capable of being fooled, with a little determination, trial and error, and a keen interest in the Dark Arts. Lucky for me that I possessed all three.

By the end of the week, I settled on a simple—but hopefully efficient—approach that would require minimal upkeep. It would be inelegant: a bastardized form of Fidelius—one that would be weaker but, in tradeoff, required no secretkeeper—layered with wards to hide the flat from magical folk, plus a few extra minor concealment charms as a failsafe. If Harry's magic were to be noticed, it would, in theory, be viewed as little more than error—an insignificant blip in an imperfect system. Even if someone came looking, they would hit a dead end and a blank wall where the flat should be. Hopefully, that would be enough.

I took the little time left before Kreacher returned with Harry to have a drink, just to settle my nerves. I had no recollection of my early education with magic. The basic premises of it had seemed to always be a part of everyday life, from the earliest age. The Trace meant nothing to a Black; practicing magic as an underaged wizard was a given, and as long as there remained no way to prove who cast which spells, the Ministry would remain none the wiser. Not that they were particularly concerned with the underage use of magic amongst purebloods, especially at their own estates. My parents taught me the basics, and Sirius taught me what he dubbed the "essentials," which basically amounted to any spell he considered useful for mischief. I couldn't say I didn't encourage him in that regard, either. Not back then.

With the small pop that heralded their arrival every day, I vanished my cup and set my wand on the coffee table. Harry ran over to greet me, as usual, but he stopped short when he saw it.

"What's that?" he asked.

Merlin, this kid wore me out. Acting like he'd never seen a wand before. I tamped down on my annoyance and kept my voice neutral as I said, "That's my wand."

"Oookay. But why?" His tone was hesitant and suspicious, and I supposed it wasn't unwarranted, given how many lectures he'd had to suffer through about avoiding magic at all costs, particularly around Muggles.

"You're a wizard, Harry. It's in your blood, and it's time you learn."

"Yeah, I guess." Harry took a seat on the couch beside me, side-eyeing me the whole time, as if expecting something else to happen.

I summoned the wand off the table, holding it out horizontally between us. I caught myself just before offering it to Harry. Merlin, he looked so much like this father that, for a minute, it felt as if I were sitting beside James. As if I'd ever.

I still remembered the way crowds parted to let the Marauders pass. Everyone was so concerned about not landing themselves on the receiving end of a hex or so-called prank that they tread lightly around the group. I recalled the darkness that shadowed Severus' face every time James was mentioned, the torment that had befallen him from the moment he dared set foot at the school. Not that Severus was innocent. Far from it. But a bully needs no real reason for what they do.

Was bullying learned or inherited? In handing Harry this wand and showing him what it could do, would I be moving him one step closer to becoming James? His status as the Boy Who Lived was sure to win him favors and popularity already. Was I raising the next Hogwarts bully?

"Dad?" Harry was watching me with his eyebrows knitted and face scrunched together in concern.

Harry wasn't James any more than I was my father, despite the similarities in appearance. It wasn't fair to hold him responsible for all of James' wrongdoings. Rest assured, he would make mistakes, given enough time, and those would be all his own. He didn't need the weight of someone else's errors weighing him down before he even got started.

My hands tightened around my wand, wrapping around it. "One day, I'll show you how to use this, Harry. Properly. I promise. For now, though, we need to focus on your accidental magic."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched even closer together as he fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. "But I haven't done anything in months. And I told Carly I was sorry about her hair, even though she didn't know what I meant."

"Yes, and that was all well and good." Although, it had been a bit of an awkward moment for the school when the child's hair had all but fallen out completely after spending an afternoon yanking Harry's locks. As far as accidental magic went, it was harmless enough, not even deserving of a cover-up. It had universally been assumed that she had gotten into something she shouldn't have, and hair loss was the rather unfortunate side effect. "What I'm talking about, Harry, is being able to control it better. There are certainly times you don't want your magic spilling out."

"Like when the annoying girl behind you keeps pulling your hair," Harry grumbled as he kicked his feet against the coffee table, suddenly looking a whole lot less contrite than a minute ago.

"Yes, like that. Even though you're frustrated. But there will be times—rarely, of course—when you do want your magic to come out."

Harry went still as he mulled over the possibilities. "Could I really do that?"

"Of course. The magic is yours. It's already in you. All it takes is some practice controlling it." I leaned forward to set the wand on the coffee table before returning to the couch and turning sideways to face him. "So what do you say? Are you ready to learn?"

"It's not going to hurt . . . is it?"

I paused, thinking of all the very many ways that accidental magic could go wrong. What were the odds that something truly harmful would come out in a setting like this, though? "No, of course not."

"You hesitated."

"Did not." Harry opened his mouth to argue back, but I quickly added, "Now get ready. I want you to move my wand."

Harry looked at it suspiciously, as if it were a trap waiting to be sprung. "How?"

"Any powerful emotion will do it. Anger's the easiest, though. That's when it's happened every other time, right?"

Harry chewed his cheek as he nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not angry."

I shrugged. "So just think about things that make you mad."

Harry rolled his eyes and collapsed against the back of the couch, crossing his arms. "I can't just get mad over nothing."

Seven years of experience had taught me otherwise, but it didn't feel like the right time to point that out. "Are you sure about that, four-eyes?"

To his credit, the wand did move with the sudden burst of magic. So did the coffee table—clear across the room, in fact—and the end table beside the couch, with all my books stacked on it. Even the dishes in the cabinets rattled halfheartedly in the kitchen.

"I don't like being called that," Harry said in a small voice as he twisted his hands together in his lap.

"Yeah, kid, you and everyone else with glasses. Very few people enjoy being called names. But you can't go throwing people across the room for it, either." I gestured to the coffee table, which I was pretty sure had left a dent in the wall from one of its edges. "The whole point is to control your magic, not let it control you. So"—I got up and returned the coffee table and the wand to their original locations—"we're going to try that again, and this time I want you to move the wand. And only the wand, please."

For the next hour, we practiced this simple skill. Despite his initial protest, it turned out that Harry could get angry on demand. I imagined he just thought of his bully each time, which was the point, but I didn't pry. If he wanted to tell me, he would, in his own time. Otherwise, his emotions were his and his alone. Everyone deserved that much privacy, at least.

After an hour, Harry's outbursts were half-hearted and weak, and the exertion had thoroughly worn him out, though he refused to admit it. He hadn't made progress in leaps and bounds, but I hadn't really expected him to. At the very least, he would understand what it felt like when his magic threatened to spill out, and he might be more aware of it. Not that it would stop anything. Accidental magic was so-called for a reason.

"I think we've done enough for one day."

Harry tried to hide his relief, I could tell, but he still fell back onto the couch and sprawled across the cushions. I did my best not to laugh at his dramatics.

"We'll try again in a couple days, okay?"

Despite the despair that briefly flickered through his green eyes, Harry muttered, "Yeah, okay," not bothering to lift his head.

"C'mon. Wash up for dinner." I ruffled his hair as I passed on my way to the kitchen, and he groaned as he pushed himself up.

I bustled around the kitchen, getting things ready. Once a week, I relieved Kreacher of his duties, and Harry and I fended for ourselves while he went . . . wherever. I never asked the House-Elf what he was up to, and he never offered the information. It was the smallest of kindnesses I could offer him, and Merlin knew he deserved much more than that. Besides, there was something calming about cooking dinner. Not a chore I was interested in undertaking every day, certainly, but it was peaceful, every now and then, to whip up something new.

"Hey, Dad?" Harry asked.

I hadn't noticed him creep into the doorway, but I glanced over at him for a moment before resuming cooking to let him know I was listening. "Yeah, kid?"

"What if . . ." He paused, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his sleeve thoughtfully. "What if someone makes you really, really angry and you accidentally do something that hurts them?"

My mind flashed back to the bully on the playground, and Harry's face as he was pushed around. The boy didn't know it, but he'd already shown remarkable restraint as far as his accidental magic was concerned.

I filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove before answering. "Did they hurt you first?"

"Well . . . yeah." Then, less sure, he added, "I guess."

"Then I suggest you do just enough to where they won't make that mistake again."

When I glanced back at him, Harry's eyebrows were knit together in confusion, desperately trying to make sense of my words. With a sigh, I dried my hands and crossed the room to kneel before him.

"You don't want to be a bully, Harry, but there's nothing at all wrong with standing up for yourself. Make sure you're smart about it, is all. Understand?"

Harry nodded and disappeared back into the living room, and I let out a sigh of relief. There was no way to know if anything we had done today would help with his bully problem, let alone what would become of him when he went to Hogwarts, but it was a start. At the very least, I was certain I had withheld magic from him long enough. It was time he understood his birthright.

...(X)...

When Harry first came home the happiest he'd been in weeks, I was initially relieved that this ordeal was finally over. Still, there was a knot in the pit of my stomach that I just couldn't shake, no matter how I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head. It was the same feeling that had inspired me to go to Sirius before retrieving the locket, the same sinking sensation I had the night of the fire in the flat. I had learned long ago to trust my gut instincts, no matter how misguided they initially seemed.

"You're awfully happy today, Harry," I ventured over dinner, hoping to be able to wheedle some information out of him.

Harry just shrugged. "It was a good day."

So much for that idea. Sure, he was obtuse when I wanted him to pick something up, but when it came to letting something useful slip? Nothing. Such an infuriating child.

"Any reason in particular?" I pressed.

"Mmm . . . nope."

I glanced over at Kreacher, who was busy cleaning up the dishes, but he just shrugged. That was, apparently, the best I was going to get out of him. So I let it go.

Still, that nagging feeling persisted. The one that insisted something wasn't quite right, even though I couldn't put my finger on it. It felt like the calm before the storm, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. By the time I put Harry to bed, it had grown to overwhelming proportions, to where it wouldn't be ignored anymore.

I took up post by the door to Harry's room, listening as his tossing and turning grew fainter and more infrequent. Eventually, the movement stilled and his breathing deepened as he finally fell asleep. I waited a little longer, just to be sure, before summoning my wand from its hiding place and entering his room.

Harry looked so calm and peaceful while sleeping. I knew better, of course, having had to deal with him for years now while he was awake. In the throes of dreaming, though, he could almost be mistaken for any other child, rather than the savior of the wizarding world. If not for the lightning bolt scar on his forehead that not even his messy bangs fully hid, anyway.

I pulled out my wand and pointed it at him, but something stayed my hand. If I did this, there was no going back. Harry would likely never be the wiser, but I would know what boundaries I was willing to cross. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was overlooking something important. In the end, the fact that Harry might be in danger trumped any other objections.

"Forgive me, Harry," I whispered. "Legilimens."

Everything distorted into a chaotic jumble of thoughts. It started out as random as any dreamscape until I pushed my way past the first superficial layer of his subconscious thought. Memories were slippery—though, in the grand scheme of things, still easier to handle than thoughts, which were constantly changing and moving. I waited patiently for the memory to surface—just a passing glance of the bully's face, really—before grabbing hold of it before it had a chance to escape.

"I'm gonna get back at Mark for pushing everyone around," Harry whispered to one of his friends.

I had no idea what the kid's name was, and Harry apparently didn't think of people by their names. The only association I got from the memory was best friend, which was as much disconcerting as it was unhelpful. All I knew about him was that he and Harry spent far too much time together.

"How are you gonna do that?" The question was dripping with doubt and disbelief, but Harry shrugged it off.

"Dunno yet."

The kid glanced around, an action that only reinforced his already squirrely appearance. The fact that his front teeth were about three sizes bigger than his others didn't help, either. "Listen, you didn't hear it from me, but word is Mark is deathly afraid of snakes."

"Really?"

The way Harry's face lit up left nothing to the imagination. Even without being in his memory, I would've known what he was thinking. Merlin, the kid had absolutely no subtlety.

His friend simply shrugged. "That's just what I heard."

The scene around me blurred and shifted, reforming into a familiar yard. The class had just been let out on their break, it seemed, and Harry was already putting his plan into action. Good for him. So long as he didn't get himself bitten—though, I suspected I would've noticed at some point in the evening if he had. I wasn't the most attentive parent, but that would've been hard to hide, and Harry had no ability to be sneaky.

Harry skirted the building—or as much as he could reach from the yard—with his gaze glued to the ground. He diligently checked in every bush and around every rock.

"Whatcha doing, Harry?" one of the teachers asked, stopping beside him.

"Looking for worms," Harry answered without so much as looking up. "Dad says we can go fishing this weekend, but I need to practice looking for bait."

The lie actually sounded . . . convincing. Was it possible that Harry could lie when he needed to? Convincingly, at that. Well, if one didn't know him, anyway. There were always tells. A small bubble of hope formed in my chest. Maybe he would survive after all.

"Just make sure not to pick any up, okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay."

The teacher wandered off, and Harry continued his search until . . . there. At the base of a shrub was a tiny, green coil.

Harry looked far too smug and proud of himself for having discovered a simple, garden-variety snake. A pitifully small one, at that.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," Harry said as he reached for the snake.

The words Harry knew he was saying didn't quite match up with the audio from the memory, almost as if two tracks were being played simultaneously. Even though I understood what was said—because Harry knew what was said—it still sounded wrong to my ears, in a way I wasn't quite able to explain.

"You hurt me? Don't be ssssilly," a voice replied.

Harry yanked his hand back as if he'd been bitten. "You . . . you talked!"

"Of courssse. As did you. Though, I susssspect I have conssssiderably more worthwhile thingssss to ssssay. Humanssss tend to be rather dull." The snake flicked its tail at Harry as if to highlight its boredom.

"Errr . . . I'm sorry. I wouldn't have tried to pick you up without asking if I knew you could talk." Harry glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. He still leaned in close, just in case, and whispered, "See, there's this kid I was trying to scare."

"Oh, fear of snakessss, is it? Always happy to perpetuate that. Getssss humansss to leave usss alone, doesn't it?" The snake uncoiled itself and leaned in conspiratorially. "You get me closssse, and leave the resssst to me."

Harry checked the yard one more time to ensure no one was watching before leaning down and offering his arm. The snake wound its way up his forearm, and he lowered his sleeve to hide it from view. Somehow, without attracting unwanted attention, Harry managed to get close enough to the bully to set the snake down again.

"There." Harry gestured subtly in the right direction. "That one."

"Leave it to me."

"Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it."

The snake slithered off, and Harry went to play so as not to look suspicious. It only took a few minutes for the payoff. There was a sudden high-pitched shriek that halted all movement in the yard. All eyes turned to Mark, who was babbling and screaming as he ran from the tiniest snake in the grass. One that seemed to obstinately follow wherever he ran.

Laughter echoed throughout the memory, even as it grew hazy around the edges. Kids pointed and jeered as tears streaked down Mark's face and his cheeks turned red. In some recess of Harry's memory, he felt bad about it, knowing what it felt like to be on the receiving end. Mostly, he was just hopeful that Mark's reign would come to an end and his school days would return to being peaceful.

At no point did he question his conversation with a snake. Maybe it was because he was young. Certainly naive. Perhaps he just wrote it off to magic. Harry was a wizard, after all.

By the time I pulled out of the memory, gooseflesh had raised along my arms, and the sinking sensation had transfigured into a boulder at the pit of my stomach. The method may not have been ideal, but the gut instinct had been correct. Harry was not a Parselmouth. Couldn't be, in fact. So then how did he talk to a snake?

I pulled the blankets back over him where he'd thrown them off and closed the door quietly behind me as I left. When I finally glanced up, it was to find large, round eyes staring at me curiously.

"Kreacher, what remaining families do you know that are direct descendents of Salazar Slytherin?" I asked slowly, wondering just how much I should share. I didn't really know anything myself, anyway, and it would do no good to jump to conclusions.

His thin lips pulled into a frown, and he tugged at one ear as he thought. "Just the Gaunts, last Kreacher heard."

"What about the Potters?"

"Master?" Kreacher asked, like he didn't understand the question. How could he? It was absurd, of course.

"I need you to ask around. Surely the House-Elfs would know. Is there any chance, no matter how remote, that Salazar Slytherin has any other descendents besides the Gaunts?"

"Kreacher will ask." I was sure he wanted to know more, but like the loyal House-Elf he was, he knew when not to pry.

"Oh, and Kreacher?" I called before he could Apparate away. "Mention Harry and the Potters to no one. That's an order."

Kreacher's lips pulled into an even thinner line, if that was possible. "Yes, Master," he said a moment before Apparating away.

It was cruel, perhaps, to order him like that, especially when it likely wasn't necessary. I had no reason not to trust Kreacher. He had always been a loyal House-Elf, and he did his best. Still, I couldn't risk it. I knew if it was an order, he would do everything in his power to obey.

I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that I was going to have to watch Harry even closer, and, for his sake, keep any suspicions I might have had to myself. Besides, there was no real reason to tell anyone about this new development, even if I'd had anyone to tell. I just had to make sure to keep Harry away from snakes. How hard could that be?