Oh, Family.
"No one's ever had me... not like you."
August 29th, 1993. - Harry’s POV.
Family dinner was not a good idea. Lily and James – Lily, but James goes along with everything his wife says like the lovesick puppy he is – thought it would be a good idea to invite The Dursleys over for the night. They brought Marge (Vernon’s sister) along with them, which of course included one of her many bulldogs, Ripper.
One thing to know about Marge: She has no filter. The Potter’s opened their home to her, welcomed her warmly and only had nice things to say. They acted interested when she went on another long drawl about her dogs, they asked questions where necessary to keep the conversation flowing, and they topped up her wine glass every time she clicked her fingers at them without a single twitch of the eye.
With all their kindness, Harry had no idea what went wrong.
The chaos started between dinner and dessert. Harry went with his parents to plate up dessert – James' mother Effie’s homemade rice pudding recipe – and Lily sent Harry back to the dining room to ask if anyone would like another drink.
He complied happily, but just before he rounded the corner to the dining room, he stopped dead in his tracks, hearing what could only be one Marge Dursley speaking in an obnoxiously boisterous tone.
“That kid of theirs sure is a piece of work. What school did you say he goes to, Vernon?”
Stammering over his words, Vernon did his best to sound secure in his response, “St. Brutus’s Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He’s an awfully behaved child and they hoped that sending him there would keep him in line,” Harry could barely stifle his amusement when he added, “Thankfully our Dudders is a good boy and was able to be sent to the most prestigious school in all of England.”
Harry couldn’t see, but by the grunt that could have only come from his cousin Dudley, it seemed that Marge pinched his cheeks between her perfectly manicured fingers. “It doesn’t seem like that school has done much for him, I mean, have you noticed his behaviour tonight? He’s barely spoken a word! Tell me, do they use a cane at St Brutus’s?”
Before Uncle Vernon could respond, Harry rounded the corner with a wide smirk spread across his face. His Aunt Petunia looked absolutely aggrieved. “Oh, yeah. They beat me all of the time.”
She raised a judgemental brow, assessing him before looking away, quickly dismissing him. He never even got the chance to ask if they would like a refill before she went on again. “And what is it his father does, Petunia?”
Quickly glancing at Harry, she lied, “Oh, well he’s currently in between jobs...”
Marge snorted, “That just a nice way to say he’s been sacked, is it?” She lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a long sip before continuing, “Next thing, you’ll tell me he’s a drunk, too!”
And that was all it took for Harry to lose control. His magic quickly slipped from his grasp and the lights began to flicker uncontrollably, the TV that Dudley had his eyes fixed in going to static.
“That’s a lie!” Harry yelled.
Finally, Marge regarded Harry. “What did you say, boy?”
“My Dad isn’t a drunk!” The glass of red in her hand shattered, courtesy of Harry’s accidental magic. She laughed it off, thinking she had been the one to cause it, telling Petunia not to fret over her ‘firm grip’. Aunt Petunia knew better though, looking fearful and avoiding Harry’s eye.
Marge clicked her fingers at Harry, ordering him to clean up the mess of red wine and continued her disrespectful rant. “You know what? I bet his behavioural issues have nothing to do with his alcoholic father. You know what they say about dogs; if there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there’s something wrong with the pup.”
And now, that just wouldn’t do. Harry would not stand here and act as this woman's maid while she spoke trash about his parents. No one seemed to notice over the sound of Vernon’s unattractive snort of laughter, but Harry heard the gasp that came from behind the wall that he previously used to eavesdrop.
There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that James was about to storm in and demand they leave at once, because no one talks about his wife that way, but Harry beat him to his outburst. Throwing the tea towel he was cleaning up with onto the table, he fumed, “Shut up! Shut up now!”
Just as Marge raised her finger to tell Harry off, she stopped short, a look of confusion washing over her face. It seemed that Harry had accidentally begun to... blow her up? Inflate her like a balloon?
Fury built rapidly in Harry’s chest. How dare she come into their home and treat them so terribly. How dare she speak about his parents like they’re vermin. His parents who are the kindest and most gentle people in all the country.
As he grew angrier, Marge grew bigger. The buttons from her old worn vest began to pop off and fly about the room. The fake pearls around her neck snapped and rolled all over the carpet. Her trousers started bursting at the seams and finally, she started floating towards the ceiling. Meanwhile, she was screaming like a child who has just dropped their ice cream. Vernon was shouting in distress for his sister and Petunia was weeping into her plate. Harry wasn’t sure if Dudley had even noticed what was going on, eyes transfixed on the TV that still played nothing but static.
At the commotion, Lily ran frantically into the room, James was right behind her, finally coming out from his hiding spot and stifling a laugh at the scene before him. Lily froze, jaw dropped open and eyes bulging comically.
Once his mother had collected herself, she rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand. Vernon physically recoiled at the sight of it, but seemed to accept that magic was the only way to help his sister after what looked like an intense mental battle. After a quick deflation charm paired with a more complex memory charm, Marge was as good as new.
When order was regained, James was quick in kicking them out. No aggression, just a huge sarcastic grin on his face as he regarded them. “Now if you don’t mind leaving and never returning. Door’s that way,” he said, pointing towards the front of their house. They all scowled at him but did as he said. Harry watched on in amusement as Dudley was shaken from his daze when Ripper latched onto his leg. He shrieked and jumped straight up, running out the door. Eventually, when the rest of them walked through the door, James proceeded to shout, “Bye! Thanks for coming!” and then slammed the door so hard it shook on its hinges.
He turned back around and raised a silent hand to Harry, a big dopey grin on his face. Harry mirrored his dad’s smile and high-fived him.
“Harry,” Lily said gently, getting both him and James’ attention. “let’s go sit down, yeah?” Harry nodded and followed her to the living room. James took a quick detour to the kitchen and re-appeared a few minutes later with three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. Harry smiled as he watched James place a chaste kiss to Lily’s temple and sit down beside her. “Will you please explain to us what happened before we showed up?”
“I went in to ask them about drinks, just like you asked, but just before I rounded the corner, I heard her talking about me. I wanted to know what she had to say, so I stood behind the wall and listened,” Harry paused, chuckling as he remembered Uncle Vernon’s lie. “She was talking about my ‘bad behaviour’ and asked Uncle Vernon what school I go to. He said something about a school for criminals and she asked if I get hit with a cane. That’s when I walked in.”
James was nodding while Lily’s eyebrows were furrowed, “And what happened after that?”
Taking a breath, anger still sizzling in his gut, Harry continued. “I said that I get beat all the time,” a bubble of laughter burst from James’ throat and Lily’s lips twitched humorously, “They all just ignored me, but then she mentioned you,” He nodded towards James.
His dad’s eyes lit up, strangely excited to be included. “Ooo! What did she have to say about me?”
Harry laughed, “Nothing good, Dad,” James just shrugged, signalling with his hands for Harry to go on. “She asked Aunt Petunia what you do for work. She couldn’t come up with a quick enough lie so she just said that you’re unemployed. That’s when she called you a drunk.”
To Harrys surprise, James started laughing. Like, full on doubled over, gasping for air laughing. He shot his mother a questioning glance, but she only shook her head, just as confused as Harry. “Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just, I thought I’d been called every name under the sun – mostly by your mother – but I’ve never once been called a drunk. That’s a good one,” Lily rolled her eyes, smiling fondly at her husband.
“Oh, Merlin,” James exploded into another round of laughter and Harry fell victim as well. The sight of his father giggling like a banshee sent him into hysterics, Lily joining in soon after. “Padfoot would have loved that one.”
Lily’s laughter ceased instantly, a pained look in her eye. Harry had no idea who Padfoot was. James must have realised what he said because his eyes quicky darted to his wife and at the look on her face, he mumbled a quiet apology and rested a comforting hand on her thigh.
“Who’s Padfoot?”
James took the lead, settling back into the couch cushions and grinning at Harry, nostalgia swimming through his eyes. His voice was soft when he spoke, “He was my best friend. We all went to school together, Padfoot, Moony and I. We all pissed off your mother together,” he chuckled at Lily’s scoff.
“Moony never pissed me off, he was nowhere near as annoying as you and Padfoot,” Lily said happily, popping a biscuit in her mouth.
“No need to play favourite, Lils,” James pouted.
Harry laughed, “She married you, didn’t she?”
James gasped, “Traitor! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Giggling, Lily covered James’ mouth with the palm of her hand and asked Harry if he would continue his story. Left feeling like there was a lot unsaid about Padfoot, Harry went on. “Well, I defended you, Dad, and then accidentally made her glass explode. She made me clean it up, so I did, but then she started on you,” he looked at his mum, eyebrows knitted together. “She called you something really nasty, Mum. Aunt Petunia didn’t even defend you!”
“What did she say, honey?” Lily asked, taking Harry’s hands into her own. He didn’t want to repeat the foul language that was used against her, fury already starting to stir again in his gut at the memory. He looked to his father, silently asking him to take over.
James sighed, “She called you a bitch, Lils,” his tone was laced with anger. The thing that frustrated Harry the most was the fact that Lily didn’t even look surprised.
“Yeah, so I told her to shut up. Then she started to blow up. I don’t even know how I did it, I was just so angry and it sort of happened. I didn’t even feel like I was in control of anything I was doing.”
Lily took a deep breath and smiled at Harry. “I’m very grateful that you stood up for your father and I so effortlessly, Harry. However, we need to make sure that you know how to control your emotions a little bit better.”
“I can’t help it! I didn’t mean to do it, Mum, I swear.”
“I believe you, love. There are exercises that we can do to keep that accidental magic at bay, though. Things like this happen to all young Witches and Wizards, sometimes all you need to do is take a deep breath and count to ten. After that, you have express permission to shout and scream as much as you’d like. I’d react the same if I heard someone speaking badly about you,” she smoothed her palm over his, a comforting gesture that successfully soothed him.
“Alright,” Harry said, eyes cast downwards, “She did deserve it though.”
James laughed at his son's cheek, “Oh absolutely she did!”
Lily smiled, “We’re very lucky to have someone that will defend us the way you did tonight. Our own personal protector," she grinned cheekily at him.
Harry looked up at his parents and smiled. They had no idea that he was the lucky one. He would never trade his parents for anything. Not even for the world.
“Love you,” Harry whispered.
James and Lily’s eyes softened and they pulled him into their warm, comforting arms, “We love you more, Harry. Always.”
They stayed cuddled up like that for a while, watching re-runs of old shows on the TV and eating their body weight in chocolate covered muggle biscuits. All in all, the night took a turn for the best.
Catching himself yawning with his eyes drooping shut, Harry gave his mum a kiss on the head and announced that he was going to bed. James stood with him, telling Lily he was going for a shower before getting into bed. She smiled at her boys fondly, wishing Harry a goodnight and telling her husband that she’ll be up to bed soon.
Just when Harry crossed the threshold to his bedroom and made to close the door, James held it open and slipped into the room. Harry raised a brow at his father, wondering what he was doing.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly unsure how to say what was on his mind.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
James laughed breathily, shaking his head in a way that made his already messy curls even wilder around his head. “Sorry,” he wore a sheepish smile, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m really proud of you. Not just because of the way you stood up for your mother and I tonight, but because of the man you’re becoming. A lot of kids would shy away from the situation you were put in today but you didn’t waste a second before stepping in, making it known that you wouldn’t be tolerating that kind of behaviour.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed red and his heart swelled, love, pride and a pinch of teenage embarrassment running through his veins. He matched James’ grin as he replied, “Didn’t know you were such a sap, Dad.”
James chuckled, “Yeah, you did.”
“Yes, I did actually.”
James hesitated before leaving the room, like there was something else that he wanted to say, a tortured kind of look that shone beneath the lenses on his face. “Harry?” He hummed in acknowledgement, another yawn wracking through his body. “Your Uncle Moony would be proud of you as well.”
Harry’s face contorted into something complex. His parents never really spoke about his Uncle Moony. Of course, Harry would hear tales from their school days, but never anything other than memories had ever been shared about him. Merlin, Harry didn’t even know his real name.
He would ask about it, why they’ve never met, where he is, what his real name is – but the last time he let his curiosity get the best of him, James and Lily fell unusually sombre. They tried to mask it, pretend everything was okay in the face of their son, but Harry noticed.
To be honest, Harry didn’t really mind being kept in the dark about Moony. He knows that he is someone that once was and still is very important to his parents, and that’s enough for him. Moony never comes around, not since Harry can remember at least, but he has never once forgotten Harry’s birthday or either of his parent's birthdays. He has never once forgotten to send flowers on Mother’s or Father’s Day. He might not be physically present, but he actively does his best to love the Potter’s from a distance and that means a hell of a lot to Harry.
He hopes that one day he’ll be able to meet his Uncle Moony and thank him for being there, even when he wasn’t actually there at all.
Harry slowly approached his dad and wrapped his arms around his body, hugging him tightly to seek the comfort James always gave so much of, but also doing his best to radiate his own comfort, feeling that it was what his father really needed in that moment. “That’s really nice to hear, Dad.”
James’ arms wrapped tightly around him, one hand stroking through the unkempt curls that he passed down to Harry and the other patting him gently on the back. They pulled away after a few moments, both feeling oddly sentimental. “Alright, kiddo. Pop into bed, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
Already pulling on his pyjamas, Harry groaned. James laughed at his son’s loud distaste for early mornings, “Hey, it could always be worse. I used to be up at five every morning when I was in school!”
Harry rolled his eyes, getting into bed. “Yeah, by choice. ‘Back in my day' this, ‘Back in my day’ that. I love Quidditch, Dad, but five in the morning is extreme. Even for you.”
James feigned an offended gasp, “Well excuse me for enjoying a little bit of early morning exercise! Also, I don’t know what you’re implying with you ‘Back in my day’ comments, but I’ll have you know that I am still young and still very cool.”
Harry barked a laugh. His dad could be so embarrassing sometimes. “Okay, Old Man. I’m sorry for assuming otherwise. My mistake!”
Harry’s eyes began to flutter closed, exhaustion taking control of his body. James’ heart warmed at the sight. “Considering you’re almost asleep already, I’ll pretend you didn’t just call me old,” a smile appeared on Harry’s face, eyes still shut. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Goodnight, Dad.”
“Night, Bambi,” James whispered, closing the door.
***
Harry woke up the next morning feeling well rested and excited for the day ahead of him. He’ll be meeting Ron and Hermione at The Leaky Cauldron in a few hours and spending the night there with them before they back off to Hogwarts for their third year.
He has a good feeling about this upcoming school year. Sure, his first two years didn’t exactly run as smoothly as he had expected, fighting bad guys and all, but there is something deep in the pit of his gut telling him that he should be excited for what’s to come. Who knows, maybe Harry won’t have to worry about fighting evil this time. It would sure keep the greys away from his parents for a little longer.
Humming contentedly at his appearance in the upstairs bathroom mirror, he rushed back to his room to grab Hedwig and his trunk before heading down the stairs.
The distant chatter of his parents became clearer as he descended the stairs and worry filled Harry's gut as he heard his father’s tone. He sounded worried. Why did he sound worried?
“I thought we agreed that he was falsely accused? That if he was ever permitted a trial, it would prove that we’re right, that there would be a logical explanation for it?” James said, voice hushed but not enough for Harry to miss.
Next came his mother’s voice, so much emotion in her tone that Harry’s stomach flipped. “We did, but what if we’re wrong? I obviously don’t think he did it, but what if he did? What if we’re too clouded by our loyalty to him to see reason?”
“He didn’t do it, Lily,” James said firmly, “If they treated him fairly and gave him a trial like they should have, they would know it too. He would never do anything like that. He wouldn’t, not when for his whole life, all he did was try his best to convince everyone that he isn’t like his family. He’s innocent.”
Harry was surprised by the finality in his father’s voice. He’s a passionate man, but Harry has never heard his voice like that.
Lily sighed, “I know, I know. This is all just bringing up bad memories and it’s stressing me out. I’ve never believed him to be capable of what they say he’s done. I know him, know that he would sooner die than let even the thought of it cross his mind. I’m sorry.”
“No, love. Don’t apologise. It’s a hard situation,” He paused for a beat too long. It unsettled Harry a little. “Do you think Moony knows yet?”
“Probably. I mean, it’s all over the Daily Prophet...”
“Shit, should we owl him? See if he’s alright?” James asked.
After a moment, Lily replied, “No, I don’t think so. He might not even be subscribed to the Prophet anymore so we should let him have his peace for as long as he can.”
James let out a defeated sounding sigh, “I wish we could tell him that we think he’s innocent.”
“I know, sweetheart, so do I. But on the off chance that we’re wrong – which we aren’t – we can’t put him through that. He barely survived it the first time. Don’t you remember how heartbroken he was on Padfoots birthday that year? I can’t let him go through it again. I won’t.”
“I know. I just wish it was different.”
In Harry’s full thirteen years, he’s rarely ever seen his dad sad. But when he finally entered the living room, that’s the only emotion he could see on James’ face. Just pure, unfiltered sadness. His eyes were closed and his head was rested on Lily’s shoulder. It physically pained his heart to see.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. Lily and James’ heads whipped round in his direction and they plastered fake smiles on their faces, but it didn’t do anything to wipe the worry from Harry’s mind. “Is there anything I can do? I can put the kettle on if you’d like?”
Their smiles quickly turned into real ones. “There’s nothing wrong, bud. Just a bit tired this morning!”
“I’m a bit too old to believe that one, Dad,” Harry deadpanned, “I can see something is wrong, let me help. Please,” He was sounding more and more desperate with each word that fell from his lips.
Lily stood up and pulled Harry into her chest. “We’re alright, love. We don’t want to worry you.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Harry said, “But if you need me to do anything, just ask. I’m serious.”
James chuckled, “No, you’re Harry.”
When Lily pulled Harry to the couch, she groaned. “Don’t you start up with that again, James Potter. I swear to Merlin, I’ve heard that headache of a joke enough times to last a lifetime, plus ten more.”
James continued to laugh, but Harry was so lost. “I don’t get it. Am I supposed to get it?”
“No, it’s a stupid dad joke. He’s like a child, that one,” She nodded in her husband’s direction.
Harry let out a laugh and shook his head, “Alright then.”
***
The next day, Harry went with the Weasleys to Kings Cross Station. He said his goodbyes to his parents yesterday when they dropped him off at the Leaky Cauldron, promising to write them every week. Although he’ll see them in a few months for Christmas, there’s a dull ache in his chest that always lingers when he leaves his parents for school.
Right before the trio was set to get onto the train, Arthur Weasley pulled Harry aside for a quick word. Furrowing his brows, he followed Mr Weasley over to a secluded corner of the station and waited for him to speak.
He hesitated before he spoke, but eventually he let out a sigh and asked, “What do you know about Sirius Black?”
Harry’s not sure why, but that name pulled a foreign feeling - brevity, almost, but not quite - to the front of his chest, like something was rattling his ribs in attempt to be freed from his body. Harry was confused at the feeling because he is certain that he’s never heard that name before in his life.
“I’ve never heard of him. Why?”
Mr Weasley blew out a breath from between his chapped lips and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your parents haven’t mentioned him?” Intrigued, Harry shook his head. Arthur nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I’m going to tell you something, Harry, but I’m going to ask that you don’t repeat anything I tell you. Can you do that for me?”
“Not even my Mum and Dad?” Harry asked.
“No, Harry. Especially not your Mum and Dad. You know how much respect I have for them, but I have a feeling that they wouldn’t want you to know this and I simply cannot let you get on that train unaware of the situation at hand.”
There was an urgent note in his voice and Harry wasn’t sure if it was because the train was about to leave, or if there was another reason. He was sensing it was the latter and didn’t know how to feel about it. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone. What’s the matter?”
“Sirius Black is a loyal follower of You-Know-Who. He’s been locked up in Azkaban for twelve years, but he’s recently escaped, and...” he trailed off, leaving Harry feeling unsettled. What has an Azkaban escapee got to do with him? He asked Mr Weasley the same question. “The reason he escaped, Harry, is because he’s coming after you.”
“Me?” Harry asked incredulously, “Why would he be coming after me? And why wouldn’t my parents tell me that? This seems like something absolutely essential to know!” Harry was internally freaking out. Externally, too. He felt slightly betrayed by his parents. Why would they keep him in the dark about a murderer that literally escaped prison to come and kill him?
“Calm down, Harry. It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they decided not to tell you because they didn’t want you to worry. You’ll be at Hogwarts, there’s nowhere safer! You’ll be alright, Harry. I just thought it would be better coming from me than say, seeing it in the Daily Prophet.”
“I’m not worried, Mr Weasley, I’m confused!”
“I know you’re scared Harry, and that’s okay-”
Frustrated, Harry said impatiently, “I’m not scared. Sirius Black is just some random crazy guy; I’ve been dealing with Voldemort since before I could walk. I’m fine. But annoyed, but what can I do?”
Flinching slightly at the name, he replied, “Okay, Harry. I’m glad you feel that way,” Mr Weasley smiled gently at him, “Can you promise me something?”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes – what more do these people want from him – Harry nodded.
“I want you to promise me that you won’t go looking for Black.”
He screwed up his face at the request. Does he think Harry fancies dying?
“No disrespect, Sir, but why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?” Arthur just levelled him with a look. Harry didn’t know what that meant. “Okay, yes. I promise.”
“Thank you, Harry. I will hold you to that promise,” he said kindly, patting his shoulder so hard that Harry struggled to hold back a pained wince.
Before Harry could really even wrap his head around anything he’s been told, Molly Weasley coaxed them from out of the corner and pinched Harry's cheeks, telling him to have a fantastic year before pushing him onto the train. Just when the door closed, she shrieked, realising she was still holding Scabbers. She passed him to Ron through the train window as she muttered angrily, telling him to take better care of his pet.
He found his friends quickly, standing in front of the emptiest compartment left on the train. There was a man curled up in one of the seats, head resting against the window with a blanket covering his face.
“Do you think he’s really asleep?” Harry whispered.
“Looks it,” Ron said, already chewing on the turkey sandwich his mother packed him for the long train ride. “Who is he, d'you reckon?”
“Professor R.J. Lupin,” Hermione answered quietly, sitting down and letting Crookshanks settle in her lap. She smiled softly at him, petting his fur lovingly.
“Do you know everything? How is it that you know everything ?” Ron whined petulantly, rolling his eyes and slumping down next to Harry.
“It’s on his suitcase, Ronald,” she said, pointing out the old black suitcase above them that had Professor R.J. Lupin inscribed along the side in messy silver thread.
“Whatever,” Harry interrupted before they could start arguing, “I need to tell you something...”