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Are you afraid?
However could you not be?
In this rosy light
This is strange
I feel a hand come through the mirror
Pointing at the light
Sirius stumbles into the doorway; eyes fixed on his worst nightmare.
James.
Prongs.
Jamie.
Dead, and still, brown eyes wide open, lying discarded by the front door as if he is just as unimportant as the shoes strewn haphazardly next to where his head rests on the floor.
As if he wasn’t Sirius’ whole goddamn world.
He has no idea how long he stands there. Staring. Trying to absorb the fact that his world has just gotten a whole lot smaller.
But then the cry of a toddler pierces the night and Sirius lurches into motion.
Harry.
With a silent sob, he edges around the cooled corpse of his best friend, and hurries quietly up the stairs, wand drawn.
Voldemort might yet be here, if Harry is still alive.
Heart pounding, Sirius creeps down the hall, toward the nursery door. It has, much like the front door, been blown off its hinges. The roof is also gone for some reason.
He holds his breath when he hears Harry’s cries go quiet with someone gently shushing.
He peeks inside the room. He covers his mouth with a hand to silence the sob at the sight of Lily on the debris-strewn floor, vibrant red hair fanned out, covering her face from view.
There is a man leaning over the miraculously intact crib, picking Harry up.
Before Sirius has time to launch a spell at his back, the man turns around, Harry cradled lovingly albeit a bit awkwardly in his arms.
Sirius gasps.
“Jamie?”
The man startles, and suddenly points a wand at him, Harry easily shuffled into a one-armed hold.
Sirius lurches inside the room, drawn like a moth to a flame.
It can’t be, he just saw James’ body downstairs, but –
…no.
His heart sinks.
Whoever this man is, it isn’t James.
But it also isn’t Voldemort.
“…Sirius?” the man breathes.
Sirius blinks. He minutely adjusts the grip on his raised wand.
Harry makes a soft, snuffling sound, sticking his small fist inside his mouth.
Sirius’ gaze is briefly drawn to his godson, brow furrowing at a strange new scar on Harry’s forehead, before snapping back to the stranger holding him.
“Who are you?” he demands, shifting into a defensive posture.
There is no way he’ll be able to get a spell off without hurting Harry as well. His mind races with conflicting scenarios, with ideas on how to get Harry unhurt out of here, but it all hinges upon what the stranger does next.
The stranger, quite against any of Sirius’ expectations, lowers his wand.
Merlin, but he looks like James. The same chaotically messy hair and round, wire-framed glasses.
Except… his face is softer, somehow. Less aristocratic, but no less handsome.
And his eyes are a startling, vivid green.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says, voice grim.
Sirius doesn’t lower his wand. “Try me.”
The man sighs and nods. “I’m Harry Potter. Er… the elder, I suppose.”
Sirius blinks.
And then he blinks again.
“Pull the other one.”
“Told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”
Sirius shakes his head. He swallows. “No way.”
The stranger opens his mouth to speak, but a sudden booming cry of grief resounds from downstairs.
They both startle, but while Sirius remains on edge, the stranger relaxes.
“That’ll be Hagrid, I expect,” he sighs. He straightens, carefully adjusting his hold on Harry, whose eyes are beginning to droop, head resting comfortably against the stranger’s shoulder. “He’s here to bring little Harry to Dumbledore.”
Sirius growls. “No.”
“I agree. I’d much prefer it if you took him.”
There comes the sound of loud, heavy steps moving up the stairs.
Sirius darts a glance around the corner, reluctantly taking his eyes off the stranger for a moment. It is indeed Rubeus Hagrid’s scraggly hair he catches sight of as his head pops into Sirius’s sightline at the top of the stairs.
“Sirius!” Hagrid exclaims.
“Hagrid? What are you doing here?” Sirius calls over his shoulder, turning his attention back to the stranger. He hasn’t moved.
“Dumbledore sen’ me. ‘Ere ter bring young Harry to ‘is relatives.”
The stranger flashes a sorrowful grin. Told you, he mouths.
Sirius swallows convulsively, eyes widening.
…could it really be true?
He takes an involuntary step closer, eyes darting across the stranger’s face, soaking up every minute detail, including a pale scar on his forehead, then comparing it all to the toddler in the man’s arms.
To James and Lily.
“…Harry,” Sirius breathes, eyes watering.
“Hiya, Padfoot,” Harry whispers. His eyes are also curiously wet.
“Sirius?” Hagrid calls. “Think ye can bring Harry o’er here? I can’t fit.”
Sirius startles, having quite forgotten about Hagrid in the revelation that some future version of his godson is standing right there, holding his younger self.
“I tried to get here sooner,” Harry murmurs, darting a glance down at Lily, pain twisting his features. “I swear I tried.” He inhales shakily, as if on the brink of tears. “But the timing is all off here. Different. Hagrid was even – he was supposed to show up first.”
Sirius swallows. Nods. “Okay,” he croaks.
“Don’t let him take Harry. Don’t go after Pettigrew.”
Sirius flinches at the reminder of that traitor.
Anger surges inside him, nearly blinding in its intensity.
That fucking rat.
Oh, he will go after Pettigrew. He will tear that fucker limb from limb, he’ll –
“We’ll track him down, I swear, but not right now, alright?”
Sirius scowls.
…but even he is not so reckless he’ll outright ignore the advice of someone from the future.
He takes a deep breath and holsters his wand with a nod.
“No, Hagrid,” he calls over his shoulder, eyes still fastened on the older Harry. “Harry’s my godson. I’ll take care of him.”
After some arguing, where older Harry remains standing quietly in the nursery, little Harry asleep in his arms, Hagrid eventually leaves to go borrow an owl off a neighbour to contact Dumbledore.
Sirius packs little Harry’s things in silence, eyes resolutely not straying to Lily where she lays.
“Dumbledore’s gonna think you betrayed them,” Harry murmurs quietly as they make their way down the stairs.
Sirius does not look at James over by the front door. He can’t bear it.
“I might as well have,” Sirius whispers, voice thick with emotion.
He comes to an abrupt halt when Harry’s hand shoots out and grabs his arm, forcefully turning him around.
“Hey, no. This wasn’t your fault. This was all Pettigrew, alright? You couldn’t have known he’d betray them – none of this is on you.”
Sirius makes a noncommittal sound and uses Harry’s grip on his arm to drag him outside through the back door.
“C’mon, we need to get Harry settled.”
Harry sighs but doesn’t protest further, following Sirius outside.
“We’ll go to my place,” Sirius manages after clearing his throat a couple of times.
“What about your motorbike?”
“Fuck the motorbike.”
Harry snorts tiredly but obediently grabs onto Sirius’ outstretched hand. Sirius absently notes the callouses sliding against his palm.
Quidditch player?
He pushes all thoughts that aren’t about his destination to the side, and Disapparates.
A moment later, they arrive in the alleyway around the corner from his apartment building, just outside the Anti-apparition wards.
Harry wakes up from the Apparition and starts crying again, while older Harry gently shushes him, swaying gently and patting his back.
Sirius’ heart clenches in his chest at the sound of his godson’s distress.
How is he supposed to take care of him?
How can he possibly soothe the boy when his parents are dead?
He cowardly lets Harry handle it and leads the way to his flat in silence. When they step inside, little Harry has finally quieted down into the mere occasional sniffle again.
“Where can he sleep?” Harry asks quietly, rubbing soothing circles on his younger self’s back.
Sirius stares at his flat as if seeing it for the first time. It looks exactly the same as it had two hours earlier when he left to go see Peter, only to find the traitor’s flat abandoned.
Two hours ago, when James and Lily were still alive.
Sirius closes his eyes, stomach churning with sudden nausea.
While Sirius stands there, swaying on his feet, light-headed as the adrenaline begins to wear off and the shock set in, Harry carefully pushes past him.
He can barely hear Harry mutter a spell over the roaring sound in his ears, but when next he opens his eyes, little Harry has been gently put down into a transfigured crib where Sirius’ sofa used to be, fast asleep.
“C’mon, it’s late,” Harry says quietly. “You should get some sleep.”
Sirius just stares at him, uncomprehending.
Harry sighs.
“…maybe a cuppa first.”
Sirius lets himself be towed into the kitchen, and then pushed into a chair, staring blankly ahead.
When next he registers something, there is a cup of tea on the table in front of him. Mechanically, he reaches out and takes a sip. He can’t taste anything, but the warmth is soothing.
“I’ll send Dumbledore a patronus,” Harry says.
Sirius blinks at him.
And then he blinks at the bright patronus in the shape of a stag that suddenly takes up most of his kitchen.
“Go to Albus Dumbledore and tell him… Harry Potter is safe. Sirius Black is not the traitor; it was Peter Pettigrew. They switched secret-keepers without telling anyone. Voldemort is defeated. Come to Sirius’ flat.”
Sirius flinches.
The stag gallops away, and Harry holsters his wand.
“I’m sorry, but it’s necessary. I’ll just… I’ll do the talking. Just stay behind me.”
Part of Sirius chafes at being given an order, but he is too tired to object.
His world fucking ended today; surely, he can be excused for leaning on his adult, time-travelling godson.
He sips his tea, staring blankly ahead while Harry paces between the kitchen and the living room.
After some time, Sirius can’t say how long, there is a knock on the door.
He lets Harry handle it, listening with half an ear to the conversation.
“Hello, Professor Dumbledore. I’m Harry Potter from a different dimension, pleased to meet you. Come on in.”
There’s a ringing silence for a few seconds.
“…another dimension, hm? Not the future? Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, Professor. Or technically both, I suppose. We can chat more about it later, for now I just need you to see that Sirius did not betray my parents, and we’ll be taking care of little Harry ourselves. He’ll go to the Dursleys over my dead body.”
“Merlin, but you really do look just like James. Except, your eyes –”
“I have my mother’s eyes, yes, I know. Kingsley Shacklebolt, yeah?”
“Oh, yes, sorry –”
“…how about we go inside? Is young Harry here?”
“Yes, sir. This way.”
Another minute or so later, with the murmuring from the living room too quiet for Sirius to make out, the small kitchen is suddenly full to bursting. Sirius tries to rally, but it’s like a hazy blanket has descended over his senses, cutting him off from reality, forcing him just a step out of touch.
“He’s in shock,” Harry explains as he takes a seat next to Sirius, while Dumbledore and Kingsley sit opposite.
Sirius blinks at them. “Sorry,” he mumbles. He goes to sip his tea, only to find the cup empty.
Dumbledore sighs. “I see. We need to know what happened tonight, though.”
“Peter Pettigrew was turned by Voldemort years ago and has been spying on the Order,” Harry states bluntly. “No one knew this, of course, so when Sirius suggested that they switch secret-keepers at the last second, neither he nor my parents had any idea Pettigrew would sell them out. The plan was for Sirius to use himself as a decoy, so even if he was caught by Voldemort, the secret would be safe with Peter with no one the wiser.”
Dumbledore nods to show he’s listening.
Harry continues, sounding endlessly tired all of a sudden, “I tried to get here sooner. It should have worked. But the timing of everything here is slightly off from my dimension. Voldemort had already been there when I arrived. He’s been defeated, though. Mum – Lily – sacrificed herself for little Harry, and Voldemort’s Killing Curse rebounded.”
Kingsley sucks in a shocked breath. His eyes go wide.
“Hence the scar,” Dumbledore murmurs.
Harry nods and lifts his fringe off his forehead, showing an identical scar to the one young Harry now sported, except his is faded. He drops his hand.
“Pettigrew is still out there.” Harry darts a glance over at Sirius and takes a deep breath before blowing it out in a rush. “Pettigrew is an unregistered rat animagus. He’ll be difficult to pin down.”
Dumbledore’s gaze snaps to Sirius.
He makes an effort to drag himself into proper awareness, all too aware how important this moment is.
“It’s true,” he croaks. “All of it.”
He zones out again after that.
The continued conversation is a droning, buzzing sound in his ears. He can’t make out the individual words, nor does he try.
He stares down into his empty cup.
When next he looks up, Dumbledore and Kingsley are gone, and Harry holds his hand.
“C’mon,” says Harry.
Sirius lets himself be led out of the chair, out of the kitchen, into the bedroom.
“Go to sleep.”
Harry makes to draw his hand back, but Sirius holds on, gripping it tightly.
“Please.”
He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but Harry seems to understand.
He keeps hold of Sirius’ hand, pulls the covers back, and they kick off their shoes before settling onto the bed, still holding hands.
Sirius lays his head on the pillow. Harry lays right next to him. His glasses are gone. In the darkness, his vivid green eyes are black.
It’s the last thing Sirius sees before he falls asleep.
Sirius wakes from sleep with a lurch.
Someone is crying. A child.
Harry.
He rubs his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath as the events of – last night? earlier? yesterday? – crashes down on him.
Sirius squints, but it’s still dark in the bedroom.
He is alone.
The crying stops.
Trying to make sense of things is too hard.
He lays back down and falls asleep.
When Sirius next wakes up, he is curled around someone, nose buried in their neck.
He stiffens.
“…morning.”
Right. Alternate dimension Harry.
“Morning,” Sirius replies. He shuffles backwards a little on the bed and blinks at Harry who is looking up at the ceiling. His cheeks are pink.
Sirius trails Harry’s face with his eyes, cataloguing the differences to James despite how similar they look.
James.
His eyes burn and he sniffles.
Harry turns his head, eyebrows drawn together, a sorrowful look in his emerald eyes.
“They’re really gone…?” Sirius croaks.
Harry nods. “They are. I’m so sorry, Sirius.”
Sirius tucks his face into Harry’s side and weeps.
At some point, Harry’s arm comes up around him, tugging him even closer, and Sirius curls into his hold, grabbing fistfuls of Harry’s shirt, clinging for all he’s worth.
His mind is a lot clearer than it had been last night, but when he eventually stops crying, he feels utterly drained.
He breathes slowly with his face still buried in Harry’s shirt and tries to come to terms with living in a world without James.
They’d known it was a possibility. It is war; of course they’d known. They’d lost plenty of friends and compatriots over the years. Even Regulus –
Sirius has lived with the terror and worry for almost a year now, ever since James and Lily went under Fidelius, but to find himself here, now, without them –
To be expected to go on without them –
To take care of his godson –
Sirius inhales, deeply, shakily.
“I need to go check on little Harry,” murmurs Harry.
Sirius nods against his chest and reluctantly lets go of Harry’s shirt, shuffling backwards, wiping his face.
Harry carefully gets out of bed and pads out of the room.
Sirius rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
He can’t lay here all day. But oh, how tempting it is.
With a heavy sigh, he shuffles onto the edge of the bed, swings his legs over it and sits there for a little while, face buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.
He can hear the soft murmur of Harry’s voice from the living room, and the nonsensical babbling of little Harry. Sirius’ heart aches at the sound.
It’s little Harry’s delighted laughter that finally sends him to his feet and into the kitchen where his godson sits in a transfigured highchair, eating breakfast.
“Paddy!” he cries when he catches sight of Sirius, banging his porridge-covered hands on the little table before him.
Sirius finds himself smiling as he swoops down and presses kisses to Harry’s endearing little face, eyes prickling once more as his godson giggles.
“There’s porridge for you too,” Harry says, setting two cups of tea down on the kitchen table and taking a seat next to his younger self.
“Dada,” little Harry says and then launches into a chattering conversation that makes no sense to anyone but him.
Harry smiles softly at the child, flicking his gaze briefly to Sirius who’d stiffened.
“He thinks you’re James,” he whispers, dropping into a seat like a sack of stones.
Harry nods.
Sirius closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm the storm in his soul before opening them again. He drags the cup of tea toward himself and takes a fortifying sip.
“So… what’s the plan?”
Harry’s features settle into a grim expression. “We find Wormtail. Then I’ll make sure Voldemort doesn’t come back.”
Sirius chokes on his tea.
“Come back?” he splutters, coughing to clear his airways.
Harry nods. “He’s not dead. Only temporarily defeated. But really, you don’t need to worry about that, I’ll take care of it. I’ve already done it once. What’s one more time?”
Sirius stares at him, disbelieving. “…I think you need to tell me more about what your life has been like.”
Harry shrugs.
Whatever else one could say about Harry’s life, it makes for an excellent distraction.
Sirius is beyond grateful Harry had successfully kept him from hunting down Peter yesterday, knowing now just how that would have turned out.
While Harry had glossed over it, Sirius got the impression his childhood with Lily’s sister and her family had been distinctly unpleasant.
All because Sirius had fucked up twice; first convincing James and Lily to use Peter as secret keeper, and then running off half-cocked and ending up in Azkaban when he should have taken his godson in.
It’s a wonder Harry sits here so calmly, with eyes so warm and understanding, when Sirius had contributed to his shitty childhood through sheer neglect.
He’d transferred little Harry onto his lap over the course of older Harry’s tale, and hugs his godchild close to his chest, thanking Merlin that at least he hasn’t lost Harry.
…that is going to get confusing really fast.
“Are you going to stick around, then?” he asks the adult version of his godson.
“Yeah. One-way ticket over here, so I’m around for good.”
Sirius peers down at the child in his lap.
He nods decisively to himself. “James wanted to name him Henry. It was Lily who insisted on Harry. I think… it’ll be easier if – if we call him Henry from now on.”
Harry raises his brows. “You sure?”
Sirius nods again. “Yeah. I’m sure. Sound good to you, Henry?” He presses a kiss to Henry’s hair.
Henry babbles happily and slaps Sirius’ hands where they rest around his pudgy little waist.
“He seems fine with it,” Harry says, lips quirking upward into a small smile.
They keep sleeping in the same bed.
At times, Sirius wonders if it’s strange, considering they don’t actually know each other, but… he’s too dependent on the comfort Harry’s quiet presence brings him.
How the only thing able to lull him back to sleep when he wakes from a debilitating nightmare is Harry’s slow breathing next to him. How the only way he’ll calm down after crying his eyes out is being held in Harry’s arms.
They don’t discuss it.
It’s just… one of those things. Unspoken and safe.
Dumbledore is the one to successfully track down Peter.
He’s sentenced to life in Azkaban.
At first, Sirius wishes someone had killed him. But then, Harry reminds him of the horror of dementors, and how much Peter is going to suffer.
He feels a whole lot better about it after that.
Remus looks between Henry and Harry, eyes wide.
“It’s really true,” he manages hoarsely.
Harry nods and sets Henry down on the ground. Henry scoots along the floor and uses Sirius’ leg to stand, swaying slightly on unsteady feet, unaware of the three adults’ adoring looks as he babbles about something with a wide smile.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” Sirius says quietly, resting a hand on top of Henry’s messy hair. “For thinking you’d…”
Remus shakes his head. “Don’t. It’s fine. We all… we all got a little paranoid there at the end, didn’t we?”
“Not paranoid enough.”
“Sirius…”
He sighs. Shakes his head. Glances at Harry who’s already staring back, green eyes gleaming with understanding and comfort.
“No point dwelling on it,” Sirius says on an exhale.
Maybe one day he’ll be able to follow his own advice.
Harry upends his bag. A fancy diadem, a black little book, a ring, a golden cup, and a huge fang clatter onto the kitchen table.
“Figured you could do the honours,” he says.
Sirius stares, wide-eyed, at the precious objects tethering Voldemort to life, before glancing up at Harry.
“I – what?”
“I’ve already done my fair share. Just let me ward the room first, they can get… fighty.”
“Figthy,” Sirius repeats incredulously.
That morning, Harry said he had some errands to run. Excuse Sirius for taking a few moments to wrap his head around the fact that these errands were apparently going around collecting bits of Voldemort’s soul.
“You said we’d look for them together,” he accuses, a little hurt Harry had gone off on his own, getting into Merlin only knew what trouble, leaving Sirius at home with the toddler none the wiser.
Harry shrugs. “There’s still one to go. Well, two, technically…”
Sirius swallows as Harry trails off, eyes unconsciously drifting toward the living room where Henry is down for a nap.
Harry assures him they’ll have time for research. That they’ll get the horcrux out of his godson by any other means than how Harry got rid of his.
“The… locket?”
Harry nods.
Sirius’ eyes close, pain sinking its claws into his heart. Regulus.
“The one Kreacher has?”
Harry hums affirmatively.
Sirius inhales deeply. Lets it fill his lungs until they burn. Slowly exhales. Opens his eyes.
“Give me the fang.”
Sirius remembers it was his birthday weeks ago. He missed it completely, for the first time in his life.
“I’m twenty-two,” he says into the darkness of the bedroom.
Harry hums softly next to him. “Happy belated birthday.”
Sirius blows out a quiet breath. It’s almost Christmas.
Perhaps… he’s denied himself long enough.
Surely, it’s not just him?
He turns his head. The moonlight through the window shows Harry’s mesmerizing eyes are also open.
Lily’s eyes were never quite that vivid shade of green. James’ hair was never quite that gorgeous mess.
Harry is, despite his parents and the presence of his younger self in the next room, utterly unique.
Precious. Powerful. Perfect.
“Harry,” he murmurs. It’s a plea, a prayer, a proposal.
He can just make out the movement of Harry’s throat as he swallows.
He carefully lifts his hand and trails a fingertip down Harry’s stubbled cheek.
The air vibrates between them. Thrums with possibility and want and longing. Inevitability.
Sirius shuffles closer.
Harry does too.
They share one breath and time crawls to a halt.
Maybe it’s strange. Maybe Sirius shouldn’t for numerous different reasons. But he’s never been good at ignoring his impulses or desires.
And he’s never yearned for anything the way he does Harry.
He closes the distance.
Harry’s mouth is soft and eager and warm. It’s power and comfort and understanding. It’s home and home and home.
Sirius loses himself in it. In the expansion of his world.
James used to be it.
Now, it’s Harry and Henry.
And Sirius finds he can live with that.