Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Going to sleep one day, and waking up the other crawling out of your mother was certainly an odd experience. I remember those children claiming to remember their birth, and I have to say, I’m glad I didn’t recall mine. Lots of blood, crying, being sticky and weak. Not much control over my limbs either. Then again, being placed for the first time in my mother’s arms… her adoring face, already so fond. Babbling at her, and holding her finger as tightly as I can… 

I think I can deal, if you know what I mean. There are worse things to keep memory of. 

For the first few days, I stayed in this hospital with her. A man, who I believe is my father, has been staying for hours on end until the nurses kick him out. He talks to me, but it’s difficult to recognize his words. Often, I just let them float over me, gesture happily at them. My parents. It takes a while for me to realize what has happened. By then, I’ve already started wearing a new name. Harry. They bestowed it to me so lovingly, and for once, I’m loath to change it.

My old life is gone, in the blink of an eye. I became a new person, with a new family. Except I can recall things I shouldn’t, from a life that has passed. Maybe it’s the same for every baby; maybe I’ll forget soon. I’d hate for it to happen, but there is nothing with less power than a newborn.

As my parents left the hospital with me in tow, I began to realize that may not be the truth. I’d expected to be taken to some car (or another method of transport, I wasn’t quite sure of the era then) when I felt a tug at my navel, before I was violently shoved through time and space to some lovely cottage- that I promptly began wreaking havoc on. I had a fit so powerful as to break a couple windows. I almost felt embarrassed. But they could’ve warned me! 

My father, after assuring everyone’s safety, began laughing loudly. My mother scolded him, but she then shot me a fond look. I love her so much. My father kissed my head, and said, “He’ll be a strong wizard, one day.” 

I babbled at him joyfully in answer, but I was deep in thought. I accidentally threw a magical fit, after we teleported. After. We. Teleported. One of my parents waved a stick, and the windows were fixed. We entered what must be home, and I gaped in wonder. My mother chuckled at my expression, resettling me in her arms so I may get a better view. A broom was brushing the floor in the kitchen, which held no electronics, but did hold a stove that had no way of functioning (but it would, I’m certain it would). The pictures moved, and I doubted it was because of high technological advances. Too much like paper. This place hummed, no, thrummed with energy. Magic, I would assume.

I was put to bed before I could observe any longer, but the nursery was much more obviously magical than the rest of the house. The night-sky was painted on the ceiling of my room, and when the blinds were shut they glowed like stars. A lovely night-light for a child scared of the dark. Above my baby-bed rested a floating set (no strings) of a deer, a dog, a wolf and a rat running in circles. At times, they would come down and nuzzle me, or lick my face. I would always giggle then, and play with them. 

I didn’t really like the rat one, but I tolerated it. 

There was something I was forgetting, just at the edge of my memory. Resting on the tip of my tongue, taunting me. I racked through my brain to find it, but sleep found me first. I slept. For a long time, a full night even. My parents were worried, I could tell. Some sort of medical person looked me over, also using a stick, before declaring I was a perfectly healthy baby. They just had to look over me more carefully, make sure I breathed. I was probably just fine. Worry creased their faces, but they let it go.

Days passed, my father played with me, brought me toys and read to me. My mother fed me, cared for me and sang me to sleep. An old man with twinkling eyes came by, along with a short stubby man and another tall one with long curly hair.

I instantly fell in love with the tall one, my godfather. Me and him, it was quite the bond. He was mischievous, and encouraged me to be more daring. In his opinion, I wasn’t giving my parents enough trouble. I was too good a baby, so he taught me how to be more difficult. I found him hilarious. 

My mother? Not so much. Our first prank together was met with scorn. I, a completely innocent baby, slowly pointed to my godfather with big eyes. I wasn’t going to get caught for my first prank. He understood, and praised me for my good instincts. I babbled extra happily, just for him.

I still loved my parents a lot lot, but he wormed his way into getting my love too. 

Life was simple. Happy, filled with joy and those fluffy feelings. I played with toys, pleased those I loved, ignored those I didn’t. Months passed, I grew. I crawled, then I stumbled around. I said my first word: hello. Then mama, dada, paddy and no. Followed by my first sentence, I wuv you. Still working on the syllables there, but they got the message. I made sure to make heart shapes with it, they cooed over me. I accepted it. In their shoes, I also would coo uncontrollably over cute things. Being cute made people more fond of you at certain ages, I always played into those. I liked being appreciated, even for something as silly as that.

Life, however, wasn’t content with idyllic. 

I’d forgotten my initial discomfort. That little tid-bit that was nagging me- it came back full force on one halloween night. My father danced with my mother, a song playing on the radio. They laughed, smiled. Eyes crinkled with happiness. They were beautiful. They deserved so much more . Thunder at the door, the joy slipped, gone. My mother took me, climbed the stairs, my father at the door. I looked over her shoulder, the door slammed open.

My father fell. 

I cried, my mother ran.

We entered my room. Closed the door. I struggled against her hold. “Dada, d-dada-” I babbled, “I wuv you dada” I threw over her shoulder. My mother shook, raw with emotion. “I wuv you mama,” I told her. 

“I love you too, Harry.” she answered shakily. 

The stars of my ceiling didn’t glow, the moonlight entered through the window. Time froze as a monster climbed the stairs. Thump, thump, thump. My heart, his steps? I looked at my mother. I remembered. I remembered . I stopped the tears flowing down my face. I looked at her. I smiled, I wasn’t happy. But I smiled, for her. “I love you!” I repeated, beaming. “I d-did it wight!” I added.

She laughed wetly, “you did, you did.” I wiped her tears clumsily with my small hand, Lily Potter looked down fondly at me, one last time. 

The door slammed open, she covered me with her body. She screamed at the man, standing over my crib, begging for my life. She fell, too. My mother fell. Her green eyes looked at me, open. Lacking the inner life they always had. I raised my own eyes, the exact ones that glared at the man just a second ago. His red eyes met mine. My magic trashed, the objects began floating and launched themselves around the room. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to suffer .

“ Tom Riddle ,” I hissed, the sheer fury building up in my body misplaced in my small toddler voice. 

He laughed at me, a sound so twisted in its definition and origin. A monster, monster, monster. The ceiling did not glow anymore. I was afraid of the dark. I was just a child.

“Avada kedavra,” he uttered, a green light. A scream. Mine, his, who knew? Dust, shadow, blood dripping for the first time of the night. Then, I was alone.

I sobbed. For the first time in this life I sobbed and wailed like a baby. Grief overtook me, and the windows exploded. My magic ravaged my home, because I refused for anyone else to ever enter it. I wanted to bury myself alive, in a grave with my parents.

I fell asleep like that. Too many feelings for my body to handle. I woke up to someone else’s grief. A dark man, hugging my mother’s body. I stood in my crib. I watched him. I felt numb. “Mama…” I mumbled quietly. He turned, his eyes widening as if remembering I was there. Probably hadn’t noticed me, I was a quiet baby. I sat down, and made grabby hands. He hesitated. Eventually, he stood up, took me out of my crib and put me beside my mother. Then, he left. 

I crawled onto her chest and curled up there. She was cold. I held one of her fingers tightly, and dozed off again. 

My godfather found me, eventually. He’d seen James Potter’s body first, before seeing my mother’s and subsequently finding me. For a second, he let out a terrible wail over us. Taking me in his arms, I woke up squirming. He calmed immediately, looking over me, casting spell after spell. The blood washed away, he whispered at me. I held his hair, “Don’t weave me.” I said, my lips wobbling against my will.

He kissed my forehead, “No…no Harry. I’m here.”

“I wuv you,” I told him sadly. I knew he would. It wasn’t his fault. “I will always wuv you.” I added.

“Me too pup, me too.” he rocked me back and forth in his arms, covering my eyes as we passed my father’s cold body. 

“I saw,” I said quietly. “Green.”

“No need to see again,” he said shakily. “James wouldn’t want you to see him like that.”

I nodded into his chest, clinging to his shirt. I trembled slightly, fighting back another round of tears. “Be safe,” I tell him.

Perplexed, he answered. “I will?”

“I’ll getta you,” I continued. He doesn’t seem to understand. “I’m too ‘oung now. But I will,” I insist.

“Alright,” he says. He doesn’t understand, but that’s alright. 

A giant arrives, he asks for me.

“No,” I say simply. One of my favorite words. It draws a short laugh from Sirius Black. 

“Attaboy,” he tells me, with a painful smile. 

Hagrid relays his quest. Sirius tells him to take the motorcycle. He says he won’t be long.

“Don’t go!” I say, “don’t go!” 

“He has to pay,” he answers, righteous anger seeping through his tone. It’s not directed at me. 

“Take me with!” I cry, he kisses my head. 

“You learnt your lessons well, but this isn’t safe. I’ll be back, I promise.”

I shake my head softly, and watch him leave. Hagrid flies me to my own prison, as I’m sure aurors will Sirius soon. Unfair. I think. Unfair how everything can be destroyed so quickly.  

I fell asleep over the ride. We arrive at privet drive and the Hogwarts staff crowd over me. I fight sleep in order to glare at them. They argue over me before I utter loudly over them, “No!” 

They turn to me, surprised.

“I wan’a Paddy,” I told them. “Rat’s goin’ to frame him. I need’ta save him.”

“Harry talks? Ain’t he a bit young?” asks Hagrid to the others.

I roll my eyes, “I’mma smart baby. Mama say so,”

The others wince at the mention of my mother. “I saw her fall,” I told them. “You’re all cowards. Bet you’re gonna cry infront’a baby.”

The twinkling old man, Albus too many names Dumbledore, frowns.

They’re unsure how to tread with a talking baby. Good. I wish to cause as much discomfort as I can.

“Albus,” whispers Minerva Mcgonagall, “You can’t leave him with those muggles. It was one thing leaving Mr.Potter when we thought him a normal baby… but these kinds of muggles hate anything different, they’re the worst kind of muggles.”

“They’re family, Minerva.” says Dumbledore, “They’re all he has left.”

 It probably would have had a convincing effect had I not blown a raspberry right then and there.

“Mama an’ dada an’ paddy are my family.” I said with all the authority of a one year old.

“Harry-” began Dumbledore, finally addressing me.

“No!” I exclaimed, Minerva winced, a light turned on. “You kidn-kidnapp…ed. Me.” I frown at the word. I pout. I was doing so good on the pronunciation front. Speaking slowly and everything to not stutter constantly like I used to do. 

“Harry,” starts Dumbledore once more, careful. “Your godfather was arrested for murder.”

“Peter?” I ask. “Deserves it, the bad rat. Bad bad rat. You know.” I say, “You know .” My eyes widen, then I frown, “Bad rat…” I repeat. Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew. He killed my parents. Not directly, but- he was the missing link. What I’d forgotten. “Bad rat, bad rat!” I wailed. I thrashed in Hagrid’s hold, “Bad rat framed Paddy!” I said. “Bad rat!”

The giant clumsily rocked me back and forth, but I only wailed harder. The headmaster and the professor exchanged a look. I was being too noisy. Not even out of spite, I just couldn’t control myself. Sorrow, rage, an odd mix for a baby to feel. I fell in shock, a familiar state, where I repeated words hysterically whilst sobbing. I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up in a crib in a prime suburban house.

I screamed.

Chapter Text

Petunia hated me almost as much as I disliked her. This fact was surprising given my otherwise perfect record beyond screaming one time, but I knew her type. I started using Sirius’s lesson on her, she deserves nothing less, after all.

Step one, find your caretakers pet peeves.

For my hated aunt, it was: messes, magic, myself, loud noises, magic, abnormalities, myself.

Step two, embody them.

I screamed the word magic at her as my magic created messes before explaining to her why she was an awful caretaker when she tried to be mean to me .

Step three, make the caretaker doubt their sanity.

The moment Vernon asked what the ruckus was, everything was fixed, I sat calmly on the floor with my fist in my mouth and looked off into the distance. When around others I was an angel child, as I would’ve been had she not been such a bad person. 

When they started locking my crib in the cupboard, I knew it wasn’t enough. I always escaped my cupboard, and when they started forgetting to feed me, suddenly all the food disappeared. When they tried to hit me, I popped away as they stumbled to the floor or into the wall. Bad luck befell onto the Dursleys. 

My dear cousin Dudley, a lovely little shit, adored the chaos. 

I took their precious Dudders under my wing. They complied with my every demand. 

A few years later, Dudley and I were five. I could finally speak properly, but it seemed stuttering would also be a chronic curse here. When nervous or excited I stuttered awfully, I had to force myself to slow down and enunciate my words. It was normal, at least. I was used to it. Some kids tried to mock me for it, but I quickly pulled out my Merriam Webster dialect to put them to shame. Didn’t understand a word I said. Almost like I spoke French, which I also do. I want to keep my first native tongue. It’s important to me. I’ve abandoned much from my old life, but this I keep.

Much like my previous ancestors, I muse. They clung to that language like hell, along with the religion they eventually abandoned. I miss the culture, I’ll admit. Still in a country of the queen, though. But most of all, I miss my parents. My family. Not the one from my old life. I can barely remember them, besides love. I loved them. But not anymore, not beyond gratefulness. 

They aren’t my parents in this life, after all. My mother and father may be dead, but they are my parents. Everyday, I think of them. Unsure of whether or not there is a god, I pray to my parents. I talk about my day, about how I love them, about how I wish they could’ve lived. I thank them for looking over me, for having cared for me. I wish they heard every word I’ve left for them. 

On Halloween, I burn a letter with pressed flowers in the fireplace. I write it with love, hoping it reaches them. After a year or two, Petunia had begun helping me with this behavior. I’m not sure she understands exactly what I’m doing. Still, she helps. She fetches white lilies of the valleys with white roses for me. She starts the fire, ‘Before you burn down the house,’ and spell checks my letters despite it not being needed. 

Perhaps she just wanted to read them.

When I turned six, I devised a plan to enter contact with Sirius. For it to work, I must go to the ministry. I beg my aunt, but she doesn’t budge. After being a decent guardian for three years, she gained back some parental authority. Unfortunately for me. When even begging Vernon doesn’t work, you know you’ve lost the battle. He’s usually the ‘I’ll say yes, leave me alone’ uncle too. Of course, I’m not so easily defeated.

Dudley coaches me into throwing a proper fit. 

They said yes the next day. 

He and I high-fived, and they sighed deeply. We made a great team, terrible, but great. I hope he ends up having some magic, we need to terrorize Hogwarts together. 

We hopped into the car during the weekend and drove to London. My aunt offered herself as tribute, and tried to find the ministry. Of course, I knew where it was so I stopped her after half an hour. She glared at me, which was completely fair, as I typed magic into a telephone booth. Then into another… another… until we found the right one.

‘Please state your name and business with the ministry,’ a voice spoke.

I cleared my throat, “Henry Dursley, terrorizing aurors.”

I felt my aunt's judgey stare, as I collected my small treasure. A funny badge, definitely pinning it in my room or on my backpack. 

“Have a pleasant visit to the ministry, Henry Dursley. The auror offices are located…”

We entered the ministry, my aunt looked a bit dazed as she came in, but she quickly shook out of it. Back to her usual self, she sneered at the golden statue in the middle of the hall. “What a waste,” she told me. I nodded in agreement. “Kinda dictator-ish, it’s poor taste.”

The corner of her lip raised in amusement, but I could sense nervousness emanating from her. I took her hand, unsure of what overtook me, and smiled. “Don’t worry! Wizards are too silly to get past me.”

She huffed. “It never ceases to amaze me to see you switch between a mature way of speaking to the most childish drivel. You little menace.”

I pouted.

I dragged her to the auror’s office, where they tried speaking to my aunt instead of me. She let them, a bit scared, but also amused. “ Hello ? She only came along, I’m the one who has something to say,” I told them, with the authority of my six year old self. Needless to say, the auror laughed. Until Petunia cleared up the obvious mistake.

The auror was a bit disbelieving, but did comply. 

“How do I send a letter to my father in azkaban?” I asked innocently.

My aunt choked. 

“Children shouldn’t send letters to prisoners,” the auror said slowly. 

“Yeah. Good thing I’m with an adult right, then?” I smiled, “Don’t worry, I just want to insult the bastard. So, how do I do it?”

The auror joined my aunt in choking.

I waited patiently, with the calmness of someone who was used to it.

“You’d- You’d have to send an owl to the auror office. Specifically, address it to the auror post office. Then, on the next shift, the guards bring the letters. If you’d like a reply, use green ink on the enveloppe. Otherwise, he’ll only be able to read it. Of course, your owl needs to be registered by an adult with us first.”

I nod along, then tug my aunt’s skirt, looking at her with big wide eyes. “Could we get an owl? Pleeeeeease?”

She sighs. The auror laughs. “Your son’s an assured slytherin, isn’t he?”

“My nephew,” she corrects. “Thank god for that.” she adds under her breath.

The auror tells us how to register our future owl, (he winked at me at this part) and we exited the ministry. I then begun begging again, Dudley joining in once we met up. He thought having an owl in the family would be absolutely wicked. I agreed, of course. Vernon surprisingly agreed. My aunt didn’t put up much of a fight. 

So we found ourselves at the second stop of the day, the Leaky Cauldron. 

This time, Petunia knew where it was. She just couldn’t see it. I could, though, so I led my aunt and Dudley inside Leaky. My uncle opted to wait for us in the car, he liked the magic stuff even less than his wife. He tried to convince Dudley to stay, but seeing the threatening wobble of the lip he gave up on his attempts. 

Once inside, I made sure my scar was still hidden, and directed us to Tom the bartender. He once again chatted with my aunt instead of me. Honestly, adults were all the same. 

“He’s the one who wanted to come,” she says, gesturing to me.

Tom looks down at me. “A bit young for Hogwarts, aren’t you?” 

“We’re here to get an owl,” I explain, “I’m not a muggleborn, but I wanted to surprise my father for his birthday. He’s the only magical in the family.”

“Ah, so you need passage?” he asked kindly.

“Yes, please.” 

He opens the way to diagon alley, and my eyes widen. Wow. The magic flies over me, and I know I belong. It welcomes me, here in this world. Tom chuckles softly, the way someone who sees this daily does. He takes his leave, and I’m left with my relatives. Dudley looks amazed, in a way he rarely does. My aunt, however, takes us by the hand and rushes us to Gringotts. It doesn’t seem to faze her much. She’s been here before. 

I thought she would rush to change her money into galleons, but instead she asks after my accounts. The goblin gives her a look, but does look me over. I raise my fringe, and his eyes widen ever so slightly. “As his guardian,” the old goblin says, “You already should have his trust vault key, the only vault that’s accessible for him yet.”

“You may ask for a change, if you present the right documents.” it explains.

My aunt inquires about money exchanges and I tune out again. Boring. “Next time,” I whisper to my cousin, “We’ll wait by and get ice-cream.”

He nods in agreement, “I thought a magical bank would be real cool, but it’s just a bank.”

 “At least we’re getting an owl out of this,” I comment.

“I hope it’ll be violent,” dreamily answers Dudley.

“I’ll find you the most violent one I can,” I promise him.

Eventually, my aunt turned on her heels with a pouch full of galleons in hands. We followed her like behaving children, before she set us free at the Owl’s Emporium. Immediately, I set my sights for the most violent owl. A great horned owl. (Thanks price tag!) 

I, of course, knew it was the one. I showed him to Dudley who nodded fervently in agreement. The owl preened under the attention, as the store employees desperately tried to convince us otherwise. I didn’t let them change my mind. I cooed over my newest companion, and complimented him. 

My aunt, to her credit, barely paled at his sight. 

I refused Petunia to buy him a cage, but did buy a stand and a special glove to ‘handle’ him around normal people. Once out of Owl’s Emporium with treats and other important stuff (such as a British muggle license for handling owls), I put on my glove and beckoned the not-yet-named owl to rest on my hand. He did so without a complaint, flexing his talons around my protected arm. Which he hadn’t done earlier, when I’d done the same without a glove.

“Aww,” I coo again, “What a good boy,”

Dudley tried to pet him, but was batted away by his wing and a displeased hoot. 

“It’s probably best not to pet him for now,” I explained to Dudley, “Even if he’s a special owl, most owls do not care for being petted. Maybe with time and trust he’ll let you.”

He nods in answer, determined. 

As we all entered the car to go home, I conversed with my owl. 

“What about… Achilles? Means pain.” 

Mr.Great-Horned Owl eyed me, unimpressed.

“Apollo then? A good warrior if I recall correctly.”

Same reaction. Tough crowd. “Atticus? Alexander?  Aurelius? Ambrose ?”

Nada. Ugh. Fair enough. 

“T-Rex?” offered Dudley. My owl turned its head to stare at Dudley, for a few seconds, before turning back to me. Slightly offended. 

“Basil?”

The great horned owl stares deeply into my soul before nodding in a very human way. I pump my fist into the air. 

“Basil? For real? T-Rex was loads better,” grumbles Dudley, “A very violent dinosaur.”

Chapter Text

Blank page syndrome. A terrible curse. While I could write: 

‘ Hi, it's me! Your much beloved godson.

I know it was Peter.

Love you!

Harry’

It would probably be my dearest godfather's first contact with humanity (beyond insane prisoners) in a couple of years. I definitely reckon I have to have more words but the matter of which eludes me still. 

“Harry,” my aunt calls out. She’s standing in the doorway of the living room.

I turn to look at her.

“Who are you even going to be writing to?” she asks, suspiciously. I tilt my head at her. “I thought saying ‘my father’ to the auror was pretty obvious.”

Petunia frowns, perplexed. “James is dead, Harry, and I know you lied to those wizards.”

I shrug. Fair enough. “I know that. I meant my other one, the godfather?”

“Sirius Black? Harry… ” she says, surely the beginning of a scolding. But she never had that right. Not when it comes to someone that has always cared about me. 

“He’s innocent!” I exclaim hotly, “And why do you care, bet you wanted me dead when I first arrived here anyways. It’s only because I was a huge brat to you and that your son found it funny that you stopped being mean to me. I’m not dumb . You really should know that, by now.”

“I didn't want you dead !”

I stomped my foot to the floor, “I REMEMBER EVERYTHING! I always do. Curse of an eidetic memory, huh? I remember how dad died, how mom begged for my life- and just after that how my godfather- the only person that is alive that loves me unconditionally- went after the man that betrayed my parents. He got framed for it. And after living through that I got stuck with someone who couldn’t be bothered with changing my diapers so I would get rashes- someone who wanted to avoid feeding me, who locked a baby in a cupboard. If you didn't want me dead, then why did I have to fight so hard for you to let me live ?”

I breathed heavily, before I stomped through the house and slammed the door to my room hard enough to make it shake.

I felt so childish and frankly foolish. It was only in Petunia’s nature to hate me, she had been written that way, and just the fact she was trying now was due to my intervention in the story. It wasn’t my fault she didn’t like me at first, heck, it was because of my efforts that she liked me now. Yet I still hated her for the things she did to me, and I wondered if I was right to. Because I couldn’t expect better from her- really, and she’d changed, hadn’t she? I shouldn’t have brought that up… She cares now. That’s all that matters, right? I shouldn’t even be able to remember when she wasn’t kind to me. So why does it hurt so much?

Why do I still want to cry, thinking of the time I went hungry, and that I was covered in rashes I couldn’t do anything about, stuck in my own filth? Actions are what matters, and her actions changed…

But I remember it differently.

Curse of a photographic memory. Funnily enough, I didn’t have one in my previous life. I wasn’t stupid by any means, but I was never known for having a great memory. I would hold some details to my tomb, but the grand lines, I forgot. I’ve never thought much about how this was a story , because it’s my life. It’s weird to think that a transphobic bitch dictates my life now, but it is how it is, I suppose. 

These are real people to me. Their actions have real consequences. They impact me.

But their fates are pre-destined. At least for the span of the two next decades. So, am I allowed to be hurt? After all, when someone does what you know they will do, that’s only natural. There is no feeling between an automaton and a human. (Do I really believe myself to be the only human in this world? These emotions are all real, and it is only these few people who are trapped in the narrative, those muggles I pass in the street have lives so vastly different from mine. Sonder.)

But it’s only the grand lines that are pre-destined. Those little things, those details, the one I’ve always cherished more than any grand narrative, are all so different. Seers see a glimpse into the future, and that’s what I saw, too. A possible future.

Fate exists, it always has for this world, but it can be tricked. Or, simply, it can change from a single action, and twist away from everything I’ve ever known. The thought that my future knowledge could be so useless one day only brings me comfort.

Because these are real people to me. Their actions have real consequences. They impact me.

But that’s just life.

Knock knock knock.

Typical parent behaviour. Except they’re not my parents. And they don’t love me much.

I was sitting on my bed, knees pressed against my chest as I was thinking deeply. And maybe keeping a couple of tears in. My bedroom wasn’t shitty like it had been in the book. It wasn’t the smallest bedroom, but the old guest room. Upon my request, the walls had been painted sage green and I had the comfiest mattress known to man. Or just what was available. The bed was huge for me, but I knew that as I grew it would be more reasonable. I’d just told my aunt that I could grow into it, and wanted a more mature bedroom. She let me.

I remember shopping for it with her, it was fun.

My furniture was mostly old white or beige. A nice desk that was a bit shorter than me, but not by much, a desk chair I had to climb onto- quite comfortable-made of white leather. They definitely paid a lot for my room. I’m grateful for it but I can’t help but think of how they had demanded me to “pay for my keep” in another world. With a boy who owned nothing and had no one. Still. They’d never done that here, so I’m not gonna hold that against them. It would be both irrational and unfair.

I also had bookshelves adorning the walls, which were slowly but surely getting filled with books. The walls still held some blank space to slam posters or other decorations as I grew. Like my Dursley pin. I hugged my knees tighter. I wanted them to love me. Was I asking for too much?

Knock knock knock.

I could hide in my closet, and then I wouldn’t have to speak to anyone. It’s full of colourful clothes they bought me, because I like pretty things, and there’s even a dress or two in there. Vernon always gets uncomfortable when I wear one, but he’s trying. They’re all trying, but why did they have to try in the first place? I was their nephew, but they treated me wrong. I don’t wanna talk to them right now.

I grab my comforter and pull it over myself. It’s a neon atrocity that clashes with everything, but it makes me happy and it’s soft. I’ve been picky over blankets, and that was one of the few that made it through the night. Other blankets are just so itchy I can’t stand them. I’m also picky with clothes, but that was easier to deal with. If we start speaking about pickiness though, I’m an incredibly picky eater. I’ve made an art of pulling apart meals, and I couldn’t stand the american worthy cuisine she put her boys through. Still… she adapted and now I can eat most of what she makes. She works hard to help… so maybe I’m just ungrateful and shouldn’t have gotten mad at her. She’s better now and everything…

“Harry?” a gruff voice asked, cutting though my racing thoughts.

“Vernon?” I reply, confused. I’d expected it would be Petunia, seeing as even when I get into an argument with Vernon it’s usually Petunia that comes to talk to me. He’s a bit emotionally incompetent, but he does love his family. I can tell. 

“Can I come in?” he says, and bewildered, I acquiesce.

He opens the door I’d slammed earlier and sits in my desk chair, turning it to look at me. I fiddle with my blanket, not looking anywhere near him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I startle. A man like that apologizing to a little kid, that… takes a lot of guts, I think. Especially since he’s usually so contrite, but he went straight to business.

“Sorry? Why? I argued with Petunia, not with you.”

“We haven’t always treated you right,” he says, and my gaze falls on his face. He looks regretful, brows furrowed together and hands clenched into one another. “I never wanted another kid,” he explains. “But you were her nephew, even if you came from… wizards,” 

“Dumbledore forced our hand into keeping you but… that wasn’t a reason to treat you badly,” 

“No it wasn’t,” I agree, looking away.

“I may have done little directly, but I stood by when Petunia would lock you in the cupboard, even if you couldn’t normally get out- and got angry when you did get out. There are many things we should have done earlier, and we didn’t do them. You’re a good kid, Harry. We were just projecting issues we had with your parents on you,” he finishes, or at least I thought he finished, because he adds, “We do love you. We love you a lot, and our home would be a lot less special without you,”

I sniffed, and not long after tears started falling. Vernon looked alarmed as I stumbled off the bed but I just gave him a big hug. He awkwardly hugged me back, and he let me cry.

Sometimes, all you really need is a heart-to-heart and a good cry to fix things.

Me and Petunia talked it out later, and afterwards my cousin punched my shoulder in the way siblings do and told me he loved me and that if I didn’t he’d cry until I did. I smiled and told him I loved him too, and he looked a bit teary eyed but shrugged it off like it didn’t affect him and I shook my head fondly.

Sometimes it’s important to be cheesy, because for the first time I actually felt like this was home. Not just, the place I’d live until 17 or I got Sirius out, but home. 

Still, speaking of Sirius, I think I’ve got a solid letter now:

‘Dear Sirius,

‘Tis I, your godson, Harry. You know, the one that used to be a baby… well! I grew up. I miss you a lot. I know they accused you of killing mom and dad by secretly being a spy for the dark lord, but we both know that’s a load of bull. (Yeah I’m still not allowed to swear, not that I don’t do it anyways but my aunt is reading this. Hello Petunia. Sun’s looking really bright outside, huh?) I do remember everything, including that fateful first prank where we’d dropped milk on my dad’s head and mom got mad.

(That was to prove I remembered, btw. Btw means by the way, btw.)

I also uh… remember the night. You know the one. I’m sure the dementors make you see it often, right? Sorry for bringing that up, but you remember what I promised? Even if I wasn’t able to speak much (by my standards) I did say “I’ll getta you” which uh… yeah. I’ll get to you, Sirius, I promise. Hold on. Until the day I can get you out, we can talk through letters. I hope it’ll help keep you sane. I can send over one everyday if needs be, alright? I love you Paddy.

Sincerely,

Harry <3’

My aunt greenlit it, but said she would also include her own letter which… I didn’t really get why, but alright. Maybe they’d actually been friends once? Who knows. 

Chapter Text

Basil rested on my arm, having brought back a letter. He munched on my hair, and I let him with a giggle. “Well well, look who’s happy to see me,” He barked in reply and I pouted. “Sorry for implying you had emotions other than violence.”

I awkwardly sat down at my desk, opening the letter with one hand as Basil insisted on staying on my arm, even when he had a stand in my room. “Did you get scared?” I asked him and he lightly pecked my ear. “Ow ow ow okay- c’mon Babs, don- HEY! Basillll,” I whined. He flew to his stand with what almost sounded like a huff. “Be like that,” I muttered, getting the letter out with ease now that I had gained a second limb to accomplish the task.

‘Dear Harry,

The handwriting looks… shaky. Is it possible for handwriting to look disbelieving, ‘cause it really looks like it. Maybe shocked is a better term? Or is it just Azkaban tremors?

I want to rip that prison to shreds. I bet it breaks geneva conventions. I hate the bitches in Azkaban, but no one deserves to be around dementors 24/7.

I thought I was being pranked at first, but it really is you, pup. You’ve always been growing faster than any of us would’ve liked, but… we were proud of that. I confess that it took me a long time to remember our first prank together. Too happy. You’re right that the dementors make me focus on bad memories, such as… that night. They also erase good memories, or try to at least. They suck it out of you, but I won’t linger on that.

Don’t waste your time sending a letter per day, I’m sure your poor owl doesn’t enjoy the trip. I’m not going anywhere.

Bitter, I think. Sirius must have meant to comfort me, but that feeling trickled out anyway. I really wish I could hug him, and that thought burns into my chest.

You shouldn’t try to get me out, you’ll just find trouble down that path. You don’t need that kind of attention, Harry. I will be fine. And it seems you’re in good hands as well with your aunt, Petunia grew up well from when I knew her. She seems like a good woman. She’ll take care of you.

I will enjoy reading your letters if you decide to write more, pup. I love you more than the universe holds stars, and I’m proud to see that determination you hold. It will bring you far.

Your Paddy,

Sirius’

I love you more than the universe holds stars.

That sentence burrows into my heart and squeezes it like a vice. I have to wipe a few stray tears away, and hold in a breath, trying to swallow down the rock in my throat to no avail. I miss you. It’s an easy thought, naming a sadness buried deep down where my mother and father lie in their final rest.

I lay out my feelings onto the desk, like a scientist examining DNA. I pull apart the strands, and identify them all. Sadness, loneliness, love, anger. So much anger, it’s overflowing and burning as it drips onto the floor. It’s a boiling liquid leaving marks when it slips through the cracks in the floorboards. I recognize this is a powerful brew.

I bottle it and keep it on a shelf, this will push me forward.

Sirius, you said not to get you? But I keep my promises, and I promised you twice. I’m coming.

‘Dear Sirius,

That’s absolutely nonsense I’ll write to you everyday. You might not get them everyday though, but I’m writing them everyday. You’re not a bother. I actually like hearing from my godfather. Petunia is definitely better than she used to be (ur not allowed to tease me for this auntie) and we’re becoming friends I think. (No teasing. I’ll get Basil to peck you.) BTW! Basil is my beautiful great horned owl and carries our letters. He’ll be fine, he’s a violent boy and things such as dementors do not affect him. (To be more serious, I send these to the auror post office. I do realise that our correspondence could be monitored but they can su die. Cough. (Yes I know writing cough is absurd, that’s the point, thank you very much.))

I love you lots lots. I’m busy today so it’ll be a short letter. I’ve got people to sway to my plans. You don’t have to write long letters back every time, I assume that’s exhausting with the dementors.

Your very beloved godson,

Harry’

It seems that my conniving self does not surprise my aunt anymore. When I went to bother her about my accounts (perhaps I should've listened when we went the first time… ugh), she only gestured to a pile of paper on Vernon's desk which I squinted at. "I thought you didn't have my key?"

"I did the necessary paperwork," she said, amused.

I gaped at her, before closing my mouth with a huff. I took the papers, leafing through them. I didn't really understand much. There were a couple of numbers, what I assumed to be the sign for galleons, and rows of… properties, maybe? Or investments? If they were properties, Godric's Hollow should be written down somewhere- but it didn't seem to be the case.

"You have no idea what you're looking at, do you?"

"Banknotes?" I attempted, and she laughed.

I don't think I've ever heard her laugh? This was terrifying. She walked forward and plucked the strange papers from my hands to return them to their resting place. Petunia then turned towards me and crouched to my level. "What is it you're planning now?" she asked me, and I pouted.

"Maybe I'm not planning anything," I say petulantly, but she only roughs up my hair in response.

"Try again,"

"I wanted to hire a lawyer for Sirius," I fess up, knowing my aunt would not be likely to help at all if I didn't. I fidget as I look at my feet, she isn't saying anything and it's making me nervous.

"Of course you would," she sighed, and stood up. "Alright then, let's go,"

"Right now?" I ask with a frown. It's not that I'm not happy about it- but it's so sudden. I expected more cajolling, perhaps to get Dudley in on it (he loves helping). Then it would've taken a week or so of pulling teeth and an obsessive amount of planning (I do love planning) and-

She pauses, as though she heard my inner turmoil. She seems to consider something for a few moments. Before proposing, "In half an hour?"

I rub my knuckles over my mouth as I think it over. It would be okay. I would have time to sort through my thoughts, while perhaps also filling my water bottle and changing outfits. I nod once, decisively, and head to my room.

There I spend at least 5 minutes frozen sat on my bed, slightly rocking as I think, before undressing and hopping inside a nice blue flow-y dress with a pink flower pattern with shorts underneath. I then barrel down the stairs, fill my water bottle, put on my shoes and head to the door, where I wait for a few more minutes.

"Ready?" my aunt asks me, before we go out into her car.

The whole ride, I'm buzzing with energy. So much so that I even accidentally change the signal lights to green once, much to my aunt's exasperation. "Don't do that," she scolds me.

"I didn't do it on purpose," I pout, while I keep squirming like I want to jump out of the car any second. My aunt is unfazed. It is not the first time I'm so nervous and it most likely will not be the last.

We arrive at the leaky cauldron and this time my aunt addresses the barkeeper. He recognizes us from last time and inquires about my father.

"Oh yes he liked his gift," I nod, thinking of Sirius's reaction to the letter. My aunt, of course, is amused by this.

"Good lad," Tom says, before letting us in.

Petunia leads this excursion, suspiciously so. First we go to Flourish and Botts to get a list of the commerces in Diagon, before she drags us- without even showing me the list- to someplace, asking passerbies about 'Bones law firm' for directions. (I thought Amelia Bones worked for the ministry?) Some sneer at her, which makes me angry, but my aunt stays calm. She states she is a squib, sometimes (I don't know if that's a lie or not), but never mentions her relation to my mother.

Just like my scar is always hid by my hair.

It's unsaid but mutually understood that nobody should know I'm Harry Potter. I suspect my aunt knows how much of a disaster that would be, but even if she doesn't- I'd avoid it at all costs. Remembering that scene from the movie gives me shudders. I like personal space.

We walk some more, and eventually I grab her hand. My aunt doesn't comment on it. I don't really like being here. It's not too strange, just magical, but it's unfamiliar. Sue me for clinging to normalcy. Pun intended.

Eventually we do arrive upon a small office with the sign 'Bone's law firm' and we head in. "Is Mr.Bones in?" Petunia inquires to what must be some sort of secretary.

"Oh!" the person exclaims, "Yes yes, he is, you would like to see him?"

"Indeed," is all my aunt replies.

The excited secretary (they must've been bored) leads us to his office at the back of the place, and knocks. It takes a few moments, but the door opens. "Please come in," the man says, and we do.

He seems to be entranced in some paperwork as we take a seat, before straightening himself. He glances between the two of us. "I don't often get new clients," Mr.Bones comments.

"My sister, Lily Potter, told me about you," Petunia supplies.

The man blinks, but if he was shocked, it did not show. I sit up, curious. I'm not sure if my mother did tell my aunt about this particular lawyer, but even if she hadn't- it does fulfill a purpose. Name-dropping me, I think.

"Ah, you must be Petunia Evans," Mr.Bones says, and his eyes land on me, "And you must be… Harry Potter?"

I tilt my head, letting my hair get away from my forehead and nod.

"Is this about the books about him?" the man asks, and my aunt narrows her eyes. I'd forgotten about those adventure books! "It isn't," she comments, "But it will be, later,"

"Planning to keep me on retainer, are you?"

"If you're as good as she said,"

"I'm honoured the late Mrs.Potter held me in such high regard," Mr.Bone says, "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Would you like to explain Harry?" my aunt nudges me, and I startle. I did not expect that. "Ummm,"

I lowered in my seat. I hadn't… well.. thought of much. God I was useless. Still, my aunt simply ruffled my hair and said it was okay. I looked at her suspiciously, but she acted like this was normal. "My nephew believes his godfather did not receive a trial and believes he needs one,"

"Sirius Black?" the man gasped, "Are you serious? He-" Mr.Bones glances at me, again. "Does he know?"

"'f course I know what you guys think," I say, sitting up again with narrowed eyes. "But I was there. I know what I saw. Obviously, no one believed a toddler, but maybe they'd believe a kid."

"Oh?" Mr.Bones leans in closer, not judging, intrigued.

"The secret keeper was Pettigrew," I said clearly, like I was unable to back then. "Paddy was just a decoy,"

"Paddy?"

"That's his godfather,"

I pouted at my aunt. "Keep going you little menace," she said, awfully fond.

"He was the second person on the scene… after my parents died. First was uh.. some guy, I don't really know him," I lie. I cannot explain how I know this man. "It wasn't anyone I know, he wore a lot of black. And then it was Paddy. He gently took me from mom and- we headed downstairs past dad,"

Of course, it matches up with the way the scene was described.

"Then a giant man- I mean giant, like giant. Not because I'm small," I say pointedly, before I'm misunderstood, "Insists to take me. I try to convince Paddy not to go, but he says he has to get to Pettigrew and then, he goes. When I next woke up everyone called him a traitor and they didn't listen when I said it was the rat,"

"Why did you say Pettigrew was a rat?"

"He's an animagus. They all were. Dad was a deer, Pad was a dog and Pettigrew a rat. If you need proof I know my nursery spinny thing was them running, I'm not sure if it's still there or if it's destroyed,"

Bones goes quiet, tapping his fingers against the desk. "I see," he eventually nods, "First thing to do is checking if he had a trial or not, and depending on that I may need to meet you again. Otherwise, any correspondence could be completed by letter."

"How will it go when you learn he didn't get one?"

Bones smiles, amused. "If he did not get one, it will be much easier. There's also the matter of being an unregistered animagus, but even if they insist on it being a crime, the Azkaban sentence is served in a lighter part of the island. It will be pretty much open and shut, guilty or not, which you assure me he isn't. Any wizard unlawfully detained will be freed regardless of guilt."

"Really?" I exclaim, both glad and very much not. God. We're going to look at a few death-eaters going free… but I can understand forgetting a sentence if someone was being unlawfully detained.

"Yes," the man nods, "Now, I have some boring financial details to discuss with your aunt, I assume you would rather eat some candy with my secretary?" he says to me, but he's looking at Petunia the whole time.

She looks at me, and raises an eyebrow. It's my choice.

"I'll have you know that I'm aware you'll be talking about the ways this might go wrong as well, but I'll play along," I say, matter-of-fact and the lawyer chuckles before I leave and snatch a few chocolate frogs from the secretary. They help me catch the damn things when I struggle too much, which is fun. I get Dumbledore once, which is disgusting but I'll live.

The secretary also tries to get me to eat the weird jelly beans but I instead insist that they should have them, because their arguments on how they're good actually simply reflects on how much they want them. Eventually, they eat one, and I giggle as they gag.

When my aunt resurfaces, her face is blank. I know she's hiding something, but I don't think I want to know what. We go straight home and I sleep through the whole ride. When I wake up, I'm tucked in my bed. Guess they're trying to be better.

'Dear Harry,

Your owl sounds like he has a lot of character. I wish you wouldn't bother yourself over me, but I know Potters never give up on the people they love. Your father taught me that.

I don't believe they actually make the effort to monitor correspondence outside of wartime but it never hurts to be careful. That means saying aurors suck, instead of telling them to die Harry. I'm glad you like your aunt.

With all the love the universe has to offer,

your Paddy.'