Knowing the Truth
Sirius lay awake in bed, unable to reach the state of sleep. It was nagging him again, as though he were a house elf going directly against his master's orders. Each year that passed, Sirius had tried to justify why Harry was too young to know the truth and why the next year would be better. For nearly seven years, this worked, but he could not keep putting it off like this.
It wasn't so much that Sirius believed that ignorance was bliss. Harry had already been through a lot that most children face only in their nightmares. His parents were dead, after all. Worse, he had never known them. Oh, he had Sirius, and Sirius knew that he was a father figure to Harry, and that when Harry said "Sirius", it was as natural to him as it was for Dudley to be saying "Dad." Harry also knew that something had happened to his parents, and that he had spent several months with just the Dursleys before Sirius came into the picture, but Sirius had never elaborated on their death. Maybe if Harry wasn't so famous, Sirius would let Harry continue to believe that their death was an unhappy accident, or caused by a muggle disease such as cancer, until Harry was well into his teenage years.
The problem with Harry defeating the dark lord was that it was one of the first things children were taught by their parents. The children who had been young when Harry was born, like Percy and Bill, had more of an idea about what life had been like under Voldemort, and greater understood the significance of his defeat under Harry. So, it would be wrong for Harry not to know the truth about his own past.
Sirius just wished he could postpone the truth indefinitely, as well as releasing the information that he had been part of the reason Lily and James had died.
Yet a part of Sirius, the one that kept Harry from knowing what had happened for all of these years, kept trying to put off the conversation, insisting Harry is only nine years old. Much too young to learn about those sorts of things.
Bad enough to explain to Harry that Lily and James had been murdered. It was far worse to explain to Harry that Voldemort had tried to kill him as well. How do you tell a kid that some dark wizard tried to kill him just to satisfy his lust for blood? That he ultimately saved the wizarding world for something he could not remember, nor had he done on purpose?
Yes, there were some things that should be put off as long as possible.
Sirius turned over on his side, thinking and longing to be able to sleep.
He finally drifted off because when he woke up, it was so sudden that he was sure someone had shouted directly into his ear. Sirius even rubbed his ear as he glanced around for some explanation.
Can't be nerves, he told himself.
The floor, however, was silent as he made his way to his closet and tried to find one of his bathrobes in the darkness.
The last time this had happened, Sirius couldn't help but recall, Harry had been sick.
Four and a half years ago. While it certainly hadn't been deadly, Sirius knew that if he had waited until morning to take Harry to St. Mungos, the spots might have increased and the condition may have been more serious. While he had no proof whatsoever for this, Sirius knew nonetheless that he ought to trust his gut.
Then again, he thought he had trusted his gut when he insisted Lily and James make Peter the Secret Keeper…
He knocked briefly on Harry's door, hardly waiting for a response before barging in, switched on the light automatically as he went.
"Sirius?" mumbled a sleepy voice. "That you?"
"Harry? Is something wrong?" he asked, making his way over to the bed, heart pounding in his throat.
"'Sall dark," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Too early."
"I know, puppy. I'm sorry." Sirius walked over to Harry's bed and began stroking his hair. "Go back to bed."
"Why'd you wake me then?" Harry grumbled, facing away from his godfather.
Sirius held back a smirk. His own hatred of mornings had spread to his godson.
Except it was only 3:27AM and pitch black. Not morning. No one was up at this time. With the obvious exception of him and his ruddy nerves.
Why did this have to be so hard?
"Did you have any bad dreams? Anything unusual?" he pressed, still smoothing Harry's unruly hair.
It seemed to get worse by the year.
"Yeah. You coming in and not letting me sleep," Harry practically growled. "You trying to torture me?"
"Not trying, but I can see I'm succeeding," Sirius sighed. "I can't sleep."
Harry grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over his head. "Keep trying."
"It's just that…well…" Sirius paused. "Mind if Snuffles stays here?"
"Mmph," muttered Harry.
Taking that as a yes, Sirius transformed into Snuffles before jumping onto the bed. He felt something long and hard underneath him, and began to sniff at the blankets.
Harry confirmed it was him by shouting, "Ow! My legs!"
Sirius licked Harry's face and moved over. Before long, he fell asleep. He supposed he should have thought of this from the beginning. The dog mind was always thinking of one of three things: sleep, play, or food. In the middle of the night, sleep was winning out.
In the morning, Sirius woke up to find himself being hugged by Harry with one arm, and a hand on his head with the other. He had moved from the edge of the bed to near Harry's chest, and his tail was facing the wall. Sirius had also slobbered a lot, mainly onto the wall, during the night.
"Good dog," Harry mumbled as he woke up slowly. Sirius just rolled over and let out a fake snore. "Not working, Snuffles. You never sound like that when you're really sleeping."
Sirius let the dog part of himself enjoy the sensation of being scratched near a seemingly perpetual itchy spot for a moment. He stretched out on the bed, probably flattening Harry as he did so.
Maybe it was because the sun was up, but Harry didn't seem to mind. Instead, he continued to scratch Sirius' head, laughing to himself. "You're supposed to be the godfather, Sirius," he chided. "I suppose you'll want to play catch next."
Snuffles' tale wagged eagerly at the suggestion of the game. Then Sirius groaned. He was letting the dog take over and he had important matters to discuss with Harry. He jumped off the bed with glee before changing back into his human body, his night robes unusually rumpled.
Harry laughed, stretched, and made his way to get out of bed. He was wearing Sirius' favorite of Harry's pajamas; yellow cats with tall glasses of milk were scattered all over the pajamas so as to look as though they were running.
Sirius lifted himself up from the floor. "Morning, Harry."
Harry grinned. "Morning, Sirius."
Sirius held Harry for a few moments before breaking off the hug, rather abruptly. He glanced at Harry in an almost appraising manner before asking, "What do you want for breakfast?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Cereal, I guess."
His eyes were so innocent. Sirius could almost see his mum inside of them. He had never been quite as friendly with her as he had with James, but they had become close after the two started going out.
Sirius nodded. "Right. Let's go, then," he said stiffly.
Harry shot him a look of concern before heading from his room to the Dursleys' kitchen. Based on the time, Sirius knew that they would have about twenty minutes before they would be up. Not a whole lot of time to eat. So he'd probably have to tell Harry about Voldemort in his room. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing—there would be less of a chance of interruption there.
How could he explain it? How could Sirius tell Harry how his parents died? Harry had asked before, but Sirius just replied that he would tell Harry when he was older. Harry was hardly content with the answer, but knew that Sirius wouldn't budge with more information. Now that the time was there, though, Sirius almost wished he had told Harry a few years ago.
Well, he had delayed long enough. Harry was old enough to know. In less than two years, he would be at Hogwarts. It would be foolish to put off the task much longer. Harry could handle the truth. He had to.
They ate in silence. Harry munched on his cheerios and gulped down his orange juice, while Sirius picked at his pancakes and took occasional sips of coffee. He became rather fond of the drink when Harry kept him up until two in the morning as a baby, and he never quite overcame the addiction. Now, though, it seemed to taste like mud.
Harry noticed his nearly full plate. "You okay?"
"Just don't feel like eating," Sirius sighed. "I'm not ill, though."
Not yet, anyway.
Harry nodded, swallowed his last mouthful of cheerios, and pushed his plate away. "I'm done."
"Want any more?" asked Sirius, stalling. Perhaps he could buy a few more minutes, and in that time put his thoughts into order…
Never mind the fact that Sirius had been trying to do this for years without success.
But Harry shook his head. "I'm full."
"Bring yours up to the kitchen sink, then," Sirius instructed, rising and moving his dishes up to the sink.
Harry nodded, wordlessly obeying. After he was finished, Sirius tried to say something but felt the need to clear his throat.
"You okay?" Harry asked again.
Sirius felt yet another rush of guilt rise through him. "I need to talk to you."
"What about?" Harry asked, still standing.
"Something important. Don't worry," he added, trying to smile. "You're not in trouble or anything. Let's go up to your room. Your aunt and uncle will be downstairs soon."
They made their way up the stairs. With each step, Sirius wished the staircase was twice as long, and by the time they had reached the top step, he thought it would be worth breaking both of his legs if he could somehow fall down the stairs again and delay the talk further.
Once they reached Harry's room, Sirius sat on the bed and Harry flopped onto it, grabbing a pillow. Sirius noticed that a pale blue sheet with green leaves crept out from under the covers and, despite not caring about housework up until this point, he had a strong urge to make the bed so the sheet wouldn't be seen.
His mother had taught Kreacher to do that. She'd say, "Mudbloods and muggles don't have any taste, but that is meant to be hidden from view!"
Kreacher would then bow until his head nearly touched the ground and say, "Yes, Mistress. Kreacher will do all that Mistress asks of him. Mistress is wise and is of good blood and great station. Kreacher will obey Mistress in everything Mistress asks of him."
Sirius wondered if Kreacher was still alive. His parents had died some years ago, so most likely Kreacher had either been freed (unintentionally, of course) or released to the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had entered into marriage with Narcissa with, among other items of great value, numerous house elves, which Sirius' mother was all too aware of. So, she might have left Kreacher to her youngest daughter in her will.
Sirius was glad he wasn't responsible for the elf. Kreacher had always been overly devoted to his master and mistress, even for a house elf.
If Voldemort had chosen to recruit house elves, they alone would make a formidable army.
This reminded Sirius of the reason they were there…
"Harry, you know how you have that scar on your forehead?" he began, pointing at it in an awkward way. "The one that looks like a lightning bolt?"
You know, next to the one that looks like a rock, Sirius admonished himself.
Couldn't he do anything right?
"Yeah?" Harry pulled his messy bangs away from his face, revealing the lightning bolt scar in the middle of his forehead. "What 'bout it?"
"You know that your parents are dead?"
No, really? Sirius reprimanded himself. I thought they were just taking an extended vacation.
"Yeah, I know." Harry looked at Sirius in a curious manner. "You told me they were when I asked, years ago. You said I'd see them again after I died. But that it wouldn't be for a really long time."
"Right. It won't be for a long time," Sirius nodded, well aware of how stupid he sounded. "Anyway, the scar…"
Harry frowned. "Did I get this when they died? Was I there, too?"
Sirius felt himself put an arm around Harry's shoulders. A part of Sirius' mind couldn't help but marvel that while he had hardly been a huggy person growing up or even as an adult, over eight years spent raising Harry produced this change in him. Sirius found it rather welcoming. He found that he rather enjoyed showing affection. He took a deep breath and began.
"Yeah. See, your parents…how do I put this?" Sirius was hardly aware that he was merely speaking as the thoughts came to his head. "Well, they were great people, Harry. They were well liked, which is great and everything, but above all, they always tried to do the right thing. Well, all right, they weren't perfect and they definitely made mistakes. I remember going to Hogwarts with your dad. We got in so much trouble once…" he trailed off as the memories came back, mainly as flashes.
Still, one event was particularly memorable and wouldn't seem to leave Sirius' head. He wondered if the other Marauders (and Snape) had recalled it with such clarity after so long.
Sirius' mind raced to the day when they were fifteen and James had hung Snape upside down in front of part of the school after their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. Even though he smiled while thinking about it, he knew that what they had done was very serious and even cruel. Looking back on it, he certainly didn't blame Dumbledore for taking one hundred points from each of them from Gryffindor (except Lupin and Lily), and giving Harry a week's worth of detentions. If Sirius recalled correctly, James also wasn't allowed to play in the last Quidditch game of the season. They both certainly deserved it, but he recalled being furious at Snape for "letting" Lily (at least, Sirius assumed that it had been Lily) rat on them.
"All in all, though, you should be proud of your parents," he began, defensively, as though Harry regularly said terrible things about them. "They were Aurors as well; they worked at catching Death Eaters."
"W-what are Death Eaters?" Harry asked, slightly fearful. "Do they go around trying to eat dead bodies?"
Sirius tried to hide a laugh, but did not entirely succeed.
"Not exactly, Harry. You see. . . Death Eaters are basically followers of Lord Voldemort in his inner circle. They're the most dangerous of all of his followers. I told you about Voldemort before, remember? A really bad wizard who wanted to kill all of the muggles and muggle borns? Well, his supporters were Death Eaters."
"They sound scary." He shivered.
Sirius pulled a pale blue blanket over both of their shoulders, feeling rather chilled himself. Harry smiled slightly and murmured, "Thanks" as he nestled against it.
He's so innocent, Sirius marveled. He knows almost nothing about the darkness out there. It's wrong to make him lose that innocence. If only he thought the Dursleys were the worst kind of people that could exist.
"Well," Sirius continued awkwardly. "Voldemort had become really powerful. No one wanted to stand up against him because they knew that they would probably die. Muggles, even, were dying left and right. He hated muggles," Sirius added. "He hated everyone who didn't agree with him. Do you understand that?"
Harry nodded wordlessly.
"Well, your parents were part of a group of people that wanted to stop him. The group was called the Order of the Phoenix," Sirius added, unsure why he was revealing these minor details. Did it really matter what the group was called? "They were extremely brave and fought against him, but it was a really dangerous time, and they knew that no one lives forever. So, they weren't too surprised when Voldemort showed up at their door, ready to kill them."
"Just him?" asked Harry. "My mum and dad against him?"
Sirius sighed. "It was probably just him, but Harry, he had dark powers no one else would dream of using. Magic in itself isn't good or evil, but dark magic can never be used for good. Most witches and wizards want nothing to do with dark magic, but Voldemort…he couldn't get enough of it. So he had more power than your parents on that night."
"But I'm still alive," Harry pointed out. "Did he decide not to kill me because I was a baby?"
Sirius shook his head. "He would kill anyone, Harry. Even if you were on his side, he might still get angry at you and kill you. Or torture you. Lots of children died when he rose to power."
"How does he kill people?" asked Harry, yearning for information.
"Probably he used the Avada Kedavra curse, which is an illegal killing curse. Don't worry," he added quickly, "you can say the words without the curse itself being used. You have to mean it. And be very powerful. Like Voldemort and his Death Eaters were."
Harry nodded. "Did he use it on me?"
Sirius nodded. "Probably. Voldemort first killed your mum and dad, but, and Harry, this is the amazing part…even though Voldemort tried to kill you afterwards, he couldn't." He smiled grimly. "In fact, something about you made the curse rebound on him. He was almost less than a ghost, if not dead, and you escaped with the scar on your forehead. Which is really odd because the killing curse never leaves a mark. Anyway, you're kind of a hero in the wizarding world. Everyone knows about you and what you did. You're famous."
"I'd rather have my mum and dad," Harry sighed.
"I know, puppy." Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulders. "But you have me. You always have me."
"I know." Harry paused to take a deep breath (which Sirius recognized as a sure sign of nerves). "Can I be alone for awhile?"
Sirius was startled by this reply but didn't refuse. "Of course, Harry," he replied, squeezing his shoulders again.
He left the room feeling that things had gone rather poorly. But how could they have been any better? Sirius took out a book from his room and began to read it, but found that he couldn't concentrate. Finally, he wrote a letter recounting the events to Molly. Maybe she would know something about this.
He didn't feel that he was even remotely ready to be a parent.
Sirius left Harry alone for the rest of the afternoon and evening. The door to Harry's room remained locked, and even though Sirius would have been able to open it easily without magic, he decided against it. It would be best to just let Harry come to him when he was ready. At 9:00, Sirius headed to Harry's room to say goodnight. The door was open, but he wasn't there.
Fearful, Sirius began to check the house for Harry, but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, he opened a window in hopes of getting some fresh air to calm himself. He spotted a black haired boy sitting on the porch, his head in his arms.
Sirius sighed and removed a long, warm blanket from one of the shelves. Harry must be freezing. He walked outside and awkwardly approached his godson, who was crying.
He was about to speak when Harry began to whisper through his tears, "Mum? Dad? Can you hear me?"
Sirius wrapped the blanket around Harry, putting his arms around the small boy as he did so. He knelt down next to his godson, whose tears had now turned to sobs.
Before long, Sirius was also in tears. He wrapped his arms around Harry again and pulled him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," Harry finally whimpered, burying his head into Sirius' chest.
"It's all right," Sirius reassured. "I told you too quickly. I should have done a better job with it. I was just worried when I saw you were gone. Next time, let me know, all right?"
Harry nodded, wiping his face. "Will I ever see them again?" he asked.
"Yes, puppy, you will. But it won't be for a long, long time. They are, however, watching over you right now. They love you."
"I love them," he replied with fervor. "And I love you, too."
"I love you as well, puppy," Sirius answered, squeezing Harry's shoulders. "Let's go back inside, all right?"
Harry nodded and Sirius scooped him up into his arms.
Sirius thought he could see tears streaming down Harry's now unnaturally pale face, but his own vision was soon so blurred by tears that he could hardly know for sure. He did, however, feel two small, soft arms creep around his neck tightly; Sirius immediately returned the hug. He felt some drops brush against his robes, and knew it was Harry's tears. Sirius, acting completely on instinct, pulled Harry even closer, now worried that he would catch a cold. Sirius thought that he must have looked as though he was protecting Harry, as though he were a bird with a just hatched baby.
The blanket draped over him like an invisibility cloak, and Harry's breathing slowed down as his sobs gradually diminished. Sirius held Harry like that for what seemed like ages as they walked inside and up to Harry's room, murmuring words of comfort, and even rocking him back and forth at times. Any preteen resemblance of Harry's behavior was soon forgotten by the still young boy; Harry simply wanted to be safe against the only parental figure he had.
Once Sirius placed Harry in his bed, Harry moved the covers over so that he could crawl in beside them. Sirius nodded and once he finished tucking in the blankets near Harry so that he was warm, he lay himself next to Harry, holding the small boy as though he were a teddy bear.
Finally, Harry spoke quietly. "H-he's not powerful anymore, is he? Voldemort, I mean."
"No. He lost all of his power that night," Sirius reassured, stroking his hair. "You're famous because of that. The wizarding world calls you The Boy Who Lived. He's gone because of you. You saved countless people that night. And they'll never forget it."
Harry didn't seem to hear the second half of Sirius' statement. "Is he dead?"
"We don't know," Sirius admitted grudgingly. "Everyone likes to think that he's dead, but wizards have seen his form in various places. He can't do anything, because he's not even a ghost, but he's still there."
"So, he could come back, then," Harry realized.
Sirius shook his head, refusing to see this as an option, despite being told otherwise by Dumbledore on numerous occasions. It had been part of the reason Harry needed to remain with the Dursleys. Granted, dark wizards could kill him for their own pleasure, but more likely, someone like Malfoy would try to use Harry to bring about the return of the dark lord.
He couldn't say this, though. "He's too evil to be human, so he's too evil to die. But he's gone and he'll never be back, Harry."
Harry's head drooped against Sirius' arms. Sirius added again for emphasis and for himself, "You're safe here, Harry. You're safe with me. We both are."
Harry remained quiet for awhile. "Sirius?"
"Yes, puppy?" he asked, still running his fingers through Harry's soft hair.
"Why does my scar look like a lightning bolt?"
Sirius paused, not knowing the answer. He doubted that Dumbledore did, though he probably had some theories that were close, if not dead on.
"No one really knows, but it might be because you were saved by love, and love is like light." He paused. "Light's the opposite of darkness, which is what Voldemort was, so your scar shows that light came out of nowhere and killed the worst wizard ever. You're marked by light."
"I'm marked by light?"
"Yes. You'll never turn to the dark arts. You'll always be good. And you'll always be my puppy." Sirius kissed Harry on the forehead, finally removing his hands from Harry's back.
Just a few moments later, they were both sound asleep where they lay.
The next day, Sirius woke up to find Harry caught in his hug but still able to breathe. He decided to tickle Harry into waking up which provoked Harry to throw a pillow at him.
Sirius then proceeded to chase Harry around the room until the squirming nine year old collapsed on the floor, completely out of breath, and held him in a huge, long hug.
"Harry, if there's anything you want to talk about, I'm here," he told him seriously.
"Thanks," Harry replied earnestly.
And Sirius knew that he meant it. Now there definitely would never be—could never be—secrets between the two of them.
A/N: Thanks goes to Jessi, as always, for being a great beta reader and getting this chapter back to me so quickly. I can't say for sure if chapter 12 will be up before the weekend, but I wanted to use the day off from work to be productive.
As always, reviews make my day. I can't improve without constructive criticism, and I love to know what my audience wants for the story (though I can't always promise that it will happen). Please take a minute and write a review telling me what you liked, what you want, and where I can improve. Thanks!