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Chapter Three—Strange Conversations

"It's useless. I can't do it."

Lily closed her eyes. She had feared that that would be the case, when she and James hadn't been able to do it, either, and when Albus had reported that he couldn't tell Harry the truth despite not being a blood relative. But they'd had to try.

"Thank you for attempting it," she whispered, and leaned over Sirius's back to hug him.

Sirius twisted around in the chair and hugged her back desperately. He was shaking, not crying, because he never did that in front of anyone since Peter had turned out to be a Death Eater, but trembling. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Harry is my godson, too. I wanted to be the one who brought him home…"

Lily nodded. Then she heard James enter the kitchen, and stepped back, wiping at her own eyes. Sometimes she was glad she could cry more freely than Sirius, and other times she was upset that she did it over little things.

"Did it work?" James asked eagerly, and then slumped when he saw the parchment lying on the table, blank.

"I tried," Sirius whispered. "I could write him a letter if I just asked him how school was going, but the instant I tried to write his real name, that I was his godfather, that I'm a friend of his parents, anything that referred to the truth or my reasons for writing to him…my hands cramped up just like yours."

James swallowed. "Do you think it would be terrible to send him an owl just as a stranger who's interested in talented Muggleborns? Say that you have some Potions expertise and Slughorn has been bragging about him?"

"All he would have to do is ask Horace, and he would know that's a lie," Lily said. She believed firmly that they could not lie to their son. They had done enough of that. It had to be truth only from now on.

"But Horace has been bragging to you," James said, his face lighting up with hope. "And that means you could have told Sirius! Just say that you heard about him from Professor Potter." He whirled to face Sirius. "Make sure that you call him Mr. Grayson, not Harry. Lily and I noticed that we couldn't even write just his first name. The magic seemed to think that was too intimate."

Lily nodded, shuddering. The cramps that had grabbed her hands when she tried to write Harry's first name had been the second worst she'd ever felt. The first most painful had been when she'd tried to write to Harry that she was his mother.

They'd tried Dicta-Quills, but their voices had locked up in their throats the same way that they had when they'd tried speaking that truth. Lily and James could only even discuss the subject with people who had known that Harry Grayson was Harry Potter before the disownment. Horace, Filius, Pomona, all of Lily's colleagues except Albus, remained as ignorant as Harry himself.

But a letter that didn't mention why they wanted to write to Harry other than that he was a talented Potions student…

"Let's try it," Lily whispered. "It can't make things worse."

Sirius beamed and reached for the parchment and quill again. Lily knew that he would probably have to make several tries at the letter, given that his hands would cramp up the moment he tried to write anything too leading, but it was a better plan than hers had been.

They had to get through to Harry, with this or some other method. They had to.

"Do you know whose owl that is?"

Malfoy's voice was low, as if he didn't want to attract attention from the older Slytherins, but judgmental. Harry wondered if they really thought that his Muggle family would use owl post.

"No," he said, and reached out to give the owl his arm. It was a large grey bird with an expressive face and bright orange eyes. From the way it watched as Harry took the letter, it wanted a response.

"Sirius Black's owl."

Harry paused. He had come across the name Black in some of the history books he was trying to absorb as fast as he could, but the first name wasn't familiar. "Who?"

"Someone who betrayed his family and upbringing, even though he was a pureblood, and Sorted Gryffindor." Malfoy flicked his eyes at the professors' table. "And someone who's friends with Professor Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the owl. It hooted encouragingly, bobbing its head towards the parchment.

He opened the letter, but he did it with none of the enthusiasm that he would otherwise have felt.

Dear Mr. Grayson,

My name is Sirius Black, and I'm a friend of Professor Potter's. It seems that you're quite the talented Potions student! She told me about how much Horace Slughorn has been bragging about you, and I'm astonished at such talent in one so young. You may want to know why I'm writing to you, but that's why.

My family has sponsored Potions brewers in the past who have the kind of talent that we want to see in the world. I would be prepared to sponsor you, since I know you're Muggleborn and you might not be drowning in offers like this. What do you say about meeting in Hogsmeade during the Christmas holidays, when you'll have a little more freedom?

I'm happy to answer any questions that you have when you write back to me!

Yours sincerely,
Sirius Black.

Harry shook his head slowly. Part of him did want to accept the offer of sponsorship, since Black was right that they might not come along on a regular basis. That was what Professor Slughorn seemed to think.

And it made sense of Professor Potter's attempts to approach him, if she really thought that he deserved money and an apprenticeship.

But again, why? By itself, Harry didn't think his Potions talent was extraordinary enough to earn this kind of notice. He knew several of the Slytherin upper-years were better, had been better at his age from what Malfoy and Nott had said, but none of them had got this kind of offer. And even if Black had wanted to be charitable to a Muggleborn instead of a pureblood who probably wouldn't need it, why not also send this message to Granger? Why hadn't Potter and Black approached her?

No. Something else was going on here. Maybe something as simple as them assuming Harry would jump at this because of his blood status. Maybe something different. Had Professor Slughorn also bragged about Harry's wandless magic?

I'm not going to let them just use me. Not when it would be so unbalanced.

"May I see?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy, feeling as if his eyebrows would lift right off his face. "You would want to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Malfoy hesitated for long enough that Harry, keeping half an eye on the professors' table where Professor Potter was staring at him, thought they would have to leave for their first class before he spoke. Then he sighed. "My mother was Narcissa Black before her marriage. Sirius Black is a—cousin of mine. First cousin once removed, specifically. We've kept an eye on him from a distance since he ran away."

"Ran away?"

"He went to stay with the Potters—that is, Professor Potter's husband and his parents—when he was sixteen. A disagreement with his own parents."

Harry slowly nodded. It seemed even stranger, then, that Black would be claiming he wanted to sponsor Harry in the way his family had done.

Of course, all of this information was coming from Malfoy, who might not be a trustworthy source.

"You can see it," Harry said, and handed the letter to Malfoy.

As he bent over it, a slight movement from the corner of his vision caught Harry's attention. He glanced at the professors' table and saw Professor Potter looking at him and shaking her head frantically. She was mouthing no.

About him handing the letter to Malfoy?

Ridiculous. And suspicious.

Harry stared at her as if he didn't understand what she was talking about, then turned back as Malfoy let out a loud and uncouth caw of laughter. Harry blinked. He thought Malfoy might still be lying about Black, or about some things concerning Black, but that sound seemed genuinely like he hadn't rehearsed it.

"As if he ever followed his family's traditions!" Malfoy giggled, and half-collapsed on the table, the letter held out in front of him as his hands shook. "As if he ever thought that it was worthwhile to sponsor Potions brewers! He hated Potions!"

"Did he?" Harry reached out and took the letter back. "Why is that?"

Malfoy snorted and wiped at his eyes again. "There's a friend of my family, Severus Snape, who's one of the most successful Potions brewers in modern history." Harry nodded; he'd heard Professor Slughorn talk about the man. "When he was at Hogwarts, he was a genius at Potions, of course, but he was also a rival of Sirius Black and the other Marauders."

"Marauders?"

"A group of Gryffindors that included Black and James Potter." Malfoy regained control of himself and leaned back in his chair, a sharp grin making its way across his face. "They tormented Mr. Snape. If Black ever admired Potions, it's not something I ever heard."

Harry considered the source of the information once more, and then nodded. Malfoy still might be untrustworthy, but against that, Harry had to place the strange way that Professor Potter was acting, and the strange way Black had acted by writing to him.

He had no reason to trust them, and their tentative alliance for reason to trust Malfoy.

Besides, if I refuse this offer of sponsorship, I'm no worse off than I was.

And he could brew potions that Gryffindors with Black's and Potter's reputation might think useless or "Dark," a term that Harry still didn't really understand, but heard Gryffindors say almost daily.

It'll be worth it, to possibly make a mistake in trusting Malfoy and rejecting Black, if I can maintain my independence.

Sirius closed his eyes and bowed his head, pressing the letter from Harry against his forehead.

It was a polite rejection, couched in words about how Harry had to be able to stand on his own as a Muggleborn in Slytherin and couldn't take opportunities away from children who might need them more. He was flattered Sirius was interested in him. He was happy that Sirius wanted to fulfill the traditions of his family, and hoped he could do that by finding another potion-brewer to sponsor.

"Well? What happened?"

James strode into the room with a spring in his step, the way he had had when they first discussed having Sirius write an impersonal letter to Harry. Sirius shook his head in silence and held the parchment out.

"It couldn't even get through to him?"

"No, it did. But—read it for yourself."

As he did, James's shoulders slumped, and he placed a shaking hand across his face. Sirius nodded. He was weary himself, heart- and hopesick, and he didn't know how to reach his godson.

His godson. Little Harry, who had laughed up at Sirius when he turned into a dog and let Harry ride on him. Who had dodged around the house on his toy broom and woken them up early on the one Christmas he'd shared with his real family, even though he'd only been a few months old and couldn't have known the significance of the day he was crying on.

Grief gripped Sirius's heart and squeezed.

"This is Slytherin's fault."

For a second, Sirius thought wildly that James was blaming Salazar Slytherin somehow for Harry's response. Then he caught up mentally, and sighed. "You know it's not, James. If he Sorted Slytherin, then he was like that before he got to school."

"But he was sitting next to Malfoy when your letter arrived! That's what Lily said in that Floo call we had yesterday. Maybe Malfoy convinced him to reject it!"

Sirius jerked his head up and stared at James. He'd been on a special Hit Wizard call when a fire broke out in Diagon Alley last night, and he hadn't even known that Lily had seen his letter to Harry get there. "You think? I know Narcissa would have told her son a lot of nonsense about me…"

"Yes, I think." James slammed the letter on the table. "I want you to write to him again! I mean, as long as you don't mind doing that," he added, with an awkward little laugh.

Sirius shook his head. Peter's betrayal hung between them even now, that and Remus's exile. But neither of them had been as much at fault as their other friends, so they could forgive each other. "Of course I don't. I will do anything to bring my godson home."

James's eyes were a little misty when he smiled, but it was the sort of thing that the Marauders were experts at pretending didn't exist. "Thank you."

Draco cocked his head as he watched Sirius Black's owl winging its way down to the Slytherin dinner table, a few days after Grayson had sent his rejection back. Grayson let a fleeting grimace dart across his face before he caught it.

Draco leaned forwards to see what happened next. Grayson was interesting. More powerful than Draco would have thought a Mudblood could be, cleverer than he let on. Draco wouldn't have thought a Mudblood could be that good at Potions, given their utter lack of brewing practice before attending Hogwarts.

But Grayson was. He was holding his own in Slytherin, and he had managed to trade favors with Theo, of all people.

Draco briefly glanced to the side to lock eyes with Theo. Theo was sipping from his pumpkin juice and had a faint smile on his face. He must be just as interested as Draco, for the same reasons.

Draco nodded. After a moment, Theo nodded back.

A bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone.

Grayson had drawn Black's letter out of the envelope by the time Draco turned back. His face had a faint expression of annoyance on it, nothing more. He skimmed through the letter, then appeared to read it more slowly. A second later, he snorted, folded it up, and sipped the last of his juice before standing.

"What does Black want?" Draco asked. He was a little disappointed he didn't get to read the letter. That was a triumph he could have held over Theo's head. Now, getting to read the first one would just seem like a coincidence instead of poof that he had Grayson's trust.

"He doesn't believe in my rejection, and says I can't afford to do it. He thinks I'm modest."

"Modest? A Slytherin?"

Grayson's eyes darted to him, and he examined Draco intently for a moment that Draco didn't understand. Then Grayson gave him a smile sharp enough to cause no pain when it first cut. "Careful, Malfoy. That sounds like you're admitting I belong."

Draco caught his breath, and then he charged ahead. Maybe, as he would admit to his mother later, it wasn't the wisest of decisions, but he had made it, and he wanted to keep on making it. "You do belong, Grayson. Your blood is more than unfortunate, but you're handling magic like you were born to it."

"I was."

Grayson's voice had gone softer and more uncertain, though. He probably didn't know about the idea that Mudbloods stole magic from purebloods. Draco held his eyes until Grayson turned away and walked out of the Great Hall, undoubtedly making for the owlery.

"You didn't get a chance to read it this time, Draco."

"You didn't, either, Theo."

Theo gave Draco a sweet smile. "But I'm the one who has the tutoring relationship with Grayson. I'm sure that he'll trust me more than he will you, and it won't even take very long."

Draco smiled back at Theo. "We'll see."

It was a sudden decision not to condemn Grayson for his blood, yes, Draco thought, as he ate the last of his toast. But it was a wise one. Or at least that was how he would present it to his parents. Grayson was powerful, talented, and not inclined to look wistfully at the other Houses where people might have expected to be Sorted—or rely on the assistance of people like Sirius Black, either. That made him valuable, for whoever could persuade him to their side.

Draco intended to do so. He intended to win Grayson around, for the sake of using that power and having that intensity loyal to him.

And he intended to do so to score a victory over Theo.

That was all appropriately Slytherin double-motivated, and then he wouldn't have to mention his own curiosity to his parents, or his potential boredom. Other than a slight rivalry with Weasley—who couldn't hold up his own end of it—there was nothing here to excite Draco.

I will make my own excitement.

Harry shook his head as he watched Hedwig hurtle away with the letter. This time, Black's owl hadn't waited for a response. Maybe that was because Black seemed to think that Harry would jump at the chance to be sponsored.

In a way, Harry decided, even though Black was politer about it, the way he thought and the way he talked in that letter was just another form of contempt for Harry's blood. The purebloods around Harry talked about Mudbloods and despised them. Black thought Harry should accept his offer because he would never make it on his own.

Well, Harry intended to make it on his own. He would trade favors the way he had with Nott and Malfoy, and he would defer to some of the older purebloods, as he'd already done, to stay safe.

But that wasn't the same as acting pathetic and grateful, or however Black expected Harry to ask. He'd heard a few conversations about Sirius Black after the owl the other day, and everyone said Black was a Hit Wizard and liked to think of himself as "fighting the good fight."

Does he expect me to be part of that? Does he expect me to lap up whatever he offers and be grateful for the privilege?

He doesn't know me at all.

Hundreds of miles away and several hours later, Sirius Black read what Harry had written in response, and put his head in his hands.