Careful! He is growing up.
South of England, away from wixen politics and madmen trying to kill him, Harry lived in a picturesque manor overtaken by vegetation and overprotectiveness. With his fifteenth birthday catching up to them, the flowers seemed to have settled their determination to conquest their territory in what Regulus Black considered “proper preparations”. Men and women from various crowds were to reconvene by the afternoon in the manor’s fanciest ballroom to celebrate the most prestigious muggle musical prodigy, and wizard war hero Sirius Black’s ward; the last orphan, Harry Potter.
A party were not a single teen would be caught dead in, for no witch, wizard or muggle was unaware of the strong influence the Black family had in France. How either brother had come to the conclusion that Harry would be interested in the event was beyond him. For all their so called “differences”, Regulus and Sirius were two mirror images of out-of-touch absurdity.
Black curls bounced and silver eyes glared as the Black brothers checked every damned corner of the manor for missing details and too colourful imperfections. The French countryside had been a soothing respite for the two war veterans, who had decided to up and leave England after their most brave, most amazing, most you-will-never-compare feat of defeating a wizard fascist lunatic who preached magical racism. Harry had been freshly orphaned then, and as most eighteen month olds, didn’t have that strong a preference for either place. They had kept the cat at least.
Sirius had grown restless by the time he turned three, too free-spirited and attention-seeking to survive on toddler awe, he took off to the French muggle scene, in a last fuck-you to his very awful no-good magical racist family that Harry never got to meet. The muggles loved him, as most people did, falling over themselves to get a good look at the “sculpted” features multiple generations of wixen incest had breed. He hadn’t been a musician at first, the French muggles didn’t care much for what he could do so long as he did it there. Regardless the opportunity fell on him, and on Harry’s tenth birthday Sirius Black decided that model-socialite-teen crush was too little a title compared to dark-lord-vanquisher, so up he went on stage to become a national rock phenomenon. Harry was allowed on tour, but never on the crowd, lest someone could take their eyes off Sirius for a single second and become ashen at his medusa green eyes.
Regulus, on the other hand, thrived in silence and seclusion, he became an academic, muggle chemistry and how it changed wixen alchemy, potions and biology. Do not be fooled though, his calm demeanour does not make him any less egocentric than his older brother, he had honed with the years the incredible feat of making you feel as stupid as a troll with a single look. Harry remembers losing days of his life in front of his bedroom mirror trying to replicate the casual arrogance Regulus wore like a cape. He insisted on having Harry educated in matters he hadn’t been born to understand, but as Harry was but a glorified prisoner a school was out of the question. Instead, he got tutored by a man who had never considered any other person was capable of conscious thought but him.
The both of them had joined forces to plan a “special day” for him. It had been a sinking ship from the start, the titanic paled to the drama of seeing Sirius and Regulus attempt to decide on an aesthetic for a party Harry would hate regardless. It would cost a fortune, as was proper for a party hosted by the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Harry didn’t care for it, he had money, they had money, all the people he met drowned in money, and yet Harry was still irreparably alone. Sirius would tell him stories of the marauders when he was younger, before he realized they only made him bitter.
Tom Riddle was dead! England had erupted in celebrations about it more than fourteen years ago! All the procedures had been done, and all the triple-checking had been performed! He was dead! So why was Harry still kept under lock and key? Children stories had been written about that night, and about him. Stories English witches and English wizards his age had grown up reading, he would be fine! Those kids loved him!
It was a matter of Sirius not being able to stand for someone else to be in the center of attention for more than three seconds, and Regulus not being able to admit someone else had had a good idea for once. Should it be some other reason, it was unknown to Harry. And as it didn’t look like he was going to be allowed to know any time soon, he took the matter in his own hands.
Harry wasn’t someone fond of trouble, really, but there was a certain dopamine rush to catching the two most paranoiac people alive off guard. He wasn’t there to see it play out, obviously, but the many lectures he went on to get about this moment painted a pretty clear picture. His only regret about it had been not having gotten some sort of photo or recording of Sirius Black when he entered his room to fetch him for the lamest party they could’ve planned for him to find it empty.
“He is gone! Reg, he is gone! They’ve taken him! He is gone! He is gone!” Had screamed Sirius in frantic panic, running down the stairs and knocking against the walls in a hurry for catching up to Harry (who had been gone for an hour at that point). Sirius had been an auror once, he had been groomed freshly out of school to fight the Magical Racism War™, not that he had become conscious of it yet, still, one would guess he would’ve leaned back on his so proclaimed “exhaustive training” to, at the very least, cast a simple location charm.
No such luck (or plenty luck actually, as Harry was halfway through the country at this point), Sirius scavenged the manor like a dog on a scent instead of using his—allegedly—human brain to track him down. Thankfully for him, Regulus had caught up to him at some point in time, roughly by the time Harry had reached muggle Paris (it smelled like piss). With the combined effort of their egos and totally average wit they came up with a retrieval plan.
Harry would go on to wonder over tireless nights how exactly they had managed to track him down as he had taken many a precaution, but as it stands, to this very day he is unaware of it so the details will have to be glossed over. You may imagine a moderately cool scheming montage if your heart desires it.
It was a matter of inevitability in all honesty, Sirius had excelled at finding him in any and all hiding places across the manor, the countryside, and in one memorable occasion, a muggle renaissance fair. Why he hadn’t gathered Harry was not one to enjoy being kept inside a box like a collectible action figure was beyond him.
It was a tradition of theirs for Sirius to spin him around once he was found, a fond laugh for only him, away from any camera and audience. It was not to be this day. Sirius didn’t look delighted to see him, which was rather hypocritical for a guy who had spent so much brain power in finding him, he looked murderous actually.
The guy Harry had convinced to guide him to the French wixen district broke out in trembling by the weight of the combined power of the Black Family Glare™. At about ten meters from them, Gustav (Harry remembered his name out of spite), took the cigarette HE had offered him out of his mouth and then promptly broke out in a run worthy of a golden medal, Harry felt more shame in his taste in men than in being caught in all honesty.
“Well, that wasn’t very chivalrous.” Quipped Regulus in a dry tone.
“Ah, you know the French.” He answered, avoiding Sirius’s glare for very good reasons, like not wanting to die.
“Reg, go home. Harry and I will have a talk.” Ordered Sirius, which was very uncool because him and Regulus were equals and he really shouldn’t have let Sirius speak to him that way.
“Noo, I’ll miss him.” He pouted. No reason to die in fear, if you’ve got your hand inside a lion’s mouth, might as well grab the tongue, you know?
Sirius didn’t respond, and neither did Regulus, rude. Regulus did leave, taking his hopes and dreams for a prosper future with him.
“What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous was?” He started screaming. In the middle of the street. Like a psychopath who wanted his social life to never exist, ever.
“Why are you screaming at me? Is this not Potter enough for you? Should I have performed some sort of wildly illegal underage magic while doing it too?” He responded, because he was naïve and stupid.
“You think this is what your father would’ve wanted? To see you smoking low quality cigarettes with cheap French boys?” Low blow.
“I wouldn’t know, now, would I?” Harry could hit lower.
“You are incorrigible! All I asked is for you to behave for One! Single! Day! Was that really so difficult? You know how bad this looks on me?”
“Can’t imagine it looks any better than screaming at your poor little orphan ward on the middle of the fucking street!”
“Oh! Poor little Harry! He has a house full of people who accept him and love him as he is and is being thrown a big party for his birthday, were everyone will give him horrible expensive thoughtful gifts! I can’t imagine how you manage to survive it!”
“This is exactly what I mean! You don’t even care about me! Have you considered for a single second that I wouldn’t want My Birthday to be all about you!”
“What are you even saying?”
“This stupid party is all you! Your house! Your friends! Your fans! Your favourite food and music!”
“You didn’t care about any of it!”
“Because I didn’t want the fucking party, you half-wit dog!”
“You will not speak to me like that!”
“Oh, and what will you do about it? Hit me? Go ahead, it’s the only thing that’s left.”
“You know nothing, kid. You will go to that fucking party, put on that stupid robe Regulus bought for you and smile for the three hours those fuckers want to see you. No nothings.”
And with that public display of family harmony Sirius took him by the arm and apparated them home. Harry didn’t even get to see the stupid potions through the years exhibit.
The walk inside was silent, Sirius altered the wards to hold him prisoner for real this time, and then promptly locked the door to his room. Harry felt the scene would’ve looked better with a tattered dress and smeared make-up, but alas, he was a boy with no fashion sense, no tiaras for him.
Regulus voice rumbled against the walls (and the eavesdropping charm Harry casted) as he caught up to the, still, mad Sirius.
“He picked up smoking younger than you did, you know?” He said, which was actually really useful information (Thanks, Regulus).
“He is out of control.” Lamented Sirius, probably throwing himself down to the floor, limbs extended to emphasize just how tiring and awful was to raise him.
“He is fifteen, Sirius. All kids are awful at fifteen. I don’t remember you being any nicer at that age.” Soothed Regulus, who was amazing and totally receiving a good birthday gift this year.
“This is pay-back. All those times mother said I would one day be cursed to suffer me, she was right. The witch cursed me, Reg!” Harry took offense to that actually, he was much different from Sirius thank you very much.
“You are overreacting, Siri. It was a boy and a cigarette, I’m sure there are worse things he could do.” So true, Regulus, the voice of reason as always.
“Not Harry, not my sweet little angel Harry. He was such a nice child, so little and wise. Whatever happened to I am so glad you’re in my life, Siri. ” He grew up, that’s what.
“He grew up, Siri, he is bound to want his space you know. I hear the Parisian wixen district had a very interesting potions exhibitions, maybe he wanted to see it.” !!!
“I could’ve gotten him the book.” Grumbled Sirius like the man-child he was.
“Siri.” Reprimanded Regulus once more.
“It’s not safe out there, Reg. I know we won, I get it logically, on paper. Its just—people still died after we won. People still got tortured and hurt and all those turds didn’t go to Azkaban, they’re out there, taking their children to vacation in a Villa in France, waiting for the moment they see the one child who had him vanquished. I don’t—I can’t lose him too.”
Harry had listened all the way to the roof, a little “Just talk to him, Siri” before he could not listen any longer. It wasn’t like he wanted Sirius to hurt, or to be scared. It was just that he was fifteen years old and had no friends his age. Every year spent in his same childhood room it became more obvious to him that Sirius would keep him there as long as he could, chained by his side for reasons Harry could not control.
The ceiling in his room had begun to feel suffocating two summers ago. He wanted to live. He wanted to meet people who knew him before Sirius. He wanted to be extraordinary in his own right. He wanted to have people that were only his. He wanted to have his own space in the world, learn who he was and how high he could reach.
He lit a cigarette in lieu of any of it.
It wasn’t long before Sirius climbed up behind him. Harry didn’t make any effort to hide the cigarette, and Sirius didn’t act like he didn’t see it.
“You left.” Sirius said, raw grief in his voice throwing him off any plan about this conversation.
“I didn’t want to be here.” He explained shortly.
“I—Harry I don’t know what to do. It doesn’t seem like there is a single thing I can do that you will like. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I am a prisoner Sirius, of course I’m unhappy.”
“That is not what I wanted.” He said, genuine despair in his voice. Harry felt for the first time there that they were truly both just as lost.
“I want to be a kid, Sirius, like a real one. Pinocchio style.”
“Anything you want.”
“School?”
“I’ll have you signed up for Beauxbatons by August.”
“Hogwarts.” In for a penny in for a pound, no?
“No.” Well, he tried.
“Hogwarts.” He tried again, just in case.
“Harry—it’s too dangerous.” That’s not a no.
“Dad and mom went there, no? You and Reg as well. It seems like the closest I’ll ever be to having them.” And he meant it, as well. Stop doubting Harry, he is a good kid, deep inside, very deep inside.
“Harry.”
“Just—think about it, yeah? You can’t keep me here forever, I’ll go insane.”
Silence. The party had already started downstairs, confirming it hadn’t needed Harry in it after all. Regulus was being a wonderful host, Harry could almost make out his silhouette from this high.
“Go down, say hi, try and have fun. I’ll think about it.” Said Sirius, “And, Harry, Happy Birthday.”