Potter's Prodigious Pastries.
James would've loved that name, Sirius thought, standing across the street from the bakery. Its promenade was colourful, bright and cheerful to attract a child's eye, yet tastefully designed to not cross the line into garishness.
"I still don't know what you were thinking, giving her that much gold."
Without taking his eyes off the PPP, Sirius shrugged. "What should I have done? She was penniless, blind, and stripped of her magic."
"All accomplished through her own actions," Remus said.
"James loved her," Sirius softly replied.
The two old friends stood, shoulder to shoulder, for a few more seconds before Remus huffed. "I'm not surprised it's easier for you to move on. You didn't have to spend the last year of his life out in the cold, accused of trying to murder their infant son."
"That's true," he admitted.
"Enough of the past. It's been too long since I've seen you to dredge up bad memories. What do you say we head to the Leaky and reminisce about the good ones?"
Remus had changed, but he wasn't the only thing that was different. Sirius reflected on this, on what a lifetime his decade away felt like, firewhiskey warming his belly. His family's blood watered the soil of this land for centuries, he'd grown up here, was acquainted with a significant number of Britain's magical community, and yet he felt like a stranger. It was the little things - shops he used to frequent now closed, different vendors manning booths in the Alley, buildings renovated and streets repaved.
Some part of him fixed Britain in time, imagining it remained the way he knew it while he was gone, but of course that was unrealistic. Just as he was different from when he left, every year he was away brought more changes to the land of his birth, to the people he knew.
"So how is Hanover treating you? I have to admit, when you left I never thought you'd stay gone."
Sirius flagged old Tom down for another round. He'd never bothered informing anyone other than Andromeda of his flight from Calenburg Court, secure in the belief she would never betray his trust.
But not even she was aware of Harry's existence.
Not that he thought Remus would. He was a Marauder to the core; but still Sirius hesitated. Moony was always the smartest of the group, the most perceptive. Admitting he'd packed up and relocated to the Invisible City, at a time when Kitezh was already under international scrutiny for its drastic reformation seemed unwise.
Sirius didn't want to deal with the questions that possible inconsistencies would bring. "It's good. I didn't realise how much I needed the distance until I was away from everything."
"And everyone. I've missed you."
"You're looking well, though. Tell me what you've been up to."
Remus took a sip from his tumbler. "I guess you could say Peter was responsible for the change. Learning how he betrayed James out of sheer cowardice… I decided I wasn't going to be afraid anymore."
"I don't understand," Sirius said.
"It's like, I spent my whole life terrified of what I was. But if I wasn't a werewolf, if I didn't have these enhanced senses and abilities, I never would have found him." Remus leaned back on his stool, sitting straight, and Sirius marvelled at the confidence his friend emanated. "I'm in control of my affliction. Three nights a month, I turn into a dangerous creature. But the rest of the time, I'm just like everyone else… except just a little bit better." They both laughed. "When Mad-Eye took over what was left of the Order, I found my place. I'm good at what I do."
"I'm proud of you, Moony."
"Thanks, Padfoot." They drank in silence for a few more moments. "Are you going to see the Headmaster?"
And right there, that question, lay the reason why Sirius had to keep secrets. Remus was a true friend, but he'd always felt an enormous debt of gratitude towards Dumbledore for allowing him to attend Hogwarts. If Sirius told him the truth, he'd have to explain why it was a secret.
Dumbledore was always a bit too interested in what happened that Halloween night. Even before Voldemort's destruction, he'd been focused on his godson from birth. And after Harry's spectacular feat of magic, for months he'd pestered Sirius about what Lily told him, about anything he himself might have observed of the infant.
Yes, Sirius trusted Remus, but he didn't trust Albus Dumbledore. "I doubt I'll be in-country that long, so probably not."
"I'm sure he'd like to see you. Probably interested to hear your experience overseas, what with being the Supreme Mugwump and all."
"Maybe some other time," Sirius deflected. "Why'd Moody take over the Order from him, anyway?"
Remus let out a heavy sigh. "You know how decimated we were by '81. The Ministry was on its last legs, too. Once You-Know-Who died, and the Death Eaters kept fighting, Dumbledore moved to shore up the legitimate government. He helped the Ministry root out informants and collaborators, worked to prop it up until it recovered."
"Dumbledore actually managed to clear out the corruption in the Ministry of Magic?" Sirius asked in disbelief, and Remus chuckled, draining his drink before responding.
"Hardly. But at least there're fewer Death Eaters getting a government paycheck."
Sirius supposed he should find a tiny bit of comfort that not everything in Britain had changed.
September 22, 1991
He much preferred having his own room. When Sirius told him stories about the boys' dormitories at Hogwarts, he'd never mentioned how loud it could get. Faint rustling as some crammed their assigned reading beneath wandlight, irregular and out-of-rhythm snoring from others; not to mention the unfamiliarity that came with rotating dormitories multiple times based on the point standings.
How he missed his spacious, quiet room at Blackriver!
As the hour grew later and later, Harry's frustration grew, to the point he threw off his blankets and climbed out of the small and uncomfortable bed he had this week, snatching his glasses off the nightstand. If he was going to be awake all night, he may as well find something more interesting to do than stare at the ceiling!
Throwing on a pair of boots and a heavy set of robes, Harry exited the dormitory and began his wandering. He'd already conducted a fairly comprehensive search of the first floor, and with his Assembly's present accommodations on the second floor, it was a near-certainty he'd have plenty of opportunities to explore that without much effort. Thus, he ambled up the stairs to the third floor and began to walk.
It was past midnight when he turned the corner to begin walking down yet another blank, stone corridor when he saw it. Flashes of light, up ahead, clear indicators of spellcasting. With a well-practiced ease, Harry crept forward silently, towards the 'T' intersection before him. He peeked around the corner, zeroing in on the two silhouettes, one big and the other small. The spellfire came from the taller of the two, washing over what appeared to be a rather unremarkable stretch of wall.
Curious. Very curious.
Harry stepped around the corner. "Hi!"
He reflexively ducked the next instant, a bright red curse buzzing past where his head was a moment earlier. Sidestepping a second spell, Harry planted a heel on the wall and pushed off to jump to the other side of the corridor to dodge a third.
The light of her spells allowed him to identify his attacker, and it didn't take much reasoning to guess the identity of her companion. "Maksim! It's me!"
"Masha, stop," the first year said, reaching out and placing a restraining hand on his sister's forearm. "Harry's no threat."
"You don't understand, little brother. No one can know! He isn't even in our Assembly, he can turn the rest of the school against us!"
"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, taking a wary step forward, keeping a watchful eye on the tip of Masha's wand, his own tightly clasped in his hand. "I don't even know what you're doing!"
"We're not doing anything," Masha said in a toneless voice, clearly still displeased he'd stumbled upon them.
As he drew closer, Harry eyed the section of corridor she'd been casting spells on. Half-cleaned graffiti coated the wall, eye-watering profanity in a variety of languages, insulting and disparaging sketches only partially erased. Centred among the crude vandalism was an etching, deep marks that looked burned into the stone. An odd marking, three shapes combined - a straight line inside a circle inside a triangle.
"What is that?"
"You really don't know?" Maksim asked. "But… you're from Kitezh, yes?"
"He's obviously not Russian," Masha chided. "His accent is horrible."
Harry blinked at that. He spoke four languages fluently, and no one had ever made such a comment before. "Did the other students do all of this? How come?"
"It is Grindelwald's mark," Masha answered, watching him closely for a reaction, taken aback when he had none.
"Grindelwald…" Harry pondered the name. He must be someone important, but his father mercifully never hired a history teacher at Blackriver so there was no recognition for her to observe. "Who's that again?"
"He is a powerful wizard, and like all who leave an imprint on history, there are many who wish to tarnish his legacy."
"Our grandfather served in his army, part of the struggle to restore magic to its rightful place-"
"Maksim!"
"What? He should know the truth about the war, shouldn't he?"
Masha was furious, pulling her wand-arm free of her brother's grip. "I can't protect you against the whole school! If people find out… you idiot!"
Her wand started to rise, to point at him again, and now desperation and fear began to surge inside of Harry. He'd seen the lengths Masha would go to protect her brother, vividly recalling the curse that left Rasmussen permanently impaired, still, to this day.
Even as he backpedalled, he knew there'd be no dodging this time. He'd come too close to her, wanting a better look at the wall, and now he was exposed. He audibly gulped, feeling his fingers ache from the death grip he held on his wand.
Masha muttered an incantation, and a steel-grey curse darted out, so close to him he was blinded by its radiance. Instinctively Harry drew his wand across his body, a wild, straining desire to stop the spell overtaking him.
His bent, white wand tore a deep violet streak through the air in front of him, Masha's curse swallowed by the glowing trail. A second later, the tear sealed, returning the corridor to darkness.
Harry stumbled backwards, eager to put more distance between himself and the aggressive seventh year. He slowed, then paused when her wand tumbled from her limp fingers, falling to the floor with a clatter.
"Masha! The purple light! It's just as grandfather described!"
"I know," she whispered. "I saw."
He ran his arm over his face, using his sleeve to mop up the sweat beading on his forehead. "Will one of you tell me what the hell is going on?"
Masha slowly reached down to pick up her wand, turning away from Harry and cleaning the rest of the graffiti with several overpowered scouring charms. Once she was satisfied, she traced a new message in Russian into the stone, just above the original marking.
'До́ма и сте́ны помога́ют', it read. When you are at home, even the walls help you. That task completed, she stowed her wand in her sleeve, gesturing for Harry to follow her.
"Come, there's much you need to know."
"Is there anything else? Minerva?"
His stern Deputy Headmistress shook her head, eyes roving over the faculty. "Just to stay on your toes. Most of you know the routine by now; stay visible, do your best to keep what's going on outside the walls from intruding into this castle."
"Wise words, for a difficult time. Very well, we'll reconvene at our next meeting in two weeks." Albus gathered his notes, watching carefully to make certain a particular teacher didn't leave before him. Once she started for the door, he quickly matched her stride.
"Good morning, Bathsheda."
With a cheerful smile, she replied, "Good morning, Headmaster."
"How has your first month of instruction gone?"
"Very well, or at least I think so." They passed the staircase he would normally take up to his office, and she glanced over when he continued by her side. "Is there something you wanted to discuss with me?"
"Merely checking in, that's all. You're one of the youngest teachers brought on during my tenure at Hogwarts, although Merlin knows that may soon change."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"The political instability in Britain has, unfortunately, begun to eclipse Hogwarts' reputation. A steady drip of news about ambushes, revenge killings, and political executions somewhat dims the attractiveness of moving here."
Bathsheda grimaced. She was surely well aware of the country's instability, having graduated from Hogwarts in the mid-1980s. "I'm sure Hogwarts will always be a world-class academy, sir."
"With a new generation of educators like yourself, I'm inclined to agree." He paused to nod a greeting to a portrait they passed. "You had no qualms about returning to Britain, though? Surely wherever you met Mr. Kowalczyk was more secure."
"What do you mean?"
"Only that Eastern Europe suffered greatly under Grindelwald's rampage. Wizards and witches there have made an admirable effort to resolve any issues with dialogue and debate, rather than immediately reaching for their wands."
"Um, I suppose so."
"And from what Quirinus tells me," he continued, "The new school in Kitezh will only make the east more and more attractive for experienced educators."
Bathsheda responded reflexively, "There's no school in Kitezh."
"No? He was there this summer, and spoke with a Transfiguration Mistress who said otherwise."
"I'd know if there was," she said simply, elaborating no further.
They were more than halfway through the walk to her quarters. "I fear we've gone far afield. You haven't had any trouble with the students over your age? I must admit, Minerva was quite concerned about whether the upperclassmen would respect your authority." That was a lie, but Minerva need never know about him throwing her under the proverbial bus.
"It's been a bit of a challenge. I've adjusted some of my lesson plans and my presentation style to try and keep their interest. And…"
"Yes?"
Her smile was nostalgic, almost sad. "I do wish the younger students could take my class. I understand the reasons why not, but-" she abruptly fell silent.
"But you enjoyed teaching younger children in your last position?"
Several seconds of quiet went by, and they reached the door to her quarters. "Thank you for checking in with me, Headmaster. I've got some papers to mark, then I'm meeting Jakub for an early dinner before my rounds."
"Of course. Good day, Professor."
Albus wandered away, mentally reviewing his schedule. For years he'd avoided leaving the country, save for required ICW meetings, believing his presence to be a stabilising force even after his withdrawal from active participation in the civil war following Voldemort's demise.
Perhaps, though, it was time to begin to do more than gently probe for information. He had no way of knowing how long he had before disaster struck, only the certainty that inevitably it would. And there was only one place he could gather such information, he admitted to himself.
Yes, Albus mused. A brief holiday was long overdue. One must make time for old friends.
The thin, elderly witch tapped her gavel. "I call to order this hearing for the Department of Family Welfare. Today's agenda will cover the placement of Abbott, Hannah, and Bones, Susan." She rustled some parchment, peering down through thick spectacles at the information before her. "Are all applicants present?"
"Aye," came a small chorus of replies from the scattered collection of families, but Sirius ignored all but the one affirmation he'd come to hear.
Lily Potter's robes were stiff and ill-fitting, like they'd been sitting in a closet for several years. Her hair was tied up in a neat plait that lay against the nape of her neck. She appeared to be a bundle of nerves, tapping her foot, then crossing her legs, inadvertently showing off her mismatched socks.
"In light of the high level of interest in awarding custody for these girls, before we begin, I feel it is my duty to remind all applicants of the Department's regulations concerning guardianship not next-of-kin nor explicitly spelled out in the deceased's will.
"In assuming the custody of a ward of the Ministry, you will not have access to their estate, nor to their vault. You will be entirely responsible for the care, education, and wellbeing of the child. You will submit to monthly visits by Department personnel for the first year to check on the level of care provided, bi-monthly visits for the second year, and quarterly visits every year after that until the child reaches their majority. If you are found to be negligent in your guardianship, damages will be awarded to the child's estate from your own vault, and the child will be removed from your custody. Are we clear?"
There were murmurs of agreement from the attendees.
Sirius leaned close to Andromeda's ear. "What's that about?"
"A quarter-century of civil war creates a lot of orphans. The Ministry has had to learn a lot of hard lessons about placing children in new homes," she whispered back.
So. Rather than take the war to the Death Eaters and their sympathizers, they simply ironed out and streamlined their method to deal with the victims? 'How typical' he thought.
"Preliminary interviews and home inspections have been conducted for all applicants, and-"
"Excuse me," Lily called out. "That's not true. I haven't been contacted since I filed my application." Sirius watched several heads in the room swing around at her interruption, then just as quickly turn away.
The witch from Family Welfare tapped her gavel. "We'll not stand for interruptions from attendees! Quiet, please, or you'll be removed." She reshuffled the parchment in front of her, the same parchment she hadn't so much as glanced at since the hearing began. "Due to the prominence of the families involved in today's hearing, it's in our society's best interest that heiresses from two family lines as storied as the Abbotts and Bones not be housed with the same family, for fear of the loss of their name forever. Therefore, the Department has selected two separate guardians.
"Henceforth, barring legitimate objections, custody of Susan Bones is awarded to the Brown family, and Hannah Abbott's to the Diggory's."
A familiar tall, stout man rose from his seat. "On behalf of the Longbottoms, I withdraw my application. No objections."
"Frank…?" Lily whispered in a betrayed tone, turning her head in the direction his voice came from.
"No objections," stated Lewis Macmillan, followed thereafter by all of the other families present.
"What do you want me to do?" Andromeda whispered, and Sirius frowned. Why hadn't she listened to him and simply returned to muggle life? Didn't she realise how the rest of the wizarding world saw her now? Why would anyone subject themselves to this sort of treatment, willingly?
In the end, no matter his personal issues with Lily, he wouldn't stand for the Potter name being humiliated in this manner. James' parents had taken him in when he had nowhere to go, placing the reputation of their family on the line to make certain he had a place to call home. Had this whole country collectively decided to forget they owed the Dark Lord's demise to a Potter's sacrifice?
Damn them for forcing him to do this. Those utter, contemptible bastards.
"Objection. You're obviously biased in favour of some applicants over others."
"This hearing is for custody applicants," the witch chairing the hearing said, "And as I said before, interruptions will be…" she trailed off as Andromeda joined him in standing in objection, her plum-coloured Wizengamot robes effectively silencing the Ministry representative.
"House Black objects." Every eye in the room was on him, now, and Sirius stared back unflinchingly. Andromeda continued, "Perhaps, for the benefit of those families that spent the time and gold filing their unsuccessful applications, you might elaborate on why you made the decisions you did."
"Erm, of course, that's certainly a reasonable request," the witch stammered.
Over the following half-hour, she laid out the reasoning behind their selection of the Browns and Diggorys, including income, residence size, having school-age children in the same Hogwarts House, familial ties, and more. Their disrespect to the Potter name aside, not even Sirius could find any real fault in their justification.
He let Andi handle withdrawing their objection, rising to his feet when the hearing was called to a close. It was time to go; he'd seen all he needed to, and was eager to get back to Russia and leave Britain in the past.
Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough. "Sirius!"
"Lily," he greeted in a neutral tone, fidgeting at the way her colourless eyes fixed in his direction, as though she were actually able to see him.
"I didn't think you'd come. Thank you for trying, even though…" she paused, taking and letting out a deep breath. "It meant a lot to me."
"Right. Well, I'm sorry things didn't go the way you hoped."
"I just hope-" Lily cut herself off, emotion clouding her voice. "As long as Hannah goes to a good home, and she's happy."
"Right," he said again, growing more and more uncomfortable at their interaction. He didn't want to see her, to listen to her. Sirius refused to feel any regret for his actions - it was obvious to everyone she was unfit to care for a magical child, with her infirmities. Still, standing before her, seeing her so pitiful…
He had to get out of here.
"Listen, I really can't stay, I have pressing business I left waiting overseas."
"Oh. Of course," she said.
"If you need anything, you can contact Andromeda." He sent a significant look at his cousin.
"Alright."
"Come along dear, let's get you a cup of tea, shall we?"
"I think- I'd rather just go home, but thank you," Lily said, expression crumbling before their eyes.
"I'll walk you back to the Floo, then," Andi said, taking Lily's arm.
He let out a heavy sigh once she was gone. Thank Merlin. Stretching his neck, he prepared to make his own exit, but once again was held back by an unwelcome reminder of the past.
"Hello, Sirius, it's been too long."
"How'd you know I was here?"
That damn genial smile hadn't changed at all in the last decade. "Surely you haven't forgotten what a tight-knit community Magical Britain is. You must have known the return of the prodigal Lord Black would make waves."
Sirius didn't bother trying to hide how unimpressed he was at this encounter. "And you rushed over here, what, to give me your fond regards?"
"Not so much, no. Rather, I came with the intention to help you resolve a certain situation, in the hope that you might be willing to do the same for me."
He rolled his eyes. "Just say what it is you're after, Albus."
Dumbledore put a friendly hand on his shoulder, and Sirius felt his skin prickle as a privacy ward raised around them. "I'd like to speak with you about what you know of the Vulgar Lord."
A/N: 4k words before the author's note.
I just can't seem to stop writing this story. I sit down and tell myself "Frickles, today you're going to work on AMR/ASF", but the next thing I know i've got a few thousand words of this fic, instead.
I don't fault the Ministry for not going with Lily. Objectively, she's far from the safest/best home for a child, sad to say. Still sucks, though. Also, sort of surprised no one's commented on the Volga/Vulgar Lord duality. I couldn't resist having the Brits completely misinterpret the name, and I think Sirius would appreciate the irony.
In canon, Viktor tells Harry about how Grindelwald left his mark on Durmstrang in such a way that it could not be dispelled, and how some students took to wearing it to be 'edgy'. Seems to me that just because Grindelwald lost the war, that doesn't mean everyone who shared his ideology reformed. Especially not with the extended lifespan of most wizards/witches. Harry's going to get an interesting perspective on the world, which kind of fits when he's attending a school that discriminates based on blood status, run by a former Death Eater. "Yer a nazi, Harry!" (just kidding, lol!)
Thanks for all the reviews!
Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles