Fic: Five Ways Remus Lupin Never Raised Harry Potter
Title: Five Ways Remus Lupin Never Raised Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Five scenes. Five different ways Remus Lupin could have raised Harry Potter, but didn’t.
Disclaimer: All JKR’s.
Warnings: AU. Not fluffy, but not an angst-fest either.
Era: Post-Halloween 1981 through OotP
Length: approx. 5,300 words
Notes: Each AU scene follows canon until one particular event happens differently.
Feedback: Would be lovely. Constructive criticism welcome, as always!
Thanks: To my beta, Galdeone. :)
Five Ways Remus Lupin Never Raised Harry Potter
~*~
1.
The Christmas after the one year anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat was celebrated with fireworks. Remus stood next to Harry’s crib, looking out the window and into the brilliant night sky.
Remus didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the dark room before he felt Sirius slide his arms around his waist and kiss the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t be up,” Sirius murmured into Remus’s skin.
“Mm, if you’re going to do that, I think I should be,” Remus replied, warmth flooding through him as Sirius’s lips softly pressed against the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades.
“You’re such a tease, going around with no shirt on,” Sirius whispered into Remus’s ear. Remus leaned into the yielding body behind him.
“If your warming charms weren’t so bloody-“
“Effective?” Sirius supplied, cutting off Remus’s protest.
“Overdone,” Remus finished, though without any conviction. He was far too distracted by the circles Sirius was tracing onto his belly, the pads of his fingers barely brushing Remus’s skin.
“Bloody werewolf,” Sirius said affectionately, nipping Remus’s ear. “Always such a furnace.”
“Are you saying I’m too hot for you in bed, Black?” Remus said, but his voice lacked any real edge. It came out rather too breathy for Remus’s liking.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Sirius grinned, turning Remus towards him and encircling him in his arms. “Though you’re welcome to try-“
The rest of Sirius’s comment was interrupted by a small hiccup. They both stilled immediately, hardly daring to breathe lest it wake Harry up, but it was too late; the two year old was already whimpering, which meant he’d be screaming shortly.
Sirius moved to pick Harry up but Remus placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Let me,” Remus insisted. “You go back to the bedroom, all right?” Remus gave a small smile at Sirius’s raised brow. “Go on,” Remus said, gently pushing Sirius out of the nursery.
“Only if I get to unwrap my Christmas present early.” Sirius winked suggestively, leering at Remus before leaving the room. Remus laughed quietly as he picked up the restless toddler.
“Shhh,” Remus whispered soothingly, cradling Harry against his bare chest. The warm press of Harry’s small cheek and his soft, tiny hands wrapped around his neck made Remus feel at peace with the world. Holding his dead best friends’ child no longer made him feel guilty and sad; raising Harry with Sirius had helped heal his broken spirit.
Remus allowed his thoughts to stray to Sirius as Harry snuggled more deeply into his arms. The past Halloween had been a difficult day for both of them, summoning vivid memories of the past year’s tragedies. Peter had received the Dementor’s Kiss shortly after Sirius had dueled with him in the street. Remus knew Sirius would have killed Peter himself if the Ministry Officials hadn’t arrived at the scene in time, immobilizing both of them mid-battle. When the whole story came out-how Peter had been the secret keeper, betrayed the Potters, and was planning to frame Sirius-Remus had felt such an agonizing mix of fury, shock, and pain that he’d nearly killed himself the next full moon.
Luckily Sirius was soon released by the Aurors and was there to help Remus heal, and was allowed to take custody of Harry. As his legal guardian Sirius was free to raise Harry as he wished, and soon he and Remus bought a house and were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.
But we weren’t shattered, Remus thought, still rocking the dozing Harry in his arms. The end was so close, but we made it through.
Remus knew he was keeping Sirius waiting, but watched the sky for a moment longer anyway, now lit only by distant stars.
~*~
2.
Albus Dumbledore was faced with a most unexpected dilemma when the Dursleys were killed in a car accident a week after they had taken the infant Harry Potter into their home.
In the end he had to contact the Potters’ oldest living friend, Remus Lupin, and ask him to take Harry Potter in as his own.
Remus Lupin received the urgent owl from Dumbledore only hours after he had settled into the cottage his parents had left him, nestled serenely in the lush French countryside. The news of the Dursleys’ deaths was, in a strange way, the most surprising thing of all. He and Harry had survived the war against Voldemort when so many of their friends were dead-- worse than dead, he thought as his chest tightened-so it was shocking for the Dursleys to die of something so ordinary, so mundane, so Muggle. The everydayness of the tragedy didn’t settle with him. There was no grand scheming, no betrayal, no malice in their deaths. It felt twisted and wrong, but the shell-shocked and heartsick Remus envied the Dursleys with an intensity matched only by his ever-present grief.
His heart clenched when Dumbledore arrived with the small baby, but his arms held steady as he took the bundle in his arms.
And so the years passed by, with Harry Potter and Remus Lupin living together in relative isolation in the French countryside. For the full moons Dumbledore would portkey to the cottage and look after Harry while Remus Lupin carefully locked himself in a well warded shed miles deep in the nearest forest.
Remus Lupin quickly relearned the French he’d spoken fluently in his youth, amazed at how easily it came to him. Harry Potter grew up speaking and reading French, though Remus did teach him how to read English passably well, saying that Shakespeare in any other language was criminal. Since Remus did not plan to return to England ever again, he was content to remain where they were, more anonymous in France than either could ever hope to be in England.
When Harry asked him where he had gotten the scar on his forehead, Remus told Harry as much of the truth he thought Harry could bear to hear-that Harry had received it when his parents were killed-and Harry had hugged Remus, who was surprised to see that he was the one crying. Harry had been little more than five years old at the time, and offered comfort with a hug, his small hands looping tightly around Remus’ neck. Harry had always called Remus “Papa,” but when in that moment Harry said it with the uncomplicated love of an innocent child, Remus felt his heart begin to mend.
Eventually Harry learned the circumstances surrounding his parents’ deaths-though Remus carefully omitted any details of his and Sirius’s relationship from the history of events-and received it with a stoic calm Remus felt sure was more for his sake than anything else. Harry knew everything about Remus-that he was a werewolf, that he had been one of his parents’ best friends, that he had once been happier than he’d ever thought possible-but he never learned the real reason why Remus never dated and never mentioned past romantic involvements.
When he was eleven Harry received his Hogwarts letter, but both he and Remus agreed it was best for Harry to attend Beauxbatons. Harry was happy there, and Remus managed to convince himself it was better that way; better for Harry to attend the French school rather than Hogwarts, which was filled with too many ghosts for both of them.
In Harry’s third year at Beauxbatons they were unexpectedly confronted with the ghost of a man Remus had thought he’d known many years ago. “He’s at Hogwarts,” the Ministry officials told Dumbledore and Remus, “those were the words he said before he escaped.”
Remus had been deeply puzzled as he forced himself to consider the situation logically; it was common knowledge that Harry Potter was not, in fact, at Hogwarts. It had been a big sensation in the newspapers in England that The Boy Who Lived would be attending Beauxbatons, and apparently would be doing so with Dumbledore’s approval.
Remus thought that perhaps Sirius simply hadn’t realized his error, but when Sirius was sighted en route to Hogwarts a few weeks later, Remus knew his destination was no mistake; mad as Sirius may be, he could not ignore the daily issues of the Daily Prophet expressing their incredulity over Sirius’s chosen destination.
Remus wanted to confess the secret of the animagus spell to Dumbledore, but he could not bring himself to do it, not after Dumbledore had given him Harry to raise as his son. He loved Harry more than life itself-indeed, Harry was his life now-and to admit that he had betrayed Dumbledore’s trust was unthinkable. Remus made silent excuses, poisoning himself with the thought that Voldemort had taught the traitorous Black dark magic that enabled him to evade the walls of Azkaban. Remus continued to owl Harry regularly while he attended Beauxbatons, not wavering in his routine of work at a muggle bookshop in a nearby town. He kept his eyes and ears open for news, and waited.
That January, when Sirius Black successfully broke into Hogwarts and seized the animagus Peter Pettigrew, Remus thought he’d die from the overwhelming mix of sorrow and joy tearing through him. Dumbledore immediately had Pettigrew taken into custody, and within hours the incredible story was on the front page of every newspaper across the continent: Sirius Black, Convicted Murderer and Death Eater, FRAMED!
And Remus felt sixteen again, a jumbled mess of raw emotions, as he took Harry from Beauxbatons and waited in their cottage for Dumbledore to bring the newly-pardoned Sirius to France. He had wanted to storm the English Ministry the second he’d heard the truth, but Dumbledore had reminded Remus he couldn’t afford to make his presence public; if anyone did a background investigation on Sirius Black’s long-lost friend Remus Lupin, they’d discover his lycanthropy, and the matter of Harry’s guardianship would be put back into the hands of the government.
So they waited while Dumbledore had Sirius checked into St. Mungo’s for a week, Remus only half-believing it wasn’t all a dream, while Harry unearthed all the unopened boxes Remus had been unable to throw away. Harry silently considered the old photographs of who he knew to be his godfather, viewing the pictures of the handsome man with the new knowledge that Sirius Black had never betrayed his parents.
Exactly one week, twelve hours, and forty-eight minutes later, Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore portkeyed into the cottage’s living room.
Remus, who had been drinking tea while reacquainting himself with an old novel of Sirius’s, jumped up from his place on the couch and stared at the man he’d once shared a life with.
“Hello, Remus,” Sirius said, his skin flushed with color, dark shoulder-length hair glossy, grey eyes bright and mouth smiling. The Healers had taken years off the horrible pictures that had been in the Daily Prophet: Sirius was still too thin, but recognizably the Sirius Black Remus remembered in every intimate detail.
Remus only peripherally registered the tea-cup shattering as he crossed the room in three strides, gathering Sirius into his arms and into a warm embrace. Harry entered the room then, silently watching his papa and godfather reunite.
“Harry,” Remus said, reluctantly releasing Sirius, “C'est ton parrain, Sirius Black.”
“Bonjour, heureux de faire votre connaissance,” Harry said formally, standing up straighter under Sirius’s intense gaze.
“You look so much like James,” Sirius observed softly, and Dumbledore smiled his agreement.
“Papa, qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?” Harry asked, looking at Remus questioningly.
“He doesn’t speak English?” Sirius said, surprised.
“Tu ressembles tellement à James,” Remus said to Harry before turning back to Sirius. “No, we’ve lived here all his life.” Remus met Sirius’s gaze, and smiled before adding, “He can read Shakespeare in English, though.”
Sirius gave a bark-like laugh. “Typical of you, Moony.”
Hearing his old nick-name for the first time since the Potters’ deaths broke through Remus’s last vestiges of control; tears came to his eyes as he motioned Harry forward to shake Sirius’s hand.
“I guess I’ll have to learn French then,” Sirius said, the emotions palpable in his words as he grasped his godson’s hand and pulled him into a hug.
“You’ll need to,” Remus said, smiling through his tears, “since you’ll be living here in France as well.”
~*~
3.
It was quite by accident that Harry Potter went on his first ever vacation. His baby-sitter, Mrs. Figg, had become ill at the last minute, leaving the Dursleys with no other option but to take Harry along.
At first the seven-year-old Harry had been very excited, though he did his best to hide his pleasure. His happiness quickly vanished, however, when he found that he was forbidden to leave the hotel room.
“Do you understand me, boy?” Uncle Vernon snarled, towering above Harry. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already in the hallway, dressed for the fancy restaurant they would be dining at. “Don’t leave the room, and don’t touch anything.” He turned to close the door in Harry’s face, but he paused before it closed to growl a final instruction. “Be asleep by the time we return, boy.” And with that, they were gone.
Harry waited until several moments after he’d thought he heard the distant ding of an elevator. Only then did he begin to evaluate his surroundings.
The room itself was nice enough, he supposed, though certainly boring. He wasn’t allowed on either of the two beds-one was for his aunt and uncle and the other was for Dudley-though he thought that they looked quite bouncy. The large television was set on a table, but his uncle had made sure to lock the remote in his suitcase.
Harry felt all this was horribly unfair, as he hadn’t accidentally broken anything in a very long time. He was extremely careful, though his aunt and uncle never believed him when he claimed he couldn’t explain how things always seemed to happen to him.
Harry crept across the carpeted floor and pulled open the curtains. Outside was a bustling city, a street full of noisy cars and flashing lights. He was disappointed that he couldn’t see the stars, though it wasn’t really a surprise; even if the city lights hadn’t been so bright, the full moon would have ruined any opportunity for stargazing.
Faced with a lonely night in a hotel room, Harry sighed and arranged his blanket in the small closet. He laid down and tried to sleep, though he succeeded only in making himself exceptionally bored.
Harry found himself thinking how interesting the hotel had looked when he’d first arrived. He knew there was a pool somewhere in the building, and the thought of swimming danced tantalizingly in his mind. His disappointment in being unable to leave the hotel room brought tears to his eyes, though he furiously scrubbed his face in an effort to prevent them from falling.
It was then that Harry heard it: the distinct click of a door being unlocked. Harry stood up so fast that he banged his head on the closet door. “Ow!” he said loudly, then cursed himself for making any noise. What if it was a robber trying to break in?
Harry poked his head out of the closet, but he could see nothing beyond the ajar hotel room door. Stepping toward the open door cautiously, Harry weighed his options. It took only a second’s consideration before he stepped out into the hallway to investigate. Still seeing no one, Harry nipped back into the closet to retrieve the doorstop he’d spotted earlier, placing it so that the door wouldn’t close all the way.
Harry let out a trembling breath. He’d done it. He’d actually gotten away with leaving the hotel room!
Deciding he didn’t have any time to lose, Harry made his way towards the elevators, then changed his mind and took the stairs. He didn’t want to risk running into the Dursleys, after all, who he felt sure would never make the effort of climbing the staircase. It was only a precaution, though; Harry was certain they wouldn’t return until much later.
Harry had no idea what floor the pool would be on. He guessed it would be the very last one, because a pool was very heavy and would probably leak through the ceiling if it was on a higher floor. Harry was very conscientious of leaking ceilings ever since an unfortunate bath time incident had resulted in a week spent in his cupboard.
It seemed to take ages for Harry to reach the bottom of the stairway, but when he finally stepped onto the final landing he felt a renewed excitement. He only hoped that nobody would notice him when he finally got to the pool. He resolved to be extra careful.
Harry pushed open the metal door and found himself in a dimly-lit corridor. There was a door at the other end, and Harry made his way to it hurriedly. Overhead he heard the rushing of pipes, echoing off the walls of the hallway.
Harry reached the door and pushed, but it didn’t budge. Tugging experimentally yielded the same result.
The roar of the pipes sounded louder than ever as Harry struggled to open the door. Frustrated, he gave it a hard kick, and to Harry’s surprise he heard the unmistakable click of a lock. Flushed with his success, Harry pulled open the door.
He had it only an inch open when a very large something hurled itself toward him. Harry didn’t have time to scream before he felt a sharp pain in his side. He thought he’d heard someone yell something at the other end of the hallway, but he was already falling into darkness.
~*~
Remus silently took in the sleeping boy curled up on his bed.
“How could this happen?” he asked, not turning around to face his old headmaster.
Dumbledore gave a quiet sigh. “We were lucky the protection charms alerted me when they did. It was close, Remus.”
“Oh god,” Remus whispered, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion. Moments ago he’d been in his shower, getting ready to leave for the nightshift he worked at a local muggle bar. He had been carefully washing his wounds from last night’s full moon when Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey appeared in his small London flat, levitating an unconscious boy wrapped in bandages.
“You understand why I brought him here, Remus?”
Remus’s eyes snapped open. He tore his eyes away from the vision of James Potter’s son, forcing himself to meet Dumbledore’s weary gaze. His blue eyes were solemn behind the half-moon spectacles Remus hadn’t seen in six years.
“Of course I understand why,” Remus replied, more harshly than he’d intended. He was still on edge from the effects of the moon, and the complete unreality he was experiencing wasn’t helping. He hadn’t seen either Dumbledore or Harry since the bottom dropped out of his world, and for them to appear again under such incredible circumstances was much more than he was prepared to deal with.
“Remus, the public can not know what has happened,” Dumbledore said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. “I will not presume to understand what you have gone through, but I have seen enough to know that the wizarding world will not accept Harry Potter being a werewolf. He can not stay with the Dursleys any longer, and there is no one left to take him. You are the Potters’ closest living friend, and can help him more than anyone else possibly could. You alone know what Harry will face.”
Remus’s head began to pound. His hands had flexed themselves into fists, the knuckles white as he was forced to remember exactly why he was the Potters’ closest living friend. Sirius Black was still living, of course, but was no doubt certifiably insane by now. And the thought of James and Lily’s son living the life of an outcast-
“Remus,” Dumbledore said, jerking him back into the present, “I can provide you with a place to live near Hogwarts. The Shrieking Shack can be made available for your and Harry’s use. As you may know recent advances in the Wolfsbane potion have been made, and I can have our Potions master devote his spare time to an extensive independent study.”
The part of Remus’s brain that wasn’t numb with horror managed to make sense of Dumbledore’s proposal. “So we’ll have to tell Professor Sanders about my-our condition? Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Professor Sanders retired six years ago,” Dumbledore said softly. “And I’m afraid Professor Severus Snape already knows of both your and Harry’s condition.”
It was a testament to how thoroughly shaken Remus was that he didn’t blink at the sound of his old enemy’s name. “You can trust him?” he asked, mentally shying away from the memory of Sirius’s first betrayal.
“I trust him implicitly,” Dumbledore said. “He’s already agreed to help.”
Remus nodded and unclenched his fists, running a hand through his tawny hair. He turned around to look at Harry again, still sleeping soundly in a ball on his bed. “Does he even know who I am?”
“He doesn’t know anything. I, er, spoke with his aunt and uncle last night. It seems Harry is not aware that magic exists.” Dumbledore hesitated before continuing, “He thinks James and Lily died in a car crash.”
Remus smiled bitterly. “It seems he’s found out about magic the same way I did, then. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”
Dumbledore did not say anything, but stood silently next to Remus until dawn.
~*~
4.
Remus Lupin was rushing around his small flat, compulsively cleaning everything in his path. He had put a kettle on the stove, though it was more for the ritual of it than because he felt like tea. If there had been anyone who knew Remus Lupin well they would have recognized these gestures as ones born of restless anger, not anxiety.
He had received Dumbledore’s owl yesterday evening while researching how best to rid a local wizarding bookshop of a particularly strong-willed boggart that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. To say that Remus had been surprised by the owl would be a gross understatement. It had been eight years since he’d seen Dumbledore, and only slightly less time than that since they had last communicated.
The subject of the owl was just as shocking as actually receiving it. Other than the basic knowledge that Harry Potter was living safely with his aunt and uncle, Remus knew nothing about the boy all the marauders had once considered their own. He read the owl with steady hands, though his breath had caught in his throat. Dumbledore explained that Harry’s relatives were abusing him, and that the nine-year-old Harry had run away from home after a particularly bad experience involving Vernon Dursley’s sister’s dogs. Dumbledore wanted to bring Harry to Remus for safekeeping, if that was all right with him. Remus had written that yes, of course Harry could come stay with him, and that he was welcome anytime. His reply was written with an even hand, though it’d taken a charm to banish the inkblots from where his quill had strayed.
The kettle was just beginning to whistle when he heard the knock on the door of his flat. He opened the door slowly, hardly believing that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were standing on his doorstep. Somehow he managed a small smile. “Come in,” he said politely, slipping into the role of gracious host.
“Harry, this is Remus Lupin. And I daresay you remember Harry quite well, Remus,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Of course. I met you the day you were born,” Remus said, directing his comment to the scrawny, dark-haired boy. Though Remus remembered that Harry’s eyes were green, he was nevertheless surprised when his gaze was met with Lily’s wide eyes. Remus felt his forced smile relax into something slightly more natural. “Would either of you care for tea?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Dumbledore said. When Remus turned expectantly to Harry he saw the boy give him a small, timid nod.
Soon they were all gathered around Remus’ kitchen table, each with his own mismatched tea cup. Dumbledore had surreptitiously handed Harry a few sweets, which Harry carefully placed in his trouser pockets.
“I told Harry that you went to school with his parents,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, taking a small sip of his tea.
Before Remus could respond he heard Harry ask, “Are you really magic?” Harry looked immediately chagrined and lowered his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, staring into his tea. Remus felt his original anger at the Dursleys return tenfold, but he managed to hide his reaction from the frightened Harry.
“There’s no need to apologize, Harry,” Remus said kindly. “Yes, I’m really magic. I’m a wizard just like your parents were.”
“Harry hasn’t been to Hogwarts yet, but I told him you might have some pictures he could see,” Dumbledore remarked casually, instantly smoothing over the awkward moment.
“Yes, I should have some lying around here somewhere.” It was a lie; Remus knew exactly where the pictures were-in several sealed boxes at the back of his closet. It would be the first time he’d looked at them since the night he’d packed in the aftermath of that Halloween.
A half hour later Dumbledore stood up to take his leave. Remus had pulled him aside and out of Harry’s earshot, asking Dumbledore how long he would be looking after Harry, and reminding him that the full moon was only two weeks away.
“I was hoping you would want to look after Harry until he goes to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said quietly, studying Remus with calm intent. “I understand if you do not want to raise him, but I felt you more than anyone else should have the choice.”
“But-but it isn’t safe-“ Remus started, but Dumbledore interrupted him.
“Arrangements can be made, Remus. It is your decision entirely, but I can assure you Harry will be safe if he stays with you. Now, I’m afraid I must return to Hogwarts, but I’ll drop by next week to check on you and Harry. Please owl me if you need anything.”
Remus nodded his agreement before Dumbledore disapparated with a resounding crack.
~*~
Remus sat cross-legged in the middle of his living room floor next to Harry, old wizarding photographs spread out before them. It was inevitable for the school pictures to have Sirius in them, but he managed to weed out all the pictures that featured them in revealing situations. It was remarkable how dull the old pain felt now; it was Harry’s emotions he was focused on, not his own. It was a relief Remus was entirely unaccustomed to.
“Who’re they?” Harry asked, no longer shy about voicing his questions. Remus pointed out the younger version of the marauders to Harry. “That’s your father there, on the left. I’m the one with the red jumper. And the blonde boy is Peter Pettigrew.”
“What about him?” Harry asked, pointing to the boy between the young images of James and Remus.
“That’s Sirius Black.” If Harry noticed the waver in his voice, he didn’t mention it.
“What happened to Peter?” Harry asked, his wide green eyes blinking behind round glasses.
“He’s dead,” Remus said softly, his eyes lingering on Peter’s young laughing face. “Peter was very brave. He died fighting to protect his friends.”
“What about Sirius?”
“He’s gone too,” Remus said, and left it at that.
Remus tucked Harry into bed later that evening after giving him a cup of hot chocolate. He read Harry the first chapter of Peter Pan, and was surprised when Harry fell asleep almost immediately afterwards.
The next morning, when a bright-eyed Harry offered to help Remus make breakfast, Remus laughed and told him to sit down. “The pancakes will be ready in a minute,” he said, pouring Harry a glass of orange juice. Remus was glad that he’d thought to stock up on food after he’d received Dumbledore’s owl.
“Thanks!” Harry said happily, his short legs swinging underneath the table. Remus magically heightened the chair so Harry would be level with the table, and Harry giggled loudly. “Can I do magic too?” he asked curiously, eyeing Remus’s wand.
“When you go to Hogwarts you can,” Remus said, smiling at his eagerness.
Harry hummed quietly as he watched Remus finish the pancakes. When Remus placed three large pancakes on his plate, he saw Harry’s eyes widen. “Is something wrong, Harry?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.
“Are you sure I can have all these?” Harry asked tentatively, avoiding Remus’s gaze.
“Harry, look at me,” Remus said, not unkindly. When Harry met his gaze he continued firmly, “I don’t know what rules the Dursleys had, but I promise you, none of them apply here. You’re welcome to eat and read and ask questions as much as you’d like.”
“You mean I’m staying here?”
“If you’d like,” Remus said, careful to keep the hope out of his voice.
“That’s good,” Harry said seriously. “I don’t ever want to go back to the Dursleys.”
“You must really hate dogs now,” Remus remarked out loud, handing Harry the bottle of syrup. Inside he was smiling broadly at Harry’s decision; simple happiness was something he hadn’t had much of in recent years.
“Nah,” said Harry, carefully chewing and swallowing his bite of pancake. “Just Ripper. He’s mean. I really like dogs, usually. I had a dream about a nice dog last night.”
“Really?” Remus asked, amused.
“Yeah. A great big black dog. I think he was magic. I don’t remember what his name was, though,” Harry finished, somewhat mournfully.
~*~
5.
Remus Lupin stood with Harry Potter on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place two weeks after he’d seen Harry off at King’s Cross.
“Harry,” Remus said softly, placing his hand on his shoulder comfortingly. Harry looked up at him with wary eyes. “It’s not your fault. No one blames you for his death.”
Harry nodded, his messy black hair emphasizing his unhealthy pallor. The dark circles under his eyes told Remus all he needed to know about Harry’s mental health.
Remus opened his mouth to offer reassurance, but the weight of his own grief kept him from saying anything more. There was only so much someone could say, after a point. Remus knew the silences stitch themselves together eventually.
Remus opened the door and ushered Harry into headquarters, walking behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. Harry looked like an apparition in the gloomy hallways of Grimmauld Place, walking noiselessly and scarcely breathing.
“Harry,” Sirius said as soon as they entered the kitchen. Sirius immediately jumped up from his place at the table and enveloped his godson in a bone-crushing embrace. Sirius’s arms wrapped around Harry so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Harry’s shoulders shook as he buried himself in Sirius’s neck, latching onto Sirius as if his life depended on it. Remus thought maybe it did.
Remus’s heart skipped a beat as Sirius looked past Harry’s shoulders, his solemn grey eyes meeting Remus’s gaze.
Thank Merlin it wasn’t Sirius, Remus’s mind whispered. He was not surprised to find himself unable to summon any guilt for the sentiment. Sirius is the one Harry needs.
~*~
end
~*~
A/N: I speak absolutely no French (I take Spanish! *g*) so I used an online translator for the bit of dialogue in part 2. If you notice it's wrong, please don't hesitate to correct me! :)
ETA: The wonderful nassima was kind enough to correct the French in part 2. Thank you so much!
A/N (2): Just to clarify the last line-- Sirius is the one Harry needs.-- it's meant to be a sort of twist. In the last scene Remus chooses not to raise Harry becaues he doesn't think that Harry needs him, and that it's not his place. I hope that helps clear up any confusion! :)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Five scenes. Five different ways Remus Lupin could have raised Harry Potter, but didn’t.
Disclaimer: All JKR’s.
Warnings: AU. Not fluffy, but not an angst-fest either.
Era: Post-Halloween 1981 through OotP
Length: approx. 5,300 words
Notes: Each AU scene follows canon until one particular event happens differently.
Feedback: Would be lovely. Constructive criticism welcome, as always!
Thanks: To my beta, Galdeone. :)
Five Ways Remus Lupin Never Raised Harry Potter
~*~
1.
The Christmas after the one year anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat was celebrated with fireworks. Remus stood next to Harry’s crib, looking out the window and into the brilliant night sky.
Remus didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the dark room before he felt Sirius slide his arms around his waist and kiss the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t be up,” Sirius murmured into Remus’s skin.
“Mm, if you’re going to do that, I think I should be,” Remus replied, warmth flooding through him as Sirius’s lips softly pressed against the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades.
“You’re such a tease, going around with no shirt on,” Sirius whispered into Remus’s ear. Remus leaned into the yielding body behind him.
“If your warming charms weren’t so bloody-“
“Effective?” Sirius supplied, cutting off Remus’s protest.
“Overdone,” Remus finished, though without any conviction. He was far too distracted by the circles Sirius was tracing onto his belly, the pads of his fingers barely brushing Remus’s skin.
“Bloody werewolf,” Sirius said affectionately, nipping Remus’s ear. “Always such a furnace.”
“Are you saying I’m too hot for you in bed, Black?” Remus said, but his voice lacked any real edge. It came out rather too breathy for Remus’s liking.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Sirius grinned, turning Remus towards him and encircling him in his arms. “Though you’re welcome to try-“
The rest of Sirius’s comment was interrupted by a small hiccup. They both stilled immediately, hardly daring to breathe lest it wake Harry up, but it was too late; the two year old was already whimpering, which meant he’d be screaming shortly.
Sirius moved to pick Harry up but Remus placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Let me,” Remus insisted. “You go back to the bedroom, all right?” Remus gave a small smile at Sirius’s raised brow. “Go on,” Remus said, gently pushing Sirius out of the nursery.
“Only if I get to unwrap my Christmas present early.” Sirius winked suggestively, leering at Remus before leaving the room. Remus laughed quietly as he picked up the restless toddler.
“Shhh,” Remus whispered soothingly, cradling Harry against his bare chest. The warm press of Harry’s small cheek and his soft, tiny hands wrapped around his neck made Remus feel at peace with the world. Holding his dead best friends’ child no longer made him feel guilty and sad; raising Harry with Sirius had helped heal his broken spirit.
Remus allowed his thoughts to stray to Sirius as Harry snuggled more deeply into his arms. The past Halloween had been a difficult day for both of them, summoning vivid memories of the past year’s tragedies. Peter had received the Dementor’s Kiss shortly after Sirius had dueled with him in the street. Remus knew Sirius would have killed Peter himself if the Ministry Officials hadn’t arrived at the scene in time, immobilizing both of them mid-battle. When the whole story came out-how Peter had been the secret keeper, betrayed the Potters, and was planning to frame Sirius-Remus had felt such an agonizing mix of fury, shock, and pain that he’d nearly killed himself the next full moon.
Luckily Sirius was soon released by the Aurors and was there to help Remus heal, and was allowed to take custody of Harry. As his legal guardian Sirius was free to raise Harry as he wished, and soon he and Remus bought a house and were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.
But we weren’t shattered, Remus thought, still rocking the dozing Harry in his arms. The end was so close, but we made it through.
Remus knew he was keeping Sirius waiting, but watched the sky for a moment longer anyway, now lit only by distant stars.
~*~
2.
Albus Dumbledore was faced with a most unexpected dilemma when the Dursleys were killed in a car accident a week after they had taken the infant Harry Potter into their home.
In the end he had to contact the Potters’ oldest living friend, Remus Lupin, and ask him to take Harry Potter in as his own.
Remus Lupin received the urgent owl from Dumbledore only hours after he had settled into the cottage his parents had left him, nestled serenely in the lush French countryside. The news of the Dursleys’ deaths was, in a strange way, the most surprising thing of all. He and Harry had survived the war against Voldemort when so many of their friends were dead-- worse than dead, he thought as his chest tightened-so it was shocking for the Dursleys to die of something so ordinary, so mundane, so Muggle. The everydayness of the tragedy didn’t settle with him. There was no grand scheming, no betrayal, no malice in their deaths. It felt twisted and wrong, but the shell-shocked and heartsick Remus envied the Dursleys with an intensity matched only by his ever-present grief.
His heart clenched when Dumbledore arrived with the small baby, but his arms held steady as he took the bundle in his arms.
And so the years passed by, with Harry Potter and Remus Lupin living together in relative isolation in the French countryside. For the full moons Dumbledore would portkey to the cottage and look after Harry while Remus Lupin carefully locked himself in a well warded shed miles deep in the nearest forest.
Remus Lupin quickly relearned the French he’d spoken fluently in his youth, amazed at how easily it came to him. Harry Potter grew up speaking and reading French, though Remus did teach him how to read English passably well, saying that Shakespeare in any other language was criminal. Since Remus did not plan to return to England ever again, he was content to remain where they were, more anonymous in France than either could ever hope to be in England.
When Harry asked him where he had gotten the scar on his forehead, Remus told Harry as much of the truth he thought Harry could bear to hear-that Harry had received it when his parents were killed-and Harry had hugged Remus, who was surprised to see that he was the one crying. Harry had been little more than five years old at the time, and offered comfort with a hug, his small hands looping tightly around Remus’ neck. Harry had always called Remus “Papa,” but when in that moment Harry said it with the uncomplicated love of an innocent child, Remus felt his heart begin to mend.
Eventually Harry learned the circumstances surrounding his parents’ deaths-though Remus carefully omitted any details of his and Sirius’s relationship from the history of events-and received it with a stoic calm Remus felt sure was more for his sake than anything else. Harry knew everything about Remus-that he was a werewolf, that he had been one of his parents’ best friends, that he had once been happier than he’d ever thought possible-but he never learned the real reason why Remus never dated and never mentioned past romantic involvements.
When he was eleven Harry received his Hogwarts letter, but both he and Remus agreed it was best for Harry to attend Beauxbatons. Harry was happy there, and Remus managed to convince himself it was better that way; better for Harry to attend the French school rather than Hogwarts, which was filled with too many ghosts for both of them.
In Harry’s third year at Beauxbatons they were unexpectedly confronted with the ghost of a man Remus had thought he’d known many years ago. “He’s at Hogwarts,” the Ministry officials told Dumbledore and Remus, “those were the words he said before he escaped.”
Remus had been deeply puzzled as he forced himself to consider the situation logically; it was common knowledge that Harry Potter was not, in fact, at Hogwarts. It had been a big sensation in the newspapers in England that The Boy Who Lived would be attending Beauxbatons, and apparently would be doing so with Dumbledore’s approval.
Remus thought that perhaps Sirius simply hadn’t realized his error, but when Sirius was sighted en route to Hogwarts a few weeks later, Remus knew his destination was no mistake; mad as Sirius may be, he could not ignore the daily issues of the Daily Prophet expressing their incredulity over Sirius’s chosen destination.
Remus wanted to confess the secret of the animagus spell to Dumbledore, but he could not bring himself to do it, not after Dumbledore had given him Harry to raise as his son. He loved Harry more than life itself-indeed, Harry was his life now-and to admit that he had betrayed Dumbledore’s trust was unthinkable. Remus made silent excuses, poisoning himself with the thought that Voldemort had taught the traitorous Black dark magic that enabled him to evade the walls of Azkaban. Remus continued to owl Harry regularly while he attended Beauxbatons, not wavering in his routine of work at a muggle bookshop in a nearby town. He kept his eyes and ears open for news, and waited.
That January, when Sirius Black successfully broke into Hogwarts and seized the animagus Peter Pettigrew, Remus thought he’d die from the overwhelming mix of sorrow and joy tearing through him. Dumbledore immediately had Pettigrew taken into custody, and within hours the incredible story was on the front page of every newspaper across the continent: Sirius Black, Convicted Murderer and Death Eater, FRAMED!
And Remus felt sixteen again, a jumbled mess of raw emotions, as he took Harry from Beauxbatons and waited in their cottage for Dumbledore to bring the newly-pardoned Sirius to France. He had wanted to storm the English Ministry the second he’d heard the truth, but Dumbledore had reminded Remus he couldn’t afford to make his presence public; if anyone did a background investigation on Sirius Black’s long-lost friend Remus Lupin, they’d discover his lycanthropy, and the matter of Harry’s guardianship would be put back into the hands of the government.
So they waited while Dumbledore had Sirius checked into St. Mungo’s for a week, Remus only half-believing it wasn’t all a dream, while Harry unearthed all the unopened boxes Remus had been unable to throw away. Harry silently considered the old photographs of who he knew to be his godfather, viewing the pictures of the handsome man with the new knowledge that Sirius Black had never betrayed his parents.
Exactly one week, twelve hours, and forty-eight minutes later, Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore portkeyed into the cottage’s living room.
Remus, who had been drinking tea while reacquainting himself with an old novel of Sirius’s, jumped up from his place on the couch and stared at the man he’d once shared a life with.
“Hello, Remus,” Sirius said, his skin flushed with color, dark shoulder-length hair glossy, grey eyes bright and mouth smiling. The Healers had taken years off the horrible pictures that had been in the Daily Prophet: Sirius was still too thin, but recognizably the Sirius Black Remus remembered in every intimate detail.
Remus only peripherally registered the tea-cup shattering as he crossed the room in three strides, gathering Sirius into his arms and into a warm embrace. Harry entered the room then, silently watching his papa and godfather reunite.
“Harry,” Remus said, reluctantly releasing Sirius, “C'est ton parrain, Sirius Black.”
“Bonjour, heureux de faire votre connaissance,” Harry said formally, standing up straighter under Sirius’s intense gaze.
“You look so much like James,” Sirius observed softly, and Dumbledore smiled his agreement.
“Papa, qu'est-ce qu'il a dit?” Harry asked, looking at Remus questioningly.
“He doesn’t speak English?” Sirius said, surprised.
“Tu ressembles tellement à James,” Remus said to Harry before turning back to Sirius. “No, we’ve lived here all his life.” Remus met Sirius’s gaze, and smiled before adding, “He can read Shakespeare in English, though.”
Sirius gave a bark-like laugh. “Typical of you, Moony.”
Hearing his old nick-name for the first time since the Potters’ deaths broke through Remus’s last vestiges of control; tears came to his eyes as he motioned Harry forward to shake Sirius’s hand.
“I guess I’ll have to learn French then,” Sirius said, the emotions palpable in his words as he grasped his godson’s hand and pulled him into a hug.
“You’ll need to,” Remus said, smiling through his tears, “since you’ll be living here in France as well.”
~*~
3.
It was quite by accident that Harry Potter went on his first ever vacation. His baby-sitter, Mrs. Figg, had become ill at the last minute, leaving the Dursleys with no other option but to take Harry along.
At first the seven-year-old Harry had been very excited, though he did his best to hide his pleasure. His happiness quickly vanished, however, when he found that he was forbidden to leave the hotel room.
“Do you understand me, boy?” Uncle Vernon snarled, towering above Harry. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already in the hallway, dressed for the fancy restaurant they would be dining at. “Don’t leave the room, and don’t touch anything.” He turned to close the door in Harry’s face, but he paused before it closed to growl a final instruction. “Be asleep by the time we return, boy.” And with that, they were gone.
Harry waited until several moments after he’d thought he heard the distant ding of an elevator. Only then did he begin to evaluate his surroundings.
The room itself was nice enough, he supposed, though certainly boring. He wasn’t allowed on either of the two beds-one was for his aunt and uncle and the other was for Dudley-though he thought that they looked quite bouncy. The large television was set on a table, but his uncle had made sure to lock the remote in his suitcase.
Harry felt all this was horribly unfair, as he hadn’t accidentally broken anything in a very long time. He was extremely careful, though his aunt and uncle never believed him when he claimed he couldn’t explain how things always seemed to happen to him.
Harry crept across the carpeted floor and pulled open the curtains. Outside was a bustling city, a street full of noisy cars and flashing lights. He was disappointed that he couldn’t see the stars, though it wasn’t really a surprise; even if the city lights hadn’t been so bright, the full moon would have ruined any opportunity for stargazing.
Faced with a lonely night in a hotel room, Harry sighed and arranged his blanket in the small closet. He laid down and tried to sleep, though he succeeded only in making himself exceptionally bored.
Harry found himself thinking how interesting the hotel had looked when he’d first arrived. He knew there was a pool somewhere in the building, and the thought of swimming danced tantalizingly in his mind. His disappointment in being unable to leave the hotel room brought tears to his eyes, though he furiously scrubbed his face in an effort to prevent them from falling.
It was then that Harry heard it: the distinct click of a door being unlocked. Harry stood up so fast that he banged his head on the closet door. “Ow!” he said loudly, then cursed himself for making any noise. What if it was a robber trying to break in?
Harry poked his head out of the closet, but he could see nothing beyond the ajar hotel room door. Stepping toward the open door cautiously, Harry weighed his options. It took only a second’s consideration before he stepped out into the hallway to investigate. Still seeing no one, Harry nipped back into the closet to retrieve the doorstop he’d spotted earlier, placing it so that the door wouldn’t close all the way.
Harry let out a trembling breath. He’d done it. He’d actually gotten away with leaving the hotel room!
Deciding he didn’t have any time to lose, Harry made his way towards the elevators, then changed his mind and took the stairs. He didn’t want to risk running into the Dursleys, after all, who he felt sure would never make the effort of climbing the staircase. It was only a precaution, though; Harry was certain they wouldn’t return until much later.
Harry had no idea what floor the pool would be on. He guessed it would be the very last one, because a pool was very heavy and would probably leak through the ceiling if it was on a higher floor. Harry was very conscientious of leaking ceilings ever since an unfortunate bath time incident had resulted in a week spent in his cupboard.
It seemed to take ages for Harry to reach the bottom of the stairway, but when he finally stepped onto the final landing he felt a renewed excitement. He only hoped that nobody would notice him when he finally got to the pool. He resolved to be extra careful.
Harry pushed open the metal door and found himself in a dimly-lit corridor. There was a door at the other end, and Harry made his way to it hurriedly. Overhead he heard the rushing of pipes, echoing off the walls of the hallway.
Harry reached the door and pushed, but it didn’t budge. Tugging experimentally yielded the same result.
The roar of the pipes sounded louder than ever as Harry struggled to open the door. Frustrated, he gave it a hard kick, and to Harry’s surprise he heard the unmistakable click of a lock. Flushed with his success, Harry pulled open the door.
He had it only an inch open when a very large something hurled itself toward him. Harry didn’t have time to scream before he felt a sharp pain in his side. He thought he’d heard someone yell something at the other end of the hallway, but he was already falling into darkness.
~*~
Remus silently took in the sleeping boy curled up on his bed.
“How could this happen?” he asked, not turning around to face his old headmaster.
Dumbledore gave a quiet sigh. “We were lucky the protection charms alerted me when they did. It was close, Remus.”
“Oh god,” Remus whispered, closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion. Moments ago he’d been in his shower, getting ready to leave for the nightshift he worked at a local muggle bar. He had been carefully washing his wounds from last night’s full moon when Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey appeared in his small London flat, levitating an unconscious boy wrapped in bandages.
“You understand why I brought him here, Remus?”
Remus’s eyes snapped open. He tore his eyes away from the vision of James Potter’s son, forcing himself to meet Dumbledore’s weary gaze. His blue eyes were solemn behind the half-moon spectacles Remus hadn’t seen in six years.
“Of course I understand why,” Remus replied, more harshly than he’d intended. He was still on edge from the effects of the moon, and the complete unreality he was experiencing wasn’t helping. He hadn’t seen either Dumbledore or Harry since the bottom dropped out of his world, and for them to appear again under such incredible circumstances was much more than he was prepared to deal with.
“Remus, the public can not know what has happened,” Dumbledore said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. “I will not presume to understand what you have gone through, but I have seen enough to know that the wizarding world will not accept Harry Potter being a werewolf. He can not stay with the Dursleys any longer, and there is no one left to take him. You are the Potters’ closest living friend, and can help him more than anyone else possibly could. You alone know what Harry will face.”
Remus’s head began to pound. His hands had flexed themselves into fists, the knuckles white as he was forced to remember exactly why he was the Potters’ closest living friend. Sirius Black was still living, of course, but was no doubt certifiably insane by now. And the thought of James and Lily’s son living the life of an outcast-
“Remus,” Dumbledore said, jerking him back into the present, “I can provide you with a place to live near Hogwarts. The Shrieking Shack can be made available for your and Harry’s use. As you may know recent advances in the Wolfsbane potion have been made, and I can have our Potions master devote his spare time to an extensive independent study.”
The part of Remus’s brain that wasn’t numb with horror managed to make sense of Dumbledore’s proposal. “So we’ll have to tell Professor Sanders about my-our condition? Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Professor Sanders retired six years ago,” Dumbledore said softly. “And I’m afraid Professor Severus Snape already knows of both your and Harry’s condition.”
It was a testament to how thoroughly shaken Remus was that he didn’t blink at the sound of his old enemy’s name. “You can trust him?” he asked, mentally shying away from the memory of Sirius’s first betrayal.
“I trust him implicitly,” Dumbledore said. “He’s already agreed to help.”
Remus nodded and unclenched his fists, running a hand through his tawny hair. He turned around to look at Harry again, still sleeping soundly in a ball on his bed. “Does he even know who I am?”
“He doesn’t know anything. I, er, spoke with his aunt and uncle last night. It seems Harry is not aware that magic exists.” Dumbledore hesitated before continuing, “He thinks James and Lily died in a car crash.”
Remus smiled bitterly. “It seems he’s found out about magic the same way I did, then. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”
Dumbledore did not say anything, but stood silently next to Remus until dawn.
~*~
4.
Remus Lupin was rushing around his small flat, compulsively cleaning everything in his path. He had put a kettle on the stove, though it was more for the ritual of it than because he felt like tea. If there had been anyone who knew Remus Lupin well they would have recognized these gestures as ones born of restless anger, not anxiety.
He had received Dumbledore’s owl yesterday evening while researching how best to rid a local wizarding bookshop of a particularly strong-willed boggart that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. To say that Remus had been surprised by the owl would be a gross understatement. It had been eight years since he’d seen Dumbledore, and only slightly less time than that since they had last communicated.
The subject of the owl was just as shocking as actually receiving it. Other than the basic knowledge that Harry Potter was living safely with his aunt and uncle, Remus knew nothing about the boy all the marauders had once considered their own. He read the owl with steady hands, though his breath had caught in his throat. Dumbledore explained that Harry’s relatives were abusing him, and that the nine-year-old Harry had run away from home after a particularly bad experience involving Vernon Dursley’s sister’s dogs. Dumbledore wanted to bring Harry to Remus for safekeeping, if that was all right with him. Remus had written that yes, of course Harry could come stay with him, and that he was welcome anytime. His reply was written with an even hand, though it’d taken a charm to banish the inkblots from where his quill had strayed.
The kettle was just beginning to whistle when he heard the knock on the door of his flat. He opened the door slowly, hardly believing that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were standing on his doorstep. Somehow he managed a small smile. “Come in,” he said politely, slipping into the role of gracious host.
“Harry, this is Remus Lupin. And I daresay you remember Harry quite well, Remus,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Of course. I met you the day you were born,” Remus said, directing his comment to the scrawny, dark-haired boy. Though Remus remembered that Harry’s eyes were green, he was nevertheless surprised when his gaze was met with Lily’s wide eyes. Remus felt his forced smile relax into something slightly more natural. “Would either of you care for tea?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Dumbledore said. When Remus turned expectantly to Harry he saw the boy give him a small, timid nod.
Soon they were all gathered around Remus’ kitchen table, each with his own mismatched tea cup. Dumbledore had surreptitiously handed Harry a few sweets, which Harry carefully placed in his trouser pockets.
“I told Harry that you went to school with his parents,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, taking a small sip of his tea.
Before Remus could respond he heard Harry ask, “Are you really magic?” Harry looked immediately chagrined and lowered his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, staring into his tea. Remus felt his original anger at the Dursleys return tenfold, but he managed to hide his reaction from the frightened Harry.
“There’s no need to apologize, Harry,” Remus said kindly. “Yes, I’m really magic. I’m a wizard just like your parents were.”
“Harry hasn’t been to Hogwarts yet, but I told him you might have some pictures he could see,” Dumbledore remarked casually, instantly smoothing over the awkward moment.
“Yes, I should have some lying around here somewhere.” It was a lie; Remus knew exactly where the pictures were-in several sealed boxes at the back of his closet. It would be the first time he’d looked at them since the night he’d packed in the aftermath of that Halloween.
A half hour later Dumbledore stood up to take his leave. Remus had pulled him aside and out of Harry’s earshot, asking Dumbledore how long he would be looking after Harry, and reminding him that the full moon was only two weeks away.
“I was hoping you would want to look after Harry until he goes to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said quietly, studying Remus with calm intent. “I understand if you do not want to raise him, but I felt you more than anyone else should have the choice.”
“But-but it isn’t safe-“ Remus started, but Dumbledore interrupted him.
“Arrangements can be made, Remus. It is your decision entirely, but I can assure you Harry will be safe if he stays with you. Now, I’m afraid I must return to Hogwarts, but I’ll drop by next week to check on you and Harry. Please owl me if you need anything.”
Remus nodded his agreement before Dumbledore disapparated with a resounding crack.
~*~
Remus sat cross-legged in the middle of his living room floor next to Harry, old wizarding photographs spread out before them. It was inevitable for the school pictures to have Sirius in them, but he managed to weed out all the pictures that featured them in revealing situations. It was remarkable how dull the old pain felt now; it was Harry’s emotions he was focused on, not his own. It was a relief Remus was entirely unaccustomed to.
“Who’re they?” Harry asked, no longer shy about voicing his questions. Remus pointed out the younger version of the marauders to Harry. “That’s your father there, on the left. I’m the one with the red jumper. And the blonde boy is Peter Pettigrew.”
“What about him?” Harry asked, pointing to the boy between the young images of James and Remus.
“That’s Sirius Black.” If Harry noticed the waver in his voice, he didn’t mention it.
“What happened to Peter?” Harry asked, his wide green eyes blinking behind round glasses.
“He’s dead,” Remus said softly, his eyes lingering on Peter’s young laughing face. “Peter was very brave. He died fighting to protect his friends.”
“What about Sirius?”
“He’s gone too,” Remus said, and left it at that.
Remus tucked Harry into bed later that evening after giving him a cup of hot chocolate. He read Harry the first chapter of Peter Pan, and was surprised when Harry fell asleep almost immediately afterwards.
The next morning, when a bright-eyed Harry offered to help Remus make breakfast, Remus laughed and told him to sit down. “The pancakes will be ready in a minute,” he said, pouring Harry a glass of orange juice. Remus was glad that he’d thought to stock up on food after he’d received Dumbledore’s owl.
“Thanks!” Harry said happily, his short legs swinging underneath the table. Remus magically heightened the chair so Harry would be level with the table, and Harry giggled loudly. “Can I do magic too?” he asked curiously, eyeing Remus’s wand.
“When you go to Hogwarts you can,” Remus said, smiling at his eagerness.
Harry hummed quietly as he watched Remus finish the pancakes. When Remus placed three large pancakes on his plate, he saw Harry’s eyes widen. “Is something wrong, Harry?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.
“Are you sure I can have all these?” Harry asked tentatively, avoiding Remus’s gaze.
“Harry, look at me,” Remus said, not unkindly. When Harry met his gaze he continued firmly, “I don’t know what rules the Dursleys had, but I promise you, none of them apply here. You’re welcome to eat and read and ask questions as much as you’d like.”
“You mean I’m staying here?”
“If you’d like,” Remus said, careful to keep the hope out of his voice.
“That’s good,” Harry said seriously. “I don’t ever want to go back to the Dursleys.”
“You must really hate dogs now,” Remus remarked out loud, handing Harry the bottle of syrup. Inside he was smiling broadly at Harry’s decision; simple happiness was something he hadn’t had much of in recent years.
“Nah,” said Harry, carefully chewing and swallowing his bite of pancake. “Just Ripper. He’s mean. I really like dogs, usually. I had a dream about a nice dog last night.”
“Really?” Remus asked, amused.
“Yeah. A great big black dog. I think he was magic. I don’t remember what his name was, though,” Harry finished, somewhat mournfully.
~*~
5.
Remus Lupin stood with Harry Potter on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place two weeks after he’d seen Harry off at King’s Cross.
“Harry,” Remus said softly, placing his hand on his shoulder comfortingly. Harry looked up at him with wary eyes. “It’s not your fault. No one blames you for his death.”
Harry nodded, his messy black hair emphasizing his unhealthy pallor. The dark circles under his eyes told Remus all he needed to know about Harry’s mental health.
Remus opened his mouth to offer reassurance, but the weight of his own grief kept him from saying anything more. There was only so much someone could say, after a point. Remus knew the silences stitch themselves together eventually.
Remus opened the door and ushered Harry into headquarters, walking behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. Harry looked like an apparition in the gloomy hallways of Grimmauld Place, walking noiselessly and scarcely breathing.
“Harry,” Sirius said as soon as they entered the kitchen. Sirius immediately jumped up from his place at the table and enveloped his godson in a bone-crushing embrace. Sirius’s arms wrapped around Harry so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Harry’s shoulders shook as he buried himself in Sirius’s neck, latching onto Sirius as if his life depended on it. Remus thought maybe it did.
Remus’s heart skipped a beat as Sirius looked past Harry’s shoulders, his solemn grey eyes meeting Remus’s gaze.
Thank Merlin it wasn’t Sirius, Remus’s mind whispered. He was not surprised to find himself unable to summon any guilt for the sentiment. Sirius is the one Harry needs.
~*~
end
~*~
A/N: I speak absolutely no French (I take Spanish! *g*) so I used an online translator for the bit of dialogue in part 2. If you notice it's wrong, please don't hesitate to correct me! :)
ETA: The wonderful nassima was kind enough to correct the French in part 2. Thank you so much!
A/N (2): Just to clarify the last line-- Sirius is the one Harry needs.-- it's meant to be a sort of twist. In the last scene Remus chooses not to raise Harry becaues he doesn't think that Harry needs him, and that it's not his place. I hope that helps clear up any confusion! :)