Fickle Hand of Fate 3/4 - LV/HP SB/Barty
PREVIOUS HERE
OMG I got like 12 hours sleep last night/this morning! It was amazing. I feel amazing! I’ve been living off of 4, 5, or 6 hours sleep a night for weeks, and omg I feel amazing! So here is a new chapter to celebrate how NOT exhausted I feel right now!
* * *
Words: 4,365
Chapter 3/4
Sirius had long ago grown used to the Azkaban guards standing outside of his cell and staring at him. Some of the shouted at him, jeering him and goading him, though he never reacted anymore. Some actually spoke to him, asking after his child, the child he had never known; to those people Sirius would simply stare silently until they left, because after all, how was he supposed to tell them about the child when he knew nothing about him? For all Sirius knew, the boy had grown up never knowing his real parents, never knowing his real name, in an orphanage or home or somewhere. He would be starting his first year of Hogwarts though, Sirius knew, if his new family allowed him to attend.
There was someone outside of his cell again, and the clearing of his throat brought Sirius out of his thoughts. It was the ones who stared at him with smirks on their lips that bothered Sirius the most. Those who were ‘important’, thought they were better than him, and came just to rub that fact into his face. Cornelius Fudge was one of those people.
Lucius Malfoy was too, under normal circumstances. But when Lucius had arrived eleven years ago, he had stared silently through the bars of Sirius’ cell, his hands trembling slightly from the Dementors that hovered nearby. “My wife tells me your family elf visited her.” Lucius waited for a reply. But Sirius said nothing; he didn’t know what Lucius wanted him to say, or do, or confess. “It appears congratulations are in order, though I have no idea how the conception occurred,” Lucius added lowly, looking around the cell for another inmate, the one who would have carried and birthed the child. But Bartemius Jr. had been buried and gone for over two weeks now, and so he wasn’t there for Lucius to stare at.
“Do you know where he is?” Sirius asked his voice raspy and hoarse.
“You did not send him to us.” Lucius accused, his eyes narrowing. “Are we not family, cousin?”
“They took him. They came into the cell and just took him. They didn’t ask his name or our wishes, and they took him. Do you know where he is?” Sirius stood, shakily walking towards the door of his cell and he peered through at Lucius, fingers gripping the bars.
“No. No one has so much as mentioned his existence. I only know because your house elf spotted ‘Cepheus Black’ on the Black family tapestry and told my wife.” Lucius of course didn’t mention that ‘Bartemius Crouch’ had appeared above the child’s name, sewn onto the fabric in pale grey thread, denoting the man as a mistress rather than a spouse. The child was a bastard, but it was still a child of two long lines of Pureblood ancestry, and one who had been forcefully removed from either family’s protection. “If I find him, I will protect him.”
It was more than Sirius had ever expected more than he could contemplate. Lucius Malfoy, protecting a bastard heir. Though, there was no Regulus to father children and Sirius wouldn’t be having any more anytime soon, and so Lucius’ son would seize the Black fortune until Sirius died and Harry inherited everything through his will. Though, of course, Harry was dead.
Sirius stayed silent as the Lucius of his memory drifted out of sight, and he turned his attention back to the present. Fudge was rabbiting on about something; no doubt how much of a disgrace Sirius was, or some other. But now, Sirius’ attention was on the newspaper that Fudge held folded up in his right hand. There was a full family photo of the Weasleys on the front page, and though there were two more children than Sirius remembered there being, there was no mistaking Arthur or Molly. They had won a holiday, Sirius read. In a raffle, and they had brought the whole family along, including their pet rat.
“Peter…” Sirius whispered, staring at the moving photograph of the rat with one claw missing that was curled up calmly on Ronald Weasley’s shoulder. He was a third year Gryffindor, Sirius continued to read, as the Prophet had included a semi-biography of each Weasley. Ron would be in Harry’s year, perhaps even Harry’s dormitory, because of course Harry would be in Gryffindor like his parents.
“Harry!” Sirius suddenly shouted. “Can I have that?” He asked, reaching through the bars to snatch the paper before Fudge could answer him. Harry was alone at Hogwarts with Peter Pettigrew, with no one who knew Peter was alive, and no one to protect him from that Death Eater. Harry had been there for two years already, Sirius thought, and who knows what Peter might have already done to him.
“I need to get to Harry!” Sirius told the Minister. “I need to find Harry Potter…” he trailed off, thinking again about how much he wanted to hurt Wormtail, how desperately he wanted to watch the life leaving Peter’s eyes. “Need to kill him,” he hissed, eyes fixed upon the moving photograph once more. All of the photographed Weasleys slid away from Ron, and Ronald looked rather nervous for a picture, his hand anxiously stroking over Wormtail’s back. “Die,” Sirius muttered, his finger stabbing over Wormtail’s face.
Cornelius Fudge looked alarmed. His face turned a horrible shade of grey and he began to back away from the cell. “He’s crazy,” Fudge whispered to the waiting guards. “He just threatened Harry Potter!”
“Don’t worry! Potter is still with his family, he’s safe. Black will never find him in Surrey!” They all froze for a moment, wondering if Sirius had overheard them, but the prisoner was still focused on his newspaper.
“I heard he was going to Hogwarts this year though,” another Wizard said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Thought he was too sick to go?” The Minister for Magic asked, remembering the excuses Dumbledore had told the world in 1991 when Harry Potter failed to disembark the Hogwarts Express. They had checked the platform for him, the train, Hogsmeade, the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, and the castle grounds, but Harry Potter wasn’t there. He hadn’t gone to Hogwarts for his first year.
“Oh he’s better now. But he’ll be starting in his first year, you know, since he was too ill to be home schooled as well. Poor kid,” the guard added, unaware that Sirius Black was staring avidly at the back of his head, “he’ll be so much older than his classmates.”
It was two weeks later when Sirius’ cell was discovered to be empty. The newspaper was left on the ground, and the part that had been Ron and his pet rat was completely scratched away, leaving only a hole that carried on through several layers of pages. Obviously the Aurors were rather worried. Black was free. He had threatened Harry Potter, and he obviously had some kind of vendetta against Ronald Weasley, and to make matters worse, both boys would be in the same place at the same time for the next school year. But it would be easy to capture Sirius Black at Hogwarts, they all thought.
Though Sirius didn’t go to Hogwarts.
He went to Surrey.
XXX
“Harry!” A woman called, her voice high pitched and angry. “What did you think you were doing?”
A small looking eleven year old warily came into view. His cousin continued to hide behind the sofa, but Harry popped his head up, his hair covering his scarless forehead and his green eyes. They were the wrong shade of green to be Lily’s, but Barty Jr’s mother had eyes that colour and that was likely where Harry had inherited them from. He didn’t know anything about his real parents, except that he had been stolen from them, because honestly what kind of person gives their child up willingly to be passed off as someone elses? He knew he wasn’t the son of Lily and James Potter, and he knew he wasn’t actually thirteen years old either, no matter what the letter from Hogwarts had said.
“I’m sorry, aunt Petunia,” he whispered.
But he did know that these people were his family now, and while his uncle Vernon was sometimes a bit short with him, Harry didn’t mind because he knew they loved him. His cousin was a terrible influence though, always insisting that Harry tagged along on his adventures because Harry didn’t really have many friends of his own, so Dudley’s friends had to suffice. But that usually led to situations like this, where Harry got in trouble and Dudley stayed hidden, content to let his younger cousin take the blame.
“You know I only get angry because I worry about you, Harry!” Petunia said, diving forward to pull him into a hug. She glanced down over the back of the sofa and scowled. “Dudley Dursley get up off of the floor this minute! How on earth do you expect me to take you into Diagon Alley looking like you’ve been rolling in filth, hmm? Or would you rather stay home alone, hmm?”
“Sorry mum,” Dudley muttered, looking rather contrite. He pulled himself up off of the floor, and brushed himself down, blowing fair hair out of his face at the same time. “But it was Harry’s idea!”
“I’m sure it was,” Petunia added with an amused smile, well used to this kind of behaviour and knowing it was her own child that usually started all of the trouble. “But the both of you should know better than to climb up onto the roof!”
“We didn’t climb!” Dudley added excitedly, “Harry magiced us up there. It was awesome.”
“We had to climb down though,” Harry added, shrugging modestly at his aunt’s stunned gaze. He had always found it easy to use magic; it just came to him, whenever he wanted it to do something, something happened, whenever he needed it, it was there at the tip of his fingers waiting to be utilized. He didn’t need a wand to access his magic, but Petunia insisted he should buy one anyway, just for show at School, in case anyone noticed.
But he was the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry thought to himself, so shouldn’t he be more powerful than the average school child?
They called him Harry, but that wasn’t his name. He had turned up on their doorstep in a baby-grow and a basket, with a blanket tucked over him and a shirt tucked beneath his head. The shift’s label had been stitched with the words “B. Crouch” on it, his mother having owned it and kept it under his prison robes for a year. Harry assumed that Crouch was his surname, unless some bleeding heart had donated that shirt to him and then left him lying on a doorstep in the middle of the night. Harry didn’t know what his real name was, but he was the legal heir to the Potter fortune, so he didn’t feel guilty addressing himself as ‘Harry Potter’. He was happy to claim Harry’s family as his own, and Harry’s home, and Harry’s memory, because he had no knowledge of where he had come from so someone else’s past was better than nothing.
But he didn’t want Harry’s legacy.
Someone else could be the saviour of the Wizarding World. While Harry enjoyed the extra power that he obviously had, he had no desire to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. From what Harry knew of him, what he had read in books that his aunt had mail ordered for him, Voldemort seemed absolutely brilliant.
XXX
Harry had noticed the large black dog that was stalking him two days after Sirius had found him. At first, Padfoot had hidden behind trees and bushes whenever Harry turned around, but eventually he had just sat still, watching and waiting for Harry to scream or attack him, because someone must have warned Harry Potter about the murderer that was after him. But Harry had merely smiled at him, his own head tilted to one side as his tongue flicked out to lick the edge of his mouth.
“Well aren’t you an unusual dog,” Harry whispered. “You look hungry, but I don’t have any food on me. You can follow me home if you like though; I’m heading that way now and dinner should be ready soon.” Sirius stood, pushing himself up with his back legs and waited for Harry to lead the way.
By the time Harry was ready to leave for Hogwarts, Sirius had finally realized that this wasn’t Harry Potter. He was too young to be Harry Potter. His hair was too curly to have been inherited from James, whose hair was a wild mess, yes, but a straight one. Harry practically had ringlets, much in the same fashion as Regulus used to have. And his eyes were a strange mix of Barty Sr. and his wife’s eyes: a lovely shade of green, but so unlike Lily’s that Sirius wasn’t sure how anyone could mistake this child for Harry.
He might have been mistaken, there was that possibility, but Sirius knew deep within his heart that he had finally found Cepheus. He had found his son. His son was safe and happy and loved, and was about to head off to Hogwarts with Sirius the Grim as his familiar (even though his uncle had bought a snowy white owl to be Harry’s pet). At last he had been reunited with his son, even if Cepheus didn’t know that yet, but this knowledge made something within Sirius die, even as his heart felt lighter than it had in eleven years.
If Cepheus was here, where was Harry?
XXX
The Hogwarts Express was a beautiful sight, Harry thought to himself. His family were hovering at his back, eyes wide and awed, and Padfoot (who Harry had fondly nicknamed Crouch in honour of his perhaps real family) waited patiently at his side. Hedwig was in her cage and his uncle had hold of her. Harry had shrunken his trunk and tucked it into his trouser pocket, because he couldn’t see the point of dragging it around behind him when he could just make it smaller and lighter and easier to transport.
There were so many people gathered around, hugging and kissing goodbye or standing and nodding at one another. Purebloods, half-bloods, Mudbloods: so many different kinds of people, Harry thought. A girl with frizzy hair and Gryffindor robes rushed by him, two Muggles awkwardly making their way after her. She was a Muggleborn, Harry thought, knowing just by the look of her and the way she acted. The Purebloods stood silent and still, proud of who they were and knowing they were better than everyone else. Harry wanted to be like them, composed and in control, and powerful even though he already was that, he wanted it to be known. He wanted it to be known that he was better than all the rest, he was special, important.
He had bought the holly and phoenix feather wand that should have belonged to Harry Potter. He wasn’t a Horcrux; he didn’t contain a part of the Dark Lord’s soul within him, linking and binding them both together. But rather, he was the Dark Lord’s equal, the other prophesised child, and having the brother wand of Lord Voldemort meant he was stronger than all of the others, if not better. But he could learn to be, Harry thought, he could learn to be better, he could study hard, practise well, and become great, just like Ollivander had said. He would do great things. He already knew more curses and spells than the rest of his year mates did, and he could cast them wandlessly. It wouldn’t be much work to outstrip the second and third years, he told himself, nodding goodbye to his family as regally as he could manage, while taking Hedwig from his uncle’s grasp.
He bumped into a blonde boy just as he was nearing the carriage he had picked. Both looked at each other warily, eyes flicking up and down the others’ person.
“Is that a Grim?” The blonde exclaimed, looking horrified.
“Actually, he’s a Labrador cross. We had the vet check.” The Dursleys had done no such thing, and yes Sirius was a Grim and Harry knew that, but he wasn’t about to tell people that and risk them locking his familiar up or putting him down.
“Who’s we?” The blonde asked spitefully, “your Muggle mummy and daddy? Are you a Mudblood?” He chuckled; obviously quite pleased with the insults he had come up with.
Harry sighed, his tongue flicking out to wet the corner of his lips. Lucius and Narcissa watched the interaction; Lucius recognizing the Grim at the boy’s side and Narcissa recognizing Lily’s Muggle sister from Severus’ description, and yet this boy wasn’t Harry Potter. He did not look nothing like James, nor did he have the lightning bolt scar that the Aurors had claimed was given to him by Voldemort’s curse.
“Actually,” Harry said, smirking widely, “I’m Lord Voldemort. I took possession of Potter’s body after I killed his filthy Mudblood mother, and now I exist once more, stronger than ever, more secure in my power. Won’t you bow to your master, child?” The wand was pressed to Draco’s cheek and the child’s grey eyes had grown wide with fear.
“He’s teasing you,” Petunia said, striding forward hurriedly to push Harry’s arm down. “Stop it, now, before someone takes you seriously.” Harry went to open his mouth again, but Petunia knew what he was about to do and covered it with her hand.
There had once been three brothers. All three of them had descended from Salazar Slytherin. One of them had continued to interbreed, until eventually the Gaunts bred themselves out of existence with the exception of the half-blood Tom Riddle. Another descended from Ignotus, that line ending with the death of Harry Potter. But the last, the middle brother, he had been a Black.
“No hissing,” Petunia hissed in his ear. “Not around all of these people.” While Petunia didn’t know where the ability to speak Parseltongue had come from, she did know, from what Lily had told her of her world that it was looked down upon. The only other known Wizard to speak it had been Lord Voldemort himself. “No hissing.”
“No hissing,” Harry agreed softly, looking a little ashamed of himself. “And I’m sorry for talking about your sister like that.”
Draco swallowed heavily as he watched. Sirius waited tensely at Harry’s side as Lucius came forward. He had recognized the Grim and he had recognized the tell, that of Harry licking the corner of his mouth while nervous: Barty Jr. had often done the same while he waited out the Death Eater meetings. This boy was not Harry Potter; he was not Sirius’ godson, so he could only be one other person to have the man risk the Dementors Kiss by keeping so close to him.
“Draco,” Lucius chided, his hand falling on his son’s shoulder, “Cepheus, do try to get along. After all, you are cousins.” And then he steered his son back towards the train, just as the whistle blew. Lucius didn’t know if Harry knew, but at least it would give the boy something to think about.
XXX
Remus wasn’t sure what to think of the boy. He was nothing like Remus had thought he would be. He actually reminded the Werewolf more of Severus Snape than he did either Lily or James. Harry had started in his first year, despite being thirteen years old, and the Gryffindors seemed to hate him, but strangely enough the Slytherins seemed to fear him, more than likely due to Draco Malfoy’s obsession with staying at far from the other boy as possible. They shared a common room and their dormitories were close by, but Draco had forced his father to petition the Board of Governors to move the third year dorm further away, or so Severus had told him, just so he wouldn’t have to sleep near Harry.
Like Severus, Harry was avoided by his housemates and his year mates. He knew more spells than he should have, and worryingly the majority of them were Dark spells. But fortunately, Snape seemed to have taken Harry under his wing, finding the child too much like himself to continue considering him the spoilt progeny of the dead James Potter. They spoke sometimes, at night alone in Severus’ office, and Harry knew that he had once been a Death Eater but never told another soul. Other times, Severus took him out to the Forest on ‘detention’ and taught him magic, the kind they didn’t teach at Hogwarts.
And yet, Harry had never once come to visit Remus, no matter how many times Remus had invited him. Not even when Remus had confided what he was friends with Harry’s parents. He just didn’t seem interested, until Remus mentioned that he also knew Sirius Black. Harry had asked about him after class a lot, waiting until the rest of the first years left, and turning to hear what Remus would tell him. Remus had made the mistake of denouncing Sirius one time, and Harry had walked out of the room and avoided Defence Against the Dark Arts for almost a month.
It was late May by the time Remus decided he had had enough. The Weasley Twins may have stolen Sirius’ copy of the Marauders Map from Filch (and later been Imperioed into giving it to Harry, though no one knew that) but Remus still had his own copy. He had sent a letter to Gringotts, where he owned one very small vault that held little money but many items that were precious to him. They had mailed the map back.
Remus had opened it, whispered, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good”, and waited. There he was, Harry Potter; his footsteps out by the shrieking shack, pacing back and forth and then stilling, and beside him, Remus realized with a jolt of fear and confusion was Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
Unfortunately for Sirius, Remus arrived at the shrieking shack just in time to cause a distraction and allow Peter to escape. The tip of Harry’s wand glowed green, the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue, but then he calmed, staring at his professor in his usual aloof manner. “Am I to be given detention now? Because if so I’d rather it be with Professor Snape, than you, Lupin, no offence.”
Sirius didn’t like how his son was friends with Snape. And he didn’t like how Dark the boy appeared to be. But Cepheus was still his son, and he had missed too much of his life to miss out on more now because of his own fears and beliefs regarding the Dark Arts. The Blacks had always been a Dark family until Sirius himself arrived, and Harry’s other father was a Death Eater, and proudly so. Sirius should have expected this to happen. But it didn’t matter, he thought, reaching out and gripping his son’s shoulder.
“Remus, I’d like to introduce you to Cepheus Bartemius Black, my son. He was born in Azkaban.”
Remus slid down the wall slowly, his heart racing and his mind numb as his legs gave out. He crouched on the floor, unable to believe this. Sirius had been in the castle the whole time. How had he not recognized Padfoot? Had he just not wanted to, or had he wanted to believe Harry when the boy promised he owned a Muggle dog? How could he have not realized this wasn’t Harry Potter? Everyone else seemed to have, even Snape, who was originally so blinded by his prejudices and his hatred. No one spoke of it, of course, but no one of the teachers except Remus had really believed this was Harry Potter.
“Where’s Harry?” Remus whispered.
“Dead,” Sirius told him calmly. He had found out around Yule, and had had time to mourn and come to terms with the death of another little boy he had never gotten the chance to watch grow up. “He died the night Voldemort attacked,” Sirius added, though he didn’t say whether Voldemort had killed him or not because he didn’t know.
Remus looked at Harry, at Cepheus even, and Cepheus stared back silently. His tongue flicked out, and licked at the edge of his mouth once just before a smirk curved up the edges of his lips. “I would appreciate, Professor, if you kept this information to yourself. I am disliked enough as it is by my classmates without them knowing I am the son of a Death Eater and of an apparent mass murderer.”
“Apparently?” Remus whispered. “You didn’t do it?”
“Trust a Gryffindor to only hear what they want to hear,” Harry muttered to himself, slinking away from them as Sirius began to explain how he was framed and how Cepheus’ conception came to be.
Harry watched them silently, wondering what this would mean for himself. His father was growing used to his tendencies now, but would re-friending a Gryffindor pull Sirius Black back towards the Light? “Hopefully not,” he said to himself, going unheard by the adult Wizards. He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket, glancing at it quickly before tucking it away. Lucius Malfoy had invited him to the Quidditch World Cup final this summer with his own family. But Harry glanced at Sirius, and Remus, and then thought about his aunt and wondered if the invitation extended to his family too?
Imagine, the stir it would cause, showing up at an International and political event with a family of Muggles in tow. Harry grinned to himself, chuckling lightly, and decided against it. Despite how amusing it might have been, Lucius’ letter had left him with the feeling that something bad (or good depending on your point of view) would happen at the match, and Harry didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of those that had raised him, even if they were only Muggles.
XXX
* * *
Only one more chapter to go! We finally get to meet Barty again, and Voldemort too, so see you then. Let me know what you think of this chapter! I could not find a decent way to end it, so I hope it’s ok the way it is.
Words: 4,973
Chapter 4/4
LAST CHAPTER HERE
OMG I got like 12 hours sleep last night/this morning! It was amazing. I feel amazing! I’ve been living off of 4, 5, or 6 hours sleep a night for weeks, and omg I feel amazing! So here is a new chapter to celebrate how NOT exhausted I feel right now!
* * *
Words: 4,365
Chapter 3/4
Sirius had long ago grown used to the Azkaban guards standing outside of his cell and staring at him. Some of the shouted at him, jeering him and goading him, though he never reacted anymore. Some actually spoke to him, asking after his child, the child he had never known; to those people Sirius would simply stare silently until they left, because after all, how was he supposed to tell them about the child when he knew nothing about him? For all Sirius knew, the boy had grown up never knowing his real parents, never knowing his real name, in an orphanage or home or somewhere. He would be starting his first year of Hogwarts though, Sirius knew, if his new family allowed him to attend.
There was someone outside of his cell again, and the clearing of his throat brought Sirius out of his thoughts. It was the ones who stared at him with smirks on their lips that bothered Sirius the most. Those who were ‘important’, thought they were better than him, and came just to rub that fact into his face. Cornelius Fudge was one of those people.
Lucius Malfoy was too, under normal circumstances. But when Lucius had arrived eleven years ago, he had stared silently through the bars of Sirius’ cell, his hands trembling slightly from the Dementors that hovered nearby. “My wife tells me your family elf visited her.” Lucius waited for a reply. But Sirius said nothing; he didn’t know what Lucius wanted him to say, or do, or confess. “It appears congratulations are in order, though I have no idea how the conception occurred,” Lucius added lowly, looking around the cell for another inmate, the one who would have carried and birthed the child. But Bartemius Jr. had been buried and gone for over two weeks now, and so he wasn’t there for Lucius to stare at.
“Do you know where he is?” Sirius asked his voice raspy and hoarse.
“You did not send him to us.” Lucius accused, his eyes narrowing. “Are we not family, cousin?”
“They took him. They came into the cell and just took him. They didn’t ask his name or our wishes, and they took him. Do you know where he is?” Sirius stood, shakily walking towards the door of his cell and he peered through at Lucius, fingers gripping the bars.
“No. No one has so much as mentioned his existence. I only know because your house elf spotted ‘Cepheus Black’ on the Black family tapestry and told my wife.” Lucius of course didn’t mention that ‘Bartemius Crouch’ had appeared above the child’s name, sewn onto the fabric in pale grey thread, denoting the man as a mistress rather than a spouse. The child was a bastard, but it was still a child of two long lines of Pureblood ancestry, and one who had been forcefully removed from either family’s protection. “If I find him, I will protect him.”
It was more than Sirius had ever expected more than he could contemplate. Lucius Malfoy, protecting a bastard heir. Though, there was no Regulus to father children and Sirius wouldn’t be having any more anytime soon, and so Lucius’ son would seize the Black fortune until Sirius died and Harry inherited everything through his will. Though, of course, Harry was dead.
Sirius stayed silent as the Lucius of his memory drifted out of sight, and he turned his attention back to the present. Fudge was rabbiting on about something; no doubt how much of a disgrace Sirius was, or some other. But now, Sirius’ attention was on the newspaper that Fudge held folded up in his right hand. There was a full family photo of the Weasleys on the front page, and though there were two more children than Sirius remembered there being, there was no mistaking Arthur or Molly. They had won a holiday, Sirius read. In a raffle, and they had brought the whole family along, including their pet rat.
“Peter…” Sirius whispered, staring at the moving photograph of the rat with one claw missing that was curled up calmly on Ronald Weasley’s shoulder. He was a third year Gryffindor, Sirius continued to read, as the Prophet had included a semi-biography of each Weasley. Ron would be in Harry’s year, perhaps even Harry’s dormitory, because of course Harry would be in Gryffindor like his parents.
“Harry!” Sirius suddenly shouted. “Can I have that?” He asked, reaching through the bars to snatch the paper before Fudge could answer him. Harry was alone at Hogwarts with Peter Pettigrew, with no one who knew Peter was alive, and no one to protect him from that Death Eater. Harry had been there for two years already, Sirius thought, and who knows what Peter might have already done to him.
“I need to get to Harry!” Sirius told the Minister. “I need to find Harry Potter…” he trailed off, thinking again about how much he wanted to hurt Wormtail, how desperately he wanted to watch the life leaving Peter’s eyes. “Need to kill him,” he hissed, eyes fixed upon the moving photograph once more. All of the photographed Weasleys slid away from Ron, and Ronald looked rather nervous for a picture, his hand anxiously stroking over Wormtail’s back. “Die,” Sirius muttered, his finger stabbing over Wormtail’s face.
Cornelius Fudge looked alarmed. His face turned a horrible shade of grey and he began to back away from the cell. “He’s crazy,” Fudge whispered to the waiting guards. “He just threatened Harry Potter!”
“Don’t worry! Potter is still with his family, he’s safe. Black will never find him in Surrey!” They all froze for a moment, wondering if Sirius had overheard them, but the prisoner was still focused on his newspaper.
“I heard he was going to Hogwarts this year though,” another Wizard said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Thought he was too sick to go?” The Minister for Magic asked, remembering the excuses Dumbledore had told the world in 1991 when Harry Potter failed to disembark the Hogwarts Express. They had checked the platform for him, the train, Hogsmeade, the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, and the castle grounds, but Harry Potter wasn’t there. He hadn’t gone to Hogwarts for his first year.
“Oh he’s better now. But he’ll be starting in his first year, you know, since he was too ill to be home schooled as well. Poor kid,” the guard added, unaware that Sirius Black was staring avidly at the back of his head, “he’ll be so much older than his classmates.”
It was two weeks later when Sirius’ cell was discovered to be empty. The newspaper was left on the ground, and the part that had been Ron and his pet rat was completely scratched away, leaving only a hole that carried on through several layers of pages. Obviously the Aurors were rather worried. Black was free. He had threatened Harry Potter, and he obviously had some kind of vendetta against Ronald Weasley, and to make matters worse, both boys would be in the same place at the same time for the next school year. But it would be easy to capture Sirius Black at Hogwarts, they all thought.
Though Sirius didn’t go to Hogwarts.
He went to Surrey.
XXX
“Harry!” A woman called, her voice high pitched and angry. “What did you think you were doing?”
A small looking eleven year old warily came into view. His cousin continued to hide behind the sofa, but Harry popped his head up, his hair covering his scarless forehead and his green eyes. They were the wrong shade of green to be Lily’s, but Barty Jr’s mother had eyes that colour and that was likely where Harry had inherited them from. He didn’t know anything about his real parents, except that he had been stolen from them, because honestly what kind of person gives their child up willingly to be passed off as someone elses? He knew he wasn’t the son of Lily and James Potter, and he knew he wasn’t actually thirteen years old either, no matter what the letter from Hogwarts had said.
“I’m sorry, aunt Petunia,” he whispered.
But he did know that these people were his family now, and while his uncle Vernon was sometimes a bit short with him, Harry didn’t mind because he knew they loved him. His cousin was a terrible influence though, always insisting that Harry tagged along on his adventures because Harry didn’t really have many friends of his own, so Dudley’s friends had to suffice. But that usually led to situations like this, where Harry got in trouble and Dudley stayed hidden, content to let his younger cousin take the blame.
“You know I only get angry because I worry about you, Harry!” Petunia said, diving forward to pull him into a hug. She glanced down over the back of the sofa and scowled. “Dudley Dursley get up off of the floor this minute! How on earth do you expect me to take you into Diagon Alley looking like you’ve been rolling in filth, hmm? Or would you rather stay home alone, hmm?”
“Sorry mum,” Dudley muttered, looking rather contrite. He pulled himself up off of the floor, and brushed himself down, blowing fair hair out of his face at the same time. “But it was Harry’s idea!”
“I’m sure it was,” Petunia added with an amused smile, well used to this kind of behaviour and knowing it was her own child that usually started all of the trouble. “But the both of you should know better than to climb up onto the roof!”
“We didn’t climb!” Dudley added excitedly, “Harry magiced us up there. It was awesome.”
“We had to climb down though,” Harry added, shrugging modestly at his aunt’s stunned gaze. He had always found it easy to use magic; it just came to him, whenever he wanted it to do something, something happened, whenever he needed it, it was there at the tip of his fingers waiting to be utilized. He didn’t need a wand to access his magic, but Petunia insisted he should buy one anyway, just for show at School, in case anyone noticed.
But he was the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry thought to himself, so shouldn’t he be more powerful than the average school child?
They called him Harry, but that wasn’t his name. He had turned up on their doorstep in a baby-grow and a basket, with a blanket tucked over him and a shirt tucked beneath his head. The shift’s label had been stitched with the words “B. Crouch” on it, his mother having owned it and kept it under his prison robes for a year. Harry assumed that Crouch was his surname, unless some bleeding heart had donated that shirt to him and then left him lying on a doorstep in the middle of the night. Harry didn’t know what his real name was, but he was the legal heir to the Potter fortune, so he didn’t feel guilty addressing himself as ‘Harry Potter’. He was happy to claim Harry’s family as his own, and Harry’s home, and Harry’s memory, because he had no knowledge of where he had come from so someone else’s past was better than nothing.
But he didn’t want Harry’s legacy.
Someone else could be the saviour of the Wizarding World. While Harry enjoyed the extra power that he obviously had, he had no desire to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort. From what Harry knew of him, what he had read in books that his aunt had mail ordered for him, Voldemort seemed absolutely brilliant.
XXX
Harry had noticed the large black dog that was stalking him two days after Sirius had found him. At first, Padfoot had hidden behind trees and bushes whenever Harry turned around, but eventually he had just sat still, watching and waiting for Harry to scream or attack him, because someone must have warned Harry Potter about the murderer that was after him. But Harry had merely smiled at him, his own head tilted to one side as his tongue flicked out to lick the edge of his mouth.
“Well aren’t you an unusual dog,” Harry whispered. “You look hungry, but I don’t have any food on me. You can follow me home if you like though; I’m heading that way now and dinner should be ready soon.” Sirius stood, pushing himself up with his back legs and waited for Harry to lead the way.
By the time Harry was ready to leave for Hogwarts, Sirius had finally realized that this wasn’t Harry Potter. He was too young to be Harry Potter. His hair was too curly to have been inherited from James, whose hair was a wild mess, yes, but a straight one. Harry practically had ringlets, much in the same fashion as Regulus used to have. And his eyes were a strange mix of Barty Sr. and his wife’s eyes: a lovely shade of green, but so unlike Lily’s that Sirius wasn’t sure how anyone could mistake this child for Harry.
He might have been mistaken, there was that possibility, but Sirius knew deep within his heart that he had finally found Cepheus. He had found his son. His son was safe and happy and loved, and was about to head off to Hogwarts with Sirius the Grim as his familiar (even though his uncle had bought a snowy white owl to be Harry’s pet). At last he had been reunited with his son, even if Cepheus didn’t know that yet, but this knowledge made something within Sirius die, even as his heart felt lighter than it had in eleven years.
If Cepheus was here, where was Harry?
XXX
The Hogwarts Express was a beautiful sight, Harry thought to himself. His family were hovering at his back, eyes wide and awed, and Padfoot (who Harry had fondly nicknamed Crouch in honour of his perhaps real family) waited patiently at his side. Hedwig was in her cage and his uncle had hold of her. Harry had shrunken his trunk and tucked it into his trouser pocket, because he couldn’t see the point of dragging it around behind him when he could just make it smaller and lighter and easier to transport.
There were so many people gathered around, hugging and kissing goodbye or standing and nodding at one another. Purebloods, half-bloods, Mudbloods: so many different kinds of people, Harry thought. A girl with frizzy hair and Gryffindor robes rushed by him, two Muggles awkwardly making their way after her. She was a Muggleborn, Harry thought, knowing just by the look of her and the way she acted. The Purebloods stood silent and still, proud of who they were and knowing they were better than everyone else. Harry wanted to be like them, composed and in control, and powerful even though he already was that, he wanted it to be known. He wanted it to be known that he was better than all the rest, he was special, important.
He had bought the holly and phoenix feather wand that should have belonged to Harry Potter. He wasn’t a Horcrux; he didn’t contain a part of the Dark Lord’s soul within him, linking and binding them both together. But rather, he was the Dark Lord’s equal, the other prophesised child, and having the brother wand of Lord Voldemort meant he was stronger than all of the others, if not better. But he could learn to be, Harry thought, he could learn to be better, he could study hard, practise well, and become great, just like Ollivander had said. He would do great things. He already knew more curses and spells than the rest of his year mates did, and he could cast them wandlessly. It wouldn’t be much work to outstrip the second and third years, he told himself, nodding goodbye to his family as regally as he could manage, while taking Hedwig from his uncle’s grasp.
He bumped into a blonde boy just as he was nearing the carriage he had picked. Both looked at each other warily, eyes flicking up and down the others’ person.
“Is that a Grim?” The blonde exclaimed, looking horrified.
“Actually, he’s a Labrador cross. We had the vet check.” The Dursleys had done no such thing, and yes Sirius was a Grim and Harry knew that, but he wasn’t about to tell people that and risk them locking his familiar up or putting him down.
“Who’s we?” The blonde asked spitefully, “your Muggle mummy and daddy? Are you a Mudblood?” He chuckled; obviously quite pleased with the insults he had come up with.
Harry sighed, his tongue flicking out to wet the corner of his lips. Lucius and Narcissa watched the interaction; Lucius recognizing the Grim at the boy’s side and Narcissa recognizing Lily’s Muggle sister from Severus’ description, and yet this boy wasn’t Harry Potter. He did not look nothing like James, nor did he have the lightning bolt scar that the Aurors had claimed was given to him by Voldemort’s curse.
“Actually,” Harry said, smirking widely, “I’m Lord Voldemort. I took possession of Potter’s body after I killed his filthy Mudblood mother, and now I exist once more, stronger than ever, more secure in my power. Won’t you bow to your master, child?” The wand was pressed to Draco’s cheek and the child’s grey eyes had grown wide with fear.
“He’s teasing you,” Petunia said, striding forward hurriedly to push Harry’s arm down. “Stop it, now, before someone takes you seriously.” Harry went to open his mouth again, but Petunia knew what he was about to do and covered it with her hand.
There had once been three brothers. All three of them had descended from Salazar Slytherin. One of them had continued to interbreed, until eventually the Gaunts bred themselves out of existence with the exception of the half-blood Tom Riddle. Another descended from Ignotus, that line ending with the death of Harry Potter. But the last, the middle brother, he had been a Black.
“No hissing,” Petunia hissed in his ear. “Not around all of these people.” While Petunia didn’t know where the ability to speak Parseltongue had come from, she did know, from what Lily had told her of her world that it was looked down upon. The only other known Wizard to speak it had been Lord Voldemort himself. “No hissing.”
“No hissing,” Harry agreed softly, looking a little ashamed of himself. “And I’m sorry for talking about your sister like that.”
Draco swallowed heavily as he watched. Sirius waited tensely at Harry’s side as Lucius came forward. He had recognized the Grim and he had recognized the tell, that of Harry licking the corner of his mouth while nervous: Barty Jr. had often done the same while he waited out the Death Eater meetings. This boy was not Harry Potter; he was not Sirius’ godson, so he could only be one other person to have the man risk the Dementors Kiss by keeping so close to him.
“Draco,” Lucius chided, his hand falling on his son’s shoulder, “Cepheus, do try to get along. After all, you are cousins.” And then he steered his son back towards the train, just as the whistle blew. Lucius didn’t know if Harry knew, but at least it would give the boy something to think about.
XXX
Remus wasn’t sure what to think of the boy. He was nothing like Remus had thought he would be. He actually reminded the Werewolf more of Severus Snape than he did either Lily or James. Harry had started in his first year, despite being thirteen years old, and the Gryffindors seemed to hate him, but strangely enough the Slytherins seemed to fear him, more than likely due to Draco Malfoy’s obsession with staying at far from the other boy as possible. They shared a common room and their dormitories were close by, but Draco had forced his father to petition the Board of Governors to move the third year dorm further away, or so Severus had told him, just so he wouldn’t have to sleep near Harry.
Like Severus, Harry was avoided by his housemates and his year mates. He knew more spells than he should have, and worryingly the majority of them were Dark spells. But fortunately, Snape seemed to have taken Harry under his wing, finding the child too much like himself to continue considering him the spoilt progeny of the dead James Potter. They spoke sometimes, at night alone in Severus’ office, and Harry knew that he had once been a Death Eater but never told another soul. Other times, Severus took him out to the Forest on ‘detention’ and taught him magic, the kind they didn’t teach at Hogwarts.
And yet, Harry had never once come to visit Remus, no matter how many times Remus had invited him. Not even when Remus had confided what he was friends with Harry’s parents. He just didn’t seem interested, until Remus mentioned that he also knew Sirius Black. Harry had asked about him after class a lot, waiting until the rest of the first years left, and turning to hear what Remus would tell him. Remus had made the mistake of denouncing Sirius one time, and Harry had walked out of the room and avoided Defence Against the Dark Arts for almost a month.
It was late May by the time Remus decided he had had enough. The Weasley Twins may have stolen Sirius’ copy of the Marauders Map from Filch (and later been Imperioed into giving it to Harry, though no one knew that) but Remus still had his own copy. He had sent a letter to Gringotts, where he owned one very small vault that held little money but many items that were precious to him. They had mailed the map back.
Remus had opened it, whispered, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good”, and waited. There he was, Harry Potter; his footsteps out by the shrieking shack, pacing back and forth and then stilling, and beside him, Remus realized with a jolt of fear and confusion was Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
Unfortunately for Sirius, Remus arrived at the shrieking shack just in time to cause a distraction and allow Peter to escape. The tip of Harry’s wand glowed green, the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue, but then he calmed, staring at his professor in his usual aloof manner. “Am I to be given detention now? Because if so I’d rather it be with Professor Snape, than you, Lupin, no offence.”
Sirius didn’t like how his son was friends with Snape. And he didn’t like how Dark the boy appeared to be. But Cepheus was still his son, and he had missed too much of his life to miss out on more now because of his own fears and beliefs regarding the Dark Arts. The Blacks had always been a Dark family until Sirius himself arrived, and Harry’s other father was a Death Eater, and proudly so. Sirius should have expected this to happen. But it didn’t matter, he thought, reaching out and gripping his son’s shoulder.
“Remus, I’d like to introduce you to Cepheus Bartemius Black, my son. He was born in Azkaban.”
Remus slid down the wall slowly, his heart racing and his mind numb as his legs gave out. He crouched on the floor, unable to believe this. Sirius had been in the castle the whole time. How had he not recognized Padfoot? Had he just not wanted to, or had he wanted to believe Harry when the boy promised he owned a Muggle dog? How could he have not realized this wasn’t Harry Potter? Everyone else seemed to have, even Snape, who was originally so blinded by his prejudices and his hatred. No one spoke of it, of course, but no one of the teachers except Remus had really believed this was Harry Potter.
“Where’s Harry?” Remus whispered.
“Dead,” Sirius told him calmly. He had found out around Yule, and had had time to mourn and come to terms with the death of another little boy he had never gotten the chance to watch grow up. “He died the night Voldemort attacked,” Sirius added, though he didn’t say whether Voldemort had killed him or not because he didn’t know.
Remus looked at Harry, at Cepheus even, and Cepheus stared back silently. His tongue flicked out, and licked at the edge of his mouth once just before a smirk curved up the edges of his lips. “I would appreciate, Professor, if you kept this information to yourself. I am disliked enough as it is by my classmates without them knowing I am the son of a Death Eater and of an apparent mass murderer.”
“Apparently?” Remus whispered. “You didn’t do it?”
“Trust a Gryffindor to only hear what they want to hear,” Harry muttered to himself, slinking away from them as Sirius began to explain how he was framed and how Cepheus’ conception came to be.
Harry watched them silently, wondering what this would mean for himself. His father was growing used to his tendencies now, but would re-friending a Gryffindor pull Sirius Black back towards the Light? “Hopefully not,” he said to himself, going unheard by the adult Wizards. He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket, glancing at it quickly before tucking it away. Lucius Malfoy had invited him to the Quidditch World Cup final this summer with his own family. But Harry glanced at Sirius, and Remus, and then thought about his aunt and wondered if the invitation extended to his family too?
Imagine, the stir it would cause, showing up at an International and political event with a family of Muggles in tow. Harry grinned to himself, chuckling lightly, and decided against it. Despite how amusing it might have been, Lucius’ letter had left him with the feeling that something bad (or good depending on your point of view) would happen at the match, and Harry didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of those that had raised him, even if they were only Muggles.
XXX
* * *
Only one more chapter to go! We finally get to meet Barty again, and Voldemort too, so see you then. Let me know what you think of this chapter! I could not find a decent way to end it, so I hope it’s ok the way it is.
Words: 4,973
Chapter 4/4
LAST CHAPTER HERE