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batsutousaiTitle: Stand Against the Moon
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort
Warnings: Violence, character death, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, AU, ending of questionable happiness, underage sexual relationship (depending on the way you tilt your head)
Summary: Cursed against his will, Harry made the best of his life until he found himself, again, wandering in Death's realm. When Death offers him a second chance, a chance to right the wrongs he'd been blind to for too long, he can't possibly refuse.
A/N: *opens calendar for 1985 with the phases of the moon on it*
I'm so glad everyone seems to be excited about Bill. He will absolutely be sticking around. (He'll show back up next chapter, even.)
For those of you who follow me on tumblr, a scene from this chapter got posted as a Sunday Six at the start of September. (For those of you who don't, it's a thing where you post six(-ish) sentences from something you're working on each Sunday. I usually forget, though, and I never seem able to keep it at six sentences. XP)
The adult Dursleys were rather sufficiently cowed from Harry's show of force that first morning, and Dudley hadn't yet got to the point where he invented Harry Hunting, so the following week at Privet Drive was remarkably peaceful. He didn't bother demanding the playroom be handed over as his new bedroom, secure in the certainty that he would be given to Sirius soon enough, and he still helped with the meals because he was used to making food – both as an adult in that other reality and before the merge in this reality, he'd spent so long making meals for himself and variations of what he called 'family', that he felt twitchy if he didn't assist – but otherwise refused to help around the house.
Petunia had quickly developed the theory that out of sight meant out of mind and wasted no time every morning ensuring he had anything he might need to keep him busy out of the house until dinner, even going so far as to offer him muggle money, in spite of the fact that he wasn't even five yet and wouldn't get far with the money on his own. One thing she made absolutely certain he had, however, was a key to the house, which he kept on a length of twine with the Peverell ring around his neck, so he wouldn't lose it if he decided to run around as a wolf. The twine and ring had been charmed within an inch of their lives with the strongest Notice-Me-Not and muggle repelling charms that he'd been able to cast with the wand he'd borrowed from a drunk wizard he'd tripped over in Knockturn on his way back from Gringotts that first trip out. (If the wand had been less finicky, Harry would have pocketed it, but in the end it hadn't been worth the boost in the strength of his spells.)
Two days before Harry's fifth birthday – which was, amusingly, the full moon – Harry was woken by a determined knocking on the front door while Petunia was only just stirring upstairs. While he was perfectly capable of opening his locked cupboard – honestly, why they even bothered with the lock any more was a mystery to him, but he supposed it let Vernon feel safer – and answering the door himself, he saw no reason to save his aunt the minor embarrassment of greeting visitors in her nightgown and robe.
Not quite two minutes later, Petunia hurried down the stairs over Harry's head and he heard the front door opening. There was a pregnant pause, then Petunia demanded, "What do you sort want here?"
"Nice to see you again too, Petunia," a rough voice commented, and Harry's eyes went wide as he recognised the speaker: Sirius! It had worked!
"May we come in, Mrs Dursley?" a smooth voice that sounded vaguely familiar requested.
"It's far too–" Petunia started.
Sirius interrupted, "Oh, you wouldn't really leave us to stand on the stoop all morning, would you?"
Harry grinned; Sirius clearly knew enough about his aunt to know exactly which threats would get what he wanted the fastest. And, actually, that was a pretty good indicator that he'd survived the dementors so far intact; Harry knew he'd managed, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder how much better Sirius was now he was freed eight years earlier.
"Fine," Petunia snapped, and there came the sound of multiple people stepping into the hallway.
Harry took a long sniff, trying to see if he could identify anyone by smell, or at least know how many people were there. None of them were particularly familiar to his werewolf senses, which only meant he'd never known them after he'd been turned in that other reality, but he could tell there were three magical males out there with his aunt. One was clearly Sirius, and the other... why was that voice familiar?
"We came to collect Harry," Sirius wasted no time in saying.
"Collect him?" Petunia demanded, shrewd. "Like, what, for good?"
"That is still for deba–" an elderly voice that Harry recognised all-too-well started: Dumbledore.
"Yeah, he's coming home with me," Sirius insisted.
"A trial run, if you'll recall, cousin," the smooth voice practically purred. "You still must prove yourself capable of caring for a child as...important as Harry Potter."
Harry's eyes went wide as he finally placed the speaker: Lucius Malfoy. Well, that was an unexpected development. He wondered if Dumbledore had been required to tweak the wards to let the Death Eater onto the property, or if he'd simply torn down the particular part that repelled the Dark Mark; he didn't expect that Fudge or whoever was in charge of the Ministry had given Dumbledore much choice about bringing the 'advisor' along, though he was a bit surprised that an auror hadn't been sent as well, just as a clearer show of the Ministry's hand.
With everyone identified, Harry decided he was done playing the silent observer, especially since he rather sort of needed to use the loo, so he knocked on the door to his cupboard, loud enough that he would be heard, but not so loud that they'd think he was attention-seeking.
There was a loud silence on the other side of the door, then Dumbledore, voice heavy with disappointment, suggested, "Why don't you let him out, Petunia."
The door unlocked and opened to show Harry's aunt, her face pale. None of the wizards could see Harry from their current angle, so he took the chance to flash her a nasty smile that was full of too-sharp teeth. She took a terrified step back, fingers tightening around the edge of the door.
Harry schooled his expression into that of a meek child and peeked out of the doorway of the cupboard. He stared at the wizards down the hall for a long moment, taking in the fury in Sirius' eyes, the disappointment in Dumbledore's, and the carefully blank expression Lucius wore, then scurried past Petunia for the ground floor toilet.
As soon as the door was closed behind him, Harry allowed a vicious smile; there was no way Dumbledore would be able to convince the Ministry that Harry needed to return to Privet Drive, no matter how bad a guardian Sirius might turn out to be. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fool Dumbledore for long, not when a quick peek into the mind of an unknowing Dursley would show just how not-cowed he was, but fooling Lucius would put the Ministry against the Headmaster, which was the far more important bit.
And, hey, if Sirius started out thinking he was pathetic, Harry could get away with more.
He went through his morning motions with his usual efficiency, then took a moment to settle himself into his assumed persona: shoulders hunched and posture slumped forward so he took up less space; hands kept close to his chest, as though prepared to cover either his head or stomach at a moment's notice; eyes that kept twitching, watching for danger everywhere.
He found them in the sitting room, Sirius and Dumbledore on the sofa, while Lucius had taken Vernon's usual chair. Vernon was standing next to the television, purple with rage and glaring at the intrusion to his usual Monday routine, while Petunia fidgeted nervously in the doorway.
Harry stopped next to Petunia and blinked up at her uncertainly, asking, "Aunt Petunia?"
She flinched away from him, fingers clasping together against her chest. "What?" she demanded, voice harsh with strain.
Harry ducked his head, reacting to her tone in a manner he hoped would be convincingly abused-child. "Do I need to make breakfast for your guests, too?" he asked quietly.
"Excuse me," Sirius snapped, sounding furious enough that Harry was impressed he hadn't cursed either of the Dursleys yet (though, if Dumbledore was smart, he'd already have taken Sirius' wand), "did you just say you're the one who makes breakfast here, Harry?"
Harry glanced towards his godfather and made himself shrink back, towards the other side of the doorway from where Petunia stood, as though hoping to put it between himself and the adults. "Y-yes, sir," he whispered, ducking his head.
"You nasty, vile excuse for a woman," Sirius snarled, starting up from his seat, only to be restrained by Dumbledore. "He's your nephew!"
Petunia squared her shoulders. "He's a freak."
Even terrified of him, Petunia played the part of abuser perfectly. Really, if he didn't hate her so much, Harry might have thanked her for making his act look more genuine.
"Sirius," Dumbledore said, voice strained, "why don't you take Harry into the kitchen and introduce yourself to him. Explain what's going on."
Sirius took a very obvious breath, then glared at Petunia until she'd scurried over to Vernon before he stood. He moved towards the doorway with careful motions, hands held obviously in front of him, as though trying to reassure Harry he meant him no harm.
Harry couldn't stop one eyebrow from raising; he'd honestly not expected his godfather to have any idea about how to approach an abused kid.
Sirius' eyes narrowed and Harry realised his slip. He immediately ducked his head and led the way into the kitchen. He could feel magic settling over the doorway into the sitting room behind him, and he hoped Dumbledore yelled a lot, even if Harry knew it wouldn't do any good.
A heavy hand came down on Harry's shoulder and he was turned to face Sirius, who wore a shrewd expression. "Alright, kid. Drop the act."
Harry shrugged his free shoulder and met his godfather's stare without flinching. "Who are you?" he asked, because he figured that was a question he would be interested in, had he not already known.
Sirius searched his face even as he explained, "I'm Sirius Black, your godfather."
Harry tilted his head to one side. "Godfather?" he repeated and Sirius nodded. "Are you here to free me from Hell?"
Sirius raised both eyebrows at him. "Really."
Harry snorted and pulled away. "Just because I'm not really meek doesn't mean this place isn't Hell. I really do call the cupboard my bedroom, and I really do make breakfast every morning." He tapped his chin while Sirius let out an angry growl. "And dinner, actually. Sometimes I get sent out to weed Aunt Petunia's garden." Not untrue, but the only time Harry'd done so in the past week, it had been his own choice.
"Those nasty, wretched–"
"Are you here to get me out?" Harry interrupted. As amusing as it was to watch Sirius lose his temper at Harry's muggle relatives, he was rather more interested in leaving the house entirely. "You said something to that effect in the front hall, right? When Aunt Petunia let you all in?"
Sirius very obviously got himself under control and motioned that they should retire to the table. "Why don't we sit down and talk?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure. Want some orange juice?" he offered as he wandered over to the fridge to pull out the jug. He never got any, himself, and hadn't cared enough to try his luck now that Vernon and Petunia were terrified of him, but he figured it was a fair going away gift.
"Uhm, sure," Sirius agreed uncertainly.
Harry nodded as he absently caught the footstool kept in front of the sink and brought it over so he could reach the glasses. He pulled down two and poured the juice, then put both it and the footstool away before bringing the two glasses to the table. "Talk away, Sirius," Harry suggested as he settled comfortably in his chair.
Sirius considered him for a moment, then asked, "What do you know about your parents?"
"I was told they died in an automobile accident," Harry reported with a shrug.
Sirius' expression tightened. "They didn't. There was a...horrible man after them – after you – and another friend of ours, Peter, betrayed their whereabouts to him. He came and killed them both, but when he tried to kill you, something went wrong, and he died instead."
Harry tilted his head to one side, intrigued by Sirius not hiding the fact that Voldemort had been after Harry himself. Though, he didn't suppose this was the story that Dumbledore would prefer Harry know. (That, or they assumed Harry was too young to read between the lines and figure out the truth. Which, well, to be fair, if he hadn't been merged with an older version of himself who knew everything already, he wouldn't have been able to.) "I'm going to assume this man didn't come in with a butcher knife," Harry offered, tone dry.
Sirius considered him for a moment. "No," he said, eyes curious, "he used magic." When Harry just nodded, Sirius said, "Not something I would have expected Petunia to have told you about."
Harry snorted. "No. I, ah, sort of accidentally-on-purpose may have made things happen. Magic is a sensible explanation."
Sirius flashed him a smile that was a bit too sharp around the edges. "Hence why Petunia actually seems afraid of you. For the record, don't do that. Off the record, I wholeheartedly approve."
Harry saluted him with a grin.
Sirius leant back in his chair, clearly amused. "You're not at all what I expected when I was told they'd stuck you with Petunia."
Harry considered that for a moment. "No," he agreed thoughtfully, "I don't expect I'm what most people will be expecting, not knowing where I come from. But one must learn to survive where one can."
Sirius' expression darkened. "That is true," he agreed grimly before rubbing a hand over his face. "Merlin, your parents are probably turning in their graves right now, knowing you've learnt that lesson so young." He pinned Harry with the most heartbreakingly sad expression Harry had ever seen on his godfather's face. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you, pup."
Harry swallowed against a strange knot in his throat. "I don't–" He shook his head, realising he hadn't yet been told why Sirius hadn't been there. "Why? Where were you?"
Sirius looked away, towards his orange juice. "Everyone thought I was the one who betrayed you and your parents, so I've been in prison. Some kid caught Peter in his animagus form last week and they brought me in for a proper trial."
'And hospital stay,' Harry assumed as he sipped at his juice. "So I can stay with you now?" Harry asked, and the hopeful note in his voice wasn't faked, not even a little, because he already knew what a life with the Dursleys would be like, and there was a huge chunk of him – a lonely little boy given memories of a man who had cared about him in another life, then been cruelly ripped away – who wanted a parent, even if he felt a little too old for one.
Sirius moved before Harry could process he was going to, and he found himself wrapped tight in arms that were still a little frail from almost four years in Azkaban. "Yeah, Harry," Sirius whispered, voice choked. "Yeah, you can stay with me."
Harry carelessly let his glass slip from his fingers – uncaring as it hit the tile at their feet and shattered – and grabbed a tight hold of his godfather's jacket, pressing his face against Sirius' shoulder to hide the rising flood of tears. Because Harry had the memories of thousands of hugs, knew he must have been hugged by his parents when he was a baby, but this was his first hug. This was the one that he would remember, that would set the stage for hundreds and thousands more.
"Everything alright in here?" Dumbledore asked from the doorway.
Sirius tried to straighten, but Harry refused to let go, so Sirius picked him up with a watery laugh. "Yeah," he said. "We're good."
Harry was not-quite-five and considered it perfectly within his right to curl up in Sirius' hold and stay right where he was. Which, when you considered it, wasn't a bad move for an abused kid who had just found out he was going to leave his abusers; you find someone who promises to keep you safe and you stay with them.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, and he sounded honestly pleased. "Harry?"
Harry peered up at the Headmaster, making a concerted effort to appear meek, if only to give himself a valid reason for not meeting the man's eyes. "Sir?" he asked.
"Was there anything you wanted to take with you?"
Harry considered that for a moment. The only thing he owned that he was particularly attached to was the Peverell ring, which was hidden under his shirt with the Dursley house key (which he'd keep just because he didn't want to chance Dumbledore seeing the Stone), but he knew he had two crayon stubs and a mangled army man that had been his treasures before he'd merged with that other him, and they would serve him well in his act. So he nodded and Sirius reluctantly set him down.
With a great show of uncertainty, Harry shuffled past the adults blocking the doorway – a gleeful little fire burnt in his chest to see Petunia looking towards the shattered glass and spilled juice that he'd left behind with a constipated expression – and opened his cupboard. It only took him a moment to find his crayons and army man, then he stepped back out into the hall, the three things held tight to his chest.
The three wizards had moved back towards the front door, and all three very obviously took note of Harry's handful of treasures. Sirius motioned him forward with a tight expression and Harry gladly allowed himself to be picked up again, holding his handful between their chests with one hand while the other wrapped in Sirius' jacket again.
"We shall depart, then," Dumbledore announced, an obvious note of displeasure in his voice, before he opened the door and led the way out.
Once they were out on the street and heading towards Mrs Figg's house – Harry assumed they'd used her floo from the Ministry – Dumbledore said, "Sirius, I would like to have Poppy look Harry over before you take him home."
"Surely, Headmaster, he can be seen at St. Mungo's," Lucius murmured.
"Poppy has seen to Harry before," Dumbledore replied.
Harry raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. Really? He snorted quietly to himself as he realised when that would have been. 'Ah, of course. Dumbledore probably had her look at me after the attack, to make sure there were no poor effects from the scar, if nothing else. And now, of course, he's probably worried about its lack. Does he know what it is, yet?'
They did, indeed, use Mrs Figg's floo. Dumbledore had Lucius floo back to the Ministry first, then led the way through to Hogwarts himself, Sirius flooing with Harry after him.
Harry put on an appropriately enthralled expression at every show of magic from one of the adults, as well as wearing it for their entire walk from Dumbledore's office to the Infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey was awaiting them, McGonagall at her side. "There he is!" Madam Pomfrey called as Sirius stepped forward. She smiled at him when he peered out at her. "Hello, Mr Potter. I'm Poppy Pomfrey, a mediwitch. Do you mind if I run a couple of spells over you, just to see how you're doing?"
Harry glanced towards Sirius, as though seeking his approval, and the man smiled. "It's fine, Harry," he promised before very firmly setting him down on the nearest bed. "I'm going to be right over there," Sirius added, pointing towards McGonagall and Dumbledore. "Madam Pomfrey'll take care of you."
"Okay," Harry agreed, keeping his voice quiet and meek.
Sirius' eyes danced. "And don't think you fooled Albus for a minute with that little act, pup."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "And why do you say that?" he asked, giving it up; he knew Dumbledore had likely discovered Harry wasn't as meek as he seemed from Petunia or Vernon's minds, but Sirius didn't know he knew that.
Sirius snorted. "Clever man, Albus Dumbledore," he offered cryptically before leaving Harry to Madam Pomfrey.
Harry stared after his godfather for a moment, then turned his eyes on the mediwitch. "I expect I'm slightly malnourished and have a couple long-healed broken bones, but I should otherwise be fine." And he really hoped his odd version of lycanthropy didn't show up in Madam Pomfrey's scans. Given, because of the way his other self had contracted the curse – being force-fed the flesh of a werewolf wasn't something commonly suffered – he'd never registered for the usual spells, but there was no guarantee that would hold over to this life, since Death had been messing with the curse.
Madam Pomfrey's mouth tightened. "I'll be the judge of your condition, Mr Potter," she told him before flicking her wand over him. She was still for a long moment as she read what the spell sent back, then frowned down at him. "You're not incorrect," she allowed.
Harry forced himself not to show his relief. "I do know how I'm doing, you know."
Madam Pomfrey turned towards the other adults. "Mr Black," she called and they all looked over, giving her their attention. "Mr Potter will need some supplementary potions to get him to a healthy weight, but he's otherwise in fine shape."
"And the scar, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked while Sirius flashed Harry a relieved smile.
Madam Pomfrey huffed. "No sign of it. The malignant magic that had attached itself to him is gone."
"And the protective shield?"
"Also vanished."
Harry blinked. 'Did you seriously have to remove my mother's sacrifice, too?' he silently asked Death, not expecting an answer.
"It vanished when the horcrux was gone," Death's genderless voice reported in his mind, making Harry twitch in surprise. "It was not my intention to remove it."
Harry gave a minute shrug; he didn't suppose it mattered in the grand scheme of things, really, beyond serving as proof that he was no more safe at the Dursleys than he was anywhere else.
"I see," Dumbledore murmured, staring consideringly at Harry.
Harry didn't have to pretend nerves as he ducked his head; he could manage rudimentary occlumency barriers, thanks to auror training, but he very much doubted they could stand up to the Headmaster's legilimency skills.
"As if I'd let anyone in your head besides me," Death scoffed, clearly paying attention to the current events surrounding Harry.
'Don't you have people to be killing?' Harry wondered.
"They'll keep."
It was a struggle to keep from laughing at that, but Harry managed to contain his amusement to nothing more than a grin, which was hidden by his ducked head.
Someone knelt in front of Harry, and he peeked up to find Dumbledore. "Harry," he said, voice kind, "why did you pretend to be scared at the Dursleys'?"
Harry stared at the man for a moment, confused. Did he really–? "If I didn't, would you have believed they mistreated me?" he asked.
"Of course I would have," Dumbledore promised, though Harry expected he wouldn't have actually gone searching for how bad it was if not for Harry's act.
Harry smiled a broken little smile, a child who had already learnt that adults didn't really care. "I'm not going back," he insisted. "I'm going home with Sirius. He promised. He gave me a hug."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "I promise you won't ever have to go back to your aunt and uncle's house."
Harry knew that was only because the lack of his mother's sacrifice meant the blood wards around that house were inoperative, but he accepted the promise all the same.
There wasn't much more to do after that, beyond Madam Pomfrey handing Sirius the potions Harry would need to take and explaining the dosage and such. Dumbledore politely opened the floo in Madam Pomfrey's office for them, so Sirius flooed them to Grimmauld Place.
"Sorry this place is such a dump," he offered with a grimace as he set Harry down in the kitchen. "It was my mother's house. I'm going to get us somewhere else to live soon, but this is all I've got for the moment." He glanced around the kitchen, making a face. "Regretfully."
Harry shrugged and commented, "It's not the Dursleys'," which got a laugh out of Sirius.
Well, he supposed it was a good chance to grab Slytherin's locket, if nothing else.
Sirius had given him the room that Fred and George had slept in on the third floor, and Harry spent a good ten minutes straightening the room up on his own, uninterested in trying to get Kreacher to help. Sirius had said his mother had died about two months before, so the house wasn't quite the pit that Harry remembered, but it was clear that Kreacher had stopped cleaning after Walburga's death, save for a few things that she'd apparently cared enough about that he kept them clean in her memory.
As soon as his room was clean and Harry's 'treasures' had been set out on the empty table next to the head of the bed (with his copy of the Dursley's house key, just because he couldn't think of anywhere else to leave it when he didn't need it), Harry made his way downstairs. He made a side-trip into the drawing room to get the locket and found Kreacher there, wiping a dirty rag over the glass cases.
They both froze for a moment, staring at each other, then Kreacher sneered at Harry and muttered, "It is Master's filthy little half-blood."
"Hello, Kreacher," Harry replied evenly before starting towards the case he remembered the locket being in.
Kreacher stared after him. "What is the filthy halfblood doing?" he demanded.
"Looking for Regulus' locket," Harry answered honestly.
Kreacher was immediately in his way, a small cloud of dust being kicked up from his teleportation. "Nasty, filthy little halfblood," he snarled.
Harry stared down at the house-elf, unimpressed. "Oh, don't give me that tripe. It's doing no one any good sitting around here, since you can't destroy it. Depending on how much the Dark Lord pisses me off when I, inevitably, see him next, I fully intend to destroy it in front of him so he'll piss off." Not completely true, but if he needed to destroy a horcrux to prove to Voldemort that he wasn't going to play a good little Gryffindor, this would be the one that would cut Voldemort the deepest to lose. Though, really, Harry would be better served destroying the horcrux in the ring so he wouldn't have to give the Resurrection Stone back.
Kreacher stared at Harry for a long moment before whispering, "Filthy halfblood knows how to destroy the locket?"
Harry sighed. "The filthy halfblood has a name, and would appreciate it if you used it," he remarked before shaking his head. "As for the locket, yes: Basilisk venom or fiendfyre will destroy it."
Kreacher snapped his fingers and the locket appeared in his hand. He stared down at it for a moment before holding it out towards Harry, who accepted it and hung it around his neck, hiding it with the ring under his shirt. "Kreacher will procure basilisk venom for Young Master Harry," he announced before vanishing.
Harry raised an eyebrow at that. He knew where to get some for free, but he honestly wasn't sure if he was a Parselmouth any more, since he hadn't been in that other reality after he'd lost the horcrux, and he hadn't had a way to test it yet in this life. He supposed he could ask Death, but he much preferred working some things out for himself. (As previously discovered, having an all-powerful servant was a horrible thing for him.)
Since he had to wait for Kreacher to return with the venom – better Sirius not know about the horcruxes, and Kreacher bringing him venom where Sirius could see would invite all sorts of questions – Harry went ahead and took the locket back upstairs to his room. The ring didn't seem to have any sort of detrimental effect on him wearing it all the time, but he already knew the locket would. And, anyway, he was only keeping the ring on his person because of what it really was, not because he wanted a horcrux with him.
He'd just finished hiding the locket in his empty wardrobe when Kreacher reappeared. "Thank you, Kreacher," he said as he took the offered vial and set it on the opposite side of the wardrobe. "And you," he added to the locket, which had shuddered at the nearness of the venom, "behave and I won't melt you down to scrap metal. You give me nightmares, you start fucking with my mind, you're out. We clear?"
There was no response from the locket, but Harry didn't expect one, so he shut the door on it.
"Does Young Master Harry need more blankets?" Kreacher asked, and Harry looked over towards his bed, which Kreacher was also staring at.
"No, but thank you," Harry replied. "Hey, Kreacher?" he asked as something occurred to him.
Kreacher glanced up, hopeful. "Yes?"
Harry sighed. "Can you try not to antagonise Sirius too much? I'm going to request the same thing of him, but it's only going to work out if you both behave, yeah?"
Kreacher scowled. "Kreacher will try," he muttered.
Harry reached forward and gently touched the house-elf's shoulder before he could snap away. "Thank you," Harry said, putting as much gratitude as he could into the words, because he knew he was edging around a minefield when it came to Sirius and Kreacher's relationship. As much as Harry wanted Sirius in his life, it was hard to forget how close he'd got to Kreacher in that other world, or the moment he'd woken from his first change and found the loyal house-elf dead in the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to see Kreacher sold off because Sirius couldn't stand him.
Kreacher stared at him for a long moment, looking so very lost, before he pulled back and vanished with a snap of his fingers.
Harry sighed and rubbed roughly at his face before he turned and made his way down to the kitchen, where Sirius had said they'd meet up once Harry was done getting settled in.
"Get lost?" Sirius teased when Harry finally stepped into the kitchen.
Harry rolled his eyes. "No. I met Kreacher."
Sirius tensed. "If that rotten–"
"He's fine," Harry interrupted, frowning at his godfather. "It took me all of, like, two minutes to reach an understanding with him." He snorted. "It's not like I don't know what it's like to play servant in the house of people who think I'm little better than common rubbish."
Sirius flinched and looked away. "Look, Harry, Kreacher and I...well, let's just say my family and I never got on, and he sided with them."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I sort of got that impression. Though, I've got to tell you, living with a line of heads on a wall? I'd side with the part of the family with power, too." Harry sighed at Sirius' scowl. "Oh, for crying out loud, you two are as bad as each other! Look, I like Kreacher, now he's not calling me names. Can you at least try to play nice, for my sake? Maybe you'll actually get along, without your parents mucking everything up."
Sirius made a face, but allowed, "Fine, I'll try. But the minute he starts in on the names–!"
"As a reminder," Harry interrupted, unimpressed, "I'm the one who's almost five; if I can play nice, you can play nice."
That seemed to catch Sirius off guard, for he blinked at Harry in surprise. "Right. Shit. Your birthday's in a couple of days, isn't it?"
"So they tell me," Harry agreed with an uncaring shrug.
"I expect the Dursleys never celebrated your birthday," Sirius commented as he stood.
Harry considered that for a moment. He'd actually got glasses 'for his birthday' when he turned four, because he was having trouble doing chores when he couldn't see perfectly, but he wasn't going to tell Sirius that, not when he didn't need them any more. "They gave me a pillow for my birthday last year," he settled on, though he'd actually stolen the pillow from Marge's guest room the first time Petunia'd let him in there on his own. He'd been terrified for his life the whole way down to his cupboard, and had kept it under his cot for months before he got up the courage to actually use it. Even then, he'd kept expecting to be ordered to put it back, though it had been chewed on by insects and covered in all sorts of nasty little things from being on the floor of his cupboard for so long.
Sirius' expression tightened. "Right," he bit out before taking a deep breath. "Right," he repeated, sounding much calmer. "Well, that's not how we celebrate birthdays any more. You and me, we're going to Diagon Alley and getting you proper clothing. And then we are going to go shopping, and you can get whatever you bloody well want. You want a pet, we'll get you a pet. You want a racing broom, you are getting a damn racing broom. You want some completely useless pretty bauble, we are buying you a completely useless pretty bauble."
Harry realised he was staring at his godfather, tears in his eyes. This determination to make sure Harry was happy didn't surprise him, since he knew Sirius, but it was one thing to expect unconditional support and love and another thing entirely to actually receive it. "Okay," he managed to get out, voice tiny.
Sirius smiled, wide and honest, and opened his arms for a hug, which Harry was all too happy to accept. "You and me, pup, we're going to make this an awesome birthday."
Harry bit his lip, then requested, "Just you and me, though, right?"
Sirius pulled back and gave him an uncertain look. "You don't want to invite anyone?"
Harry shrugged. "Who would I ask?"
Sirius winced. "Right. Well, this year it'll be just you and me, and we'll spend this year making all sorts of friends, so your next birthday we can throw a massive party. Sound good?"
Harry wasn't completely certain about the 'massive party' bit, but he nodded anyway, letting slip a small smile. "Yeah, sounds good."
Sirius grinned back. "Excellent. For now, though, we should get some breakfast at the Leaky, then get you some proper clothing. Then we can look for a billion birthday presents."
"Okay!"
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Prologue - Like a Ghost in My Town
1 - Procuring Freedom |
4 - Drop the Shades | 5 - The Little Victories | 6 - Uneasy Alliance
7 - Determining Boundaries | 8 - International Acclaim | 9 - Age of Mystery
10 - Absence | 11 - Eye of the Storm | 12 - No Regrets
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 || 06 || 07 || 08 || 09 || 10
11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16 || 17 || 18 || 19 || 20
21 || 22 || 23 || 24 || 25 || 26 || 27
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