The Potters
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor, a dull rhythm that Sirius had grown accustomed to over the weeks of confinement. He sat slumped on the narrow cot in his cell—or, as the Unspeakables liked to call it, his “secure room.”
The place was decorated to look comfortable, even domestic—a fitted bed, a small kitchenette, bookshelves—but Sirius knew better. The enchanted walls hummed with protective spells, the metal door sealed tight with layers of wards that not even he could break through, all that indicated a different story.
Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Every day was the same: more tests, more questions, more explanations about “dimensional travel” and “magical instability.” They’d lectured him endlessly about the dangers he supposedly posed to their world, but Sirius had long stopped listening.
None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Harry.
Somewhere out there, in this bizarre version of reality, his godson was alive. They’d shown him once, briefly, Harry’s image, but Sirius hadn’t been allowed to see him in person. Not yet. Not until he’d “cooperated.”
But how could he cooperate when they refused to give him the one thing he needed?
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, a gentle rhythm, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being undone. Sirius straightened instinctively, his muscles tense, as the heavy metal door swung open.
“Alright, Black,” said Addam Granger, stepping inside with his usual casual demeanor. “Looks like you’ve got visitors today.”
Visitors?
Sirius narrowed his eyes, watching as several figures filed into the room behind Addam. At first, they were just silhouettes, backlit by the corridor’s dim light. But as they stepped inside, their faces became clear—and Sirius’s heart stopped.
First, his eyes landed on the couple that nearly struck him as James and Lily. But the red-haired woman did not resemble Lily in the slightest. Even her hair was a lighter shade, and her pale face bore many more freckles than Lily’s. This woman, Sirius thought, was new. He didn’t recognize her at first, but the way she clung to Harry’s arm—Harry.
Sirius stood abruptly, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked on the man standing in the middle of the group, a man who eerily resembled Sirius’ surrogate father even more than the picture the Unspeakables had shown him had. But it was not him.
It was Harry.
No, not his Harry. This Harry was older, his face lined with the weight of years Sirius hadn’t been there for. His messy black hair had streaks of gray at the roots above the much faded lightning bolt scar, and there was a haunted look in his green eyes that made Sirius’s chest ache.
But it was him.
“Damn,” Sirius muttered, breaking the tense silence. “Either what those nutters said was true, or I fell into a coma for years and missed out on you growing up.”
Harry didn’t respond. He just stared at Sirius, his face pale and his body trembling slightly. The red-haired woman, who now Sirius realized was Ginny, gently tugged his arm, grounding him.
Sirius shifted awkwardly, his gaze sweeping the group before returning to Harry. “You look. . .” He trailed off, unsure of what to say.
It was Granger—Addam Granger, the Unspeakable, not Hermione—who finally broke the tension. “Mr. Black,” he said, stepping forward. “I believe this is where you start answering questions as we’ve agreed. If you want, we’ll give the two of you some privacy before we proceed. . . unless Mr. Potter wishes for his family to stay?”
Harry shook his head quickly. “They can stay.”
Sirius frowned, studying Harry closely. The younger man’s voice was hoarse, his posture rigid. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, and Sirius yearned to comfort him, but he did not know how.
“Harry,” Sirius said softly.
Harry flinched, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t,” he muttered.
Sirius froze, his chest tightening. He wanted to say more, to reassure Harry, to explain, but the look in his godson’s eyes stopped him.
A million-thought appeared to be racing in this older version of his godson. He looked troubled to say the least. He was shaking, almost hyperventilating.
The others seemed to have noticed the change in demeanor too. They were calling Harry’s name, trying to grab his attention away from whatever was weighing on his mind. Sirius could only resist the instinct to reach out for him. He worried that any sudden move made by him might spook Harry, so he stayed rooted in his place.
“Harry?” Ginny warily placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, which seemed to do the trick, for now.
“Erm, I’m sorry?” Harry turned to her and the edges that previously marked his face appeared to have softened.
“You alright there, Harry?” Sirius spoke hesitantly.
Harry nodded without looking at him.
“Blimy, you look like you’ve seen a ghost for the first time.” Sirius said in a feeble attempt to brighten the mood.
A dark look had flickered on Harry’s expression for a fleeting moment that Sirius did not understand the reason behind it. “Feels like I have.”
“Yeah?” Sirius attempted to smile, but even he could sense how strained it came out as. “Same here.”
“Really?” The curios tone that Harry spoke with now so resembled his teenaged self that Sirius could not help the tiny smile from forming.
He nodded. “I could’ve sworn that, for a second, I thought I saw da—er, y-your grandfather.”
“That’s the Potter genes doing its thing, y’know.” The red-haired man said. “If you saw Albus, you’d think you’re looking right at a younger Harry.”
Harry, Ginny and the other woman all slowly turned to give the redhead block an identical, incredulous look.
Sirius chanced a skeptic glance at the other man for the first time before his eyes widened in unexpected recognition. “Ron?”
There was no doubt that this was truly Ronald Weasley. Older now, with broad shoulders and a sharper jawline. He even possessed a more mature air, but this was still unmistakably Ron. He looked like a grown-up version of the teenager Sirius had known. A man instead of a boy.
And beside him could be none other than Hermione Granger. She had the same sharp gaze, the same air of intelligence and determination, the one difference was that her once youthful face had aged gracefully with years of accumulated wisdom.
“You’re all adults now.” Sirius muttered to himself, his mood souring from the constant reminders of just how much time had passed. He then addressed Ron squarely, “What do you mean Albus looks like a younger Harry? The man’s as old as helicopters—actually no, he’s older even!”
“He’s not talking about Albus Dumbledore, he meant my son.” Ginny answered boldly.
Sirius mouthed the word ‘son’ as he shook his head in disbelief.
“He went missing about the same time that you appeared in our world, you see, and we think he’s at wherever you’re from.” Ginny explained, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes.
Sirius’ breath hitched. They have a child already—because of course they do, it was the bloody future, after all—He buried his head in his hand, groaning.
“You’re telling me the whole thing is not some cruel hoax?” Sirius said. “That the veil actually brought me to a different dimension?” when Hermione confirmed his statement, he groaned again before he finally looked up. “A-and what? Is this the future? I mean—is your. . .” He waved a frantic hand around. “. . . is your timeline like some sort of prophesized future to the dimension I’m from?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Harry said, sounding a great deal more composed than he did a moment ago. “We need you to answer the questions the Unspeakables have for you—questions about your world, so we’d be able to compare it with our world’s history—It’s the only way to know for sure how similar our worlds are, and. . .” He paused before adding in a heavy tone. “It may be the only way to find my son.”
Sirius swallowed hard, his mind racing. Another Harry. Another world. And now. . . Harry’s own son.
“Fine,” he said finally, his voice firm.
Sirius had been pacing in his newly assigned quarters in the Potter house for what felt like hours. The house itself was cozy but unfamiliar—far removed from Grimmauld Place or any other dwelling he'd known. Its muggle design, coupled with subtle magical touches, was disarming in its simplicity. If Harry’s house was any indication, it was a happy place.
That knowledge made Sirius feel out of place, though. He wasn’t sure if he should admire it, resent it, or envy it.
He pressed his forehead against the windowpane, looking out at the ordinary street beyond the garden fence. Children cycled by on bikes, their laughter ringing faintly in the distance. He sighed, pulling away, and wandered back toward the living room, where he could hear muffled voices through the walls.
The Potters had taken him in with what seemed to be an uncomfortable mix of obligation and compassion. Harry’s wife, Ginny, had been warm and open, but Harry himself was avoiding him like the plague. And the kids—Albus Potter’s brother and sister—well, they were polite enough, though there definitely was some tension at the beginning before the oldest one, James II, had broken the ice.
“So,” the eldest son—named after his own best mate—had a bold grin that was almost a replica of his grandfather’s. “you’re a time traveler.”
Sirius blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. He chuckled despite himself. “In a sense, yes.”
Jimmy’s enthusiasm was refreshing, even if it could get a little overwhelming. The boy launched into a flurry of questions and stories, his energy filling the room and drawing his sister, Lily Luna, in as well. Ginny had joined them soon after, bringing drinks, and for a while, Sirius found himself caught in the orbit of this family, feeling like a long-lost relative who’d finally come home.
But Harry didn’t join them.
Sirius could feel Harry’s absence like a weight pressing on his chest. He could hear him in the kitchen, busying himself with chopping and cleaning, the sounds sharp and erratic. Every so often, Sirius caught a glimpse of him through the open door, shoulders hunched and brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. Harry wasn’t a boy anymore—he was a man, a father, and something in his posture spoke of burdens Sirius didn’t yet understand.
It stung.
Sirius wasn’t blind to the way Harry avoided making eye contact, or the way his voice grew clipped when he was forced to speak to him. He had no illusions about how strange this situation was—for both of them—but a small, selfish part of him wished Harry would just look at him.
Harry had been avoiding him since the moment Sirius had arrived. At first, Sirius chalked it up to the sheer strangeness of the situation. Of course, Harry was going to be cautious. After all, Sirius wasn’t the same godfather that this Harry knew, not exactly. He was a piece displaced from another world, an echo of someone lost long ago.
But as time wore on, Sirius began to see something deeper in Harry’s avoidance.
It was in the way Harry wouldn’t hold his gaze, wouldn’t even stay in the same room unless absolutely necessary. It was in the tightness of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched every time Sirius spoke. And it was in the anger, bubbling just beneath the surface of Harry’s carefully composed demeanor.
Sirius had seen that anger before.
He’d seen it in himself, staring at his own reflection in the mirror of Grimmauld Place during those long, torturous months of confinement. He knew that particular shade of rage—how it was born not from hatred, but from grief, guilt, and the kind of love that hurt to hold onto. Like the love he had for Regulus.
And then it clicked.
Harry wasn’t avoiding him because he didn’t trust him. Harry was avoiding him because seeing him hurt.
The realization hit Sirius like a stinging hex to the chest.
Of course Harry was hurting. To him, Sirius wasn’t just a man from another dimension, but a ghost. A cruel reminder of someone Harry had loved and lost. Every time Harry looked at him, he saw the man who had fallen through the veil, who had left him behind in a storm of grief and unanswered questions.
He wanted to say something, to tell Harry that he understood. But Harry wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t give him the chance. So Sirius kept his distance, trying to respect Harry’s space, even as it killed him to do so.
“I still can’t believe I’m actually meeting you” Jimmy’s voice said suddenly, pulling Sirius from his thoughts. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
Sirius chuckled. “Only good things, I hope.”
“Oh yeah, only the best—but that’s probably kind of biased because it’s mostly from dad’s perspective.” Before Sirius was able to say something about that, James quickly added, “I’m named after you, you know.”
Sirius didn’t know why the words struck like a blow, and he turned to the eighteen-year-old, his grey eyes widening slightly. “What?”
“Yeah, only further showing how dad’s obsessed with naming his kids after people who made an impact on his life or whatever.” Little James explained. “Yours is my middle name.”
“James Sirius Potter,” Sirius said the name softly, his voice almost a whisper.
Harry didn’t look at him, but Sirius saw the way his shoulders tensed.
It was a great name. Sirius wanted to—to what? Show Harry his gratitude for the sentiment in naming his first born after himself? It was an overwhelmingly nice gesture, Sirius thought. And to have his own name paired with someone as virtuous as James Potter himself just added more to it.
Sirius opened his mouth to say something to Harry, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he forced himself to smile at Jimmy. “Well, I’d say you’ve got quite the name to live up to, then.”
Talking to the young James did well to distract Sirius from his own overwhelming turmoil of emotions, and it didn’t hurt that the young man’s enthusiasm was quite infectious.
Eventually, the uneasy peace in the house was shattered by a loud commotion outside. Sirius’ head snapped up, his instincts flaring to life as he moved toward the window.
“Stay here,” Harry called over his shoulder, already striding toward the door.
Sirius followed, ignoring the order. Whatever was happening out there, he wasn’t going to sit idly by while Harry faced it alone.
The scene that greeted him outside was tense. A group of Unspeakables stood at the gate, their robes dark and foreboding, their wands clutched tightly at their sides.
At the center of the group was Unspeakable Fawley, her titanium-colored hair gleaming in the sunlight as she glared at Harry with barely contained fury.
“You’ve got some nerve, Potter,” she spat.
“Unspeakable Fawley,” Harry said coolly, his tone was calm much to the Unspeakable’s infuriation. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Save it.” Fawley’s lips curled into a sneer as she cut him off. “We entrusted you to keep what you’ve been told quiet and instead you bring him to your house the very next day?!”
Sirius heard two load cracks as Unspeakables Jones and Granger came to Harry’s aid.
“Fawley! I told you the order came from a higher authority—the highest even!” Unspeakable Granger stood between Harry and his fuming colleague. “There’s nothing illegal about transporting Black to what is considered a better environment—”
“Whatever is considered to be a better environment can be reasonably established within the walls of the Department of Mysteries!” Fawley seethed. “You two—” She pointed an accusatory finger at both her colleagues. “—of all people, should know how unethical it is to expose subjects from our department like that. It could be dangerous!”
Sirius clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to snap back at her. He wasn’t some experimental subject. He was a bloody person!
Harry must have sensed his rising temper because he turned slightly, giving Sirius a brief look that was both reassuring and a warning.
“Subjects from your department. Is that what he is to you?” Harry snapped at her. “Someone who belongs in your organization because he could be dangerous?”
“That is not what I meant.” Unspeakable Fawley crossed her arms.
Sirius didn’t hear the rest of the argument though, his attention turned from the commotion outside when he noticed Lily Luna’s curious look perk as she heard her father’s yelling. He looked down to see her standing beside him, her warm hazel-brown eyes—James’ eyes— widened behind her glasses.
“What’s going on? What do these people want?” She asked no one in particular.
Sirius sighed. “They’re here for me.”
“Are they about to take you away?” The fourteen-year-old questioned.
“I don’t know.” Sirius answered truthfully. Two out of the three Unspeakables assigned to him had agreed to let him out of the Department of Mysteries after Hermione all but forced their hands (Harry’s friend was the bloody Minister of Magic! Sirius could not think of a better person suited to obtain this kind of power. He was certain she was splendid at her job and the ministry was actually doing things that mattered for once.) “But your da is sure ripping them a new one, huh?”
“Well, he’s the Head Auror, so they better not piss him off!” Little Lily Luna said in a I-have-a-cool-dad manner that made Sirius chuckle.
“For the record,” he heard Harry’s voice say from a distance, “just because this Sirius Black doesn’t belong in our world, that does not permit you—or anyone else—to treat him as if he was anything less than his dead counterpart. It doesn’t make him less human. It doesn’t dismiss all that he has suffered.” Sirius stared at Harry, the words sinking deep into his chest.
He had been too in trance to what Harry had said that he had failed to notice the girl sneaking past him until he saw her standing near her father.
For a moment, the tension hung thick in the air. Then, Fawley took a step back, her sneer faltering under the weight of Harry’s conviction.
“It doesn’t make him any less real. He is Sirius Black,” Harry concluded, unaware of his daughter right beside him. His voice had gotten quieter this time but was no less firm, it was as though he were speaking more to himself than to the Unspeakables. “He is. And calling him an ‘other’ can’t cancel that out.”
When Lily Luna reached for his hand, smiling up at him, Harry noticed her and immediately returned his daughter’s smile. He held her hand as they both made their way back toward the house, leaving the mess outside to sort itself out.
Sirius stood rooted in place at the threshold, his emotions a tangled mess as he watched Harry approach the house.
When he and Sirius locked eyes this time, Harry did not look away.
That argument had left Sirius shaken—not because of the accusations thrown at him, but because of the way Harry had defended him.
"He is Sirius Black," Harry had said, his voice steady and sure.
The words echoed in Sirius’s mind throughout the evening. After the confrontation, he watched as Harry lingered by the door after his daughter had gotten it, his hand resting on the frame as if bracing himself for something. Sirius wanted to reach out, to offer some kind of reassurance, but refrained from doing so.
Ginny appeared then, placing a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. She whispered something Sirius couldn’t hear, and Harry nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly before he stepped inside.
Sirius followed hesitantly, unsure of where he stood.
Harry didn’t go far. He stopped in the living room, his back to Sirius, his head bowed. Both of their children had gone upstairs, and Ginny stayed by her husband’s side for a moment before quietly excusing herself, leaving the two of them alone.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, Sirius spoke.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Harry stiffened but did not turn around.
“I get it,” Sirius continued, his voice low and tentative. “I remind you of him. Of the Sirius you knew. And I’m not him.”
Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he still said nothing.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to make this easier for you,” Sirius admitted. “But the truth is, I don’t know how. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say or do that will make this. . . less painful.”
Harry let out a shaky breath, and Sirius took a cautious step closer.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said softly. “For everything. For reminding you of him. For being here when I’m not the one you really wanted. I’m sorry.”
Those words seemed to have broken something in Harry. He turned sharply, his green eyes blazing with a mix of anger and anguish. “Stop,” he said, his voice trembling.
Sirius froze, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Just stop apologizing,” Harry continued, his voice rising. “You don’t have to apologize for being here. You didn’t ask for this any more than I did. And you’ve done nothing wrong to be apologizing for.”
Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off.
“I’ve been trying to convince myself that you’re not him,” Harry said, his voice almost cracking. “That you’re some stranger who just happens to look like him, talk like him, be him. But it doesn’t matter where you come from or what world you belong to. You’re Sirius.”
The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Harry’s chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
Sirius stared at him, his throat tight. “Harry. . .”
“You’re Sirius,” Harry repeated, quieter this time. “You’re not exactly the same, but you’re still him. And I—” He broke off, hanging his head before he sighed tiredly. “I just don’t know how to deal with that.”
Sirius stepped forward then, his movements slow and deliberate. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, waiting for him to pull away, but Harry didn’t. He stood rooted to the spot, his breathing still unsteady, but he didn’t flinch or move to shrug Sirius off.
“I’m not asking you to have all the answers, Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “Hell, I don’t even have any of my own. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. But what I do know is that I’m here now, and if that means something to you—if I mean something to you—then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Harry didn’t respond at first. He stared at the floor, his jaw tight, as if wrestling with emotions too big to contain. Finally, he raised his head, his green eyes locking onto Sirius’s grey ones.
“You meant everything to me,” Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were my family. The first real family I ever had. And then you were gone.” This time, his voice did crack, and he took a shaky breath. “You have no idea what that did to me. Losing you—losing him—it broke me.”
Sirius felt his chest tighten, his hand still resting on Harry’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the weight of Harry’s words.
“I know I shouldn’t be angry with you,” Harry continued, his voice growing steadier. “I know it’s not your fault. But seeing you here. . . it just brings everything back. All the pain, all that unresolved grief. But at the same time, it feels like a second chance. Like I’m getting something back I thought I’d lost forever. And that scares me, because I don’t know if I can handle losing you again.”
Sirius swallowed hard, his heart aching at the vulnerability in Harry’s words. He could see the pain etched into every line of Harry’s face, the weight of years of suffering that he hadn’t been there to lessen or even share.
“You won’t lose me,” Sirius said firmly. “Not this time.”
Harry’s expression wavered, his green eyes flickering with doubt. “You can’t promise that,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “No one can.”
Sirius hesitated, the weight of reality pressing down on him. He wanted to make the promise, wanted to give Harry the reassurance he needed—but he also couldn’t lie. Not to Harry. Not when his own Harry needed him just as much as—if not more— than this one did.
“You’re right,” Sirius admitted, his voice softening. “I can’t promise that. I can’t promise I’ll be here forever. But I can promise this: I’ll do whatever it takes to make the time we do have count. For you. For your family. . . and for your son.”
Harry flinched slightly at the mention of Albus, his face twisting with guilt and pain. “My son,” he whispered, almost to himself. “is still out there. And if getting him back means you have to leave. . .” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Sirius’s throat tightened. He’d been thinking about it too—the other Harry, his own Harry, waiting for him in his own dimension. A boy who had no one else to fight for him.
Sirius took a slow breath. “I don’t belong here, Harry. Not really. There’s a version of you who needs me just as much as you need Albus back. Maybe more.”
Harry’s head bowed, his shoulders tense. “I know,” he said after a long pause. “I’ve known since the moment you walked through the door this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.”
The raw honesty in Harry’s voice cut through Sirius like a knife. He wanted to deny it, to cling to this strange, impossible second chance. But he couldn’t.
“Then you know what we have to do,” Sirius said gently. “We’ll get Albus back. And when we do, I’ll go home. To him.”
Harry looked up at him, his green eyes glassy with unshed tears. “It’s not fair,” he said, laughing bitterly. “None of this is bloody fair.”
Sirius nodded slowly, his own throat tight with emotion. “It’s not,” he agreed. “But life never is, is it? We’ve always known that better than anyone.”
Harry huffed out a strained laugh, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah. I suppose we have.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the conversation hung as the silence pressed down on them.
Finally, Sirius broke it. “But here’s the thing, Harry. Just because I can’t stay doesn’t mean this doesn’t matter. I’m here now. And that means something. Even if it’s just for a little while.”
Harry took a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
Sirius stepped forward, placing both hands on Harry’s shoulders this time. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Harry didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch ever so slightly, as if drawing strength from it.
“We’ll get him back,” Harry said, his voice steadier now. “No matter what it takes.”
Sirius smiled faintly, a flicker of determination lighting his eyes. “Damn right we will.”