“Don’t Leave Me.”

Every time the train so much as jostled, Harry had the wild thought that Dumbledore was about to barge in his compartment and order him back to Hogwarts.

Harry had, for the first time ever, signed up to leave Hogwarts for the holiday and it had him on edge up until they left. Surely someone would see it? There was nothing forbidding Harry from leaving and staying with a friend, but… but Harry would breathe easier when he and Sirius were in London.

Sirius was completely at ease. He had claimed a compartment for them and stretched out on a bench with his head against the wall and his legs over Harry’s lap. Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne had decided to ride with them as they were the only Slytherin first years to leave for Christmas.

Everyone else chatted about gifts they had picked, gifts they hoped to receive. Daphne ordered her mum a necklace with divination crystals embedded in the chain, it was meant to bring good luck. Draco was hoping to receive a racing broom for Christmas, Harry hated that he knew Draco would receive it.

They were all also talking about the Yule Celebration that would be held at Draco’s house on the night of the 25th. Apparently it was a tradition and they rotated houses every year. Next year would be at Theo’s house and Blaise debated the likelihood of Theo skipping it as he was the upcoming one.

“His father’s not very kind.” Daphne was sitting on the other side of Harry and had a book opened on her lap, though she hadn’t made much progress in actually reading.

“Who? Theo’s?” Harry asked. Harry didn’t know Theo well and what he did know, he didn’t like.

“Mhmm,” Sirius hummed. His eyes were closed and there was a small grin flitting about his lips at random times that made Harry think that he was thinking about something that made him happy.

Sort of like how a dog would wag its tail in its sleep.

“He’s strict,” Pansy said, frowning. “You guys remember that year at my parents' home? I felt awful for Theo when he had to leave with his father.”

“What happened?” Harry asked after the others pulled unhappy faces.

“Theo used to have a lisp,” Blaise said. “You can barely hear it anymore, but his F’s and B’s used to be mixed up a lot.”

“So when someone - I don’t remember who - asked Theo about his potions lesson, Theo told them that…” Daphne paused to giggle. “He said - he said he had been learning about fuck-wheat.”

Harry, unlike the others, didn’t laugh and snicker about the mixup. But Harry, unlike the others, spent all his time with Sirius who swore as a second language.

“His father was so mad,” Pansy said while Blaise nodded. “My mother thought it was funny, but Theo’s father dragged him by his arm and made him leave.”

Harry, who had entirely too much experience with being pulled around by his arm, rubbed his arm in sympathy.

“How old was he?” Sirius asked.

“Five?” Draco looked at the others. “Maybe six?”

“What an arse,” Sirius remarked. “Circe, I hate parents like that.”

“You’ve never lived with your parents, right?” Daphne asked Sirius with her head tilted to the side. “You live in an orphanage, don’t you? No offense, but how would you know to hate any parents?”

“Well…” Sirius waved his hand toward Daphne and then dramatically sighed when she only continued to stare at him blankly. “Well my parents are dead. Thus, I hate terrible parents.”

“They’re terrible because they’re dead?” Pansy asked. “That doesn’t make sense. That’s like saying Harry’s parents are terrible.”

“Your parents certainly think Harry’s parents were terrible,” Sirius said. He opened one eye to peer at Pansy across the compartment. “Right?”

It got quiet and uncomfortable after that. Sirius went back to pretending to sleep while Harry watched Draco and Blaise play gobstones. Blaise wasn’t very good at the game, but he talked a lot and kept distracting Draco so by the time the train arrived in London he had won.

Harry kept glancing around furtively, probably making himself look rather suspicious, when they all left the train. There was nobody waiting on the platform for him and Harry pulled his trunk along, impatiently urging Sirius to hurry.

“You give Dumbledore too much credit,” Sirius said when they finally made it out of the train station. It was frigid out and there was snow everywhere. Familles were rushing about, bundled up and laughing cheerily about the shopping they needed to do, the relatives arriving to visit, and their children who would be home during the holiday.

It was busy and crowded, but there weren’t any professors or aurors waiting to arrest Harry or return him to the school.

“Maybe,” Harry said as he moved with Sirius to a line of muggle cabs. “He’s the one who said he took me to my aunt’s house though, so maybe it’s everyone else who gives him too much power.”

“He’s the one who took you to your aunt’s because he’s an utter controlling bastard,” Sirius said. He raised his hand, catching the attention of one of the waiting cab drivers. They paused their conversation while they helped load their trunks then Sirius gave an address to the driver.

“Either way…” Sirius relaxed in the backseat and slumped against Harry in a show of ease. “He can’t stop you from moving out. He runs the school, not the bloody world, Pup. If he showed up right now I’d tell him to stuff a boiled carrot up his arse.”

Harry sputtered at the graphic insult but also forced himself to relax.

It was the holidays, Harry was more than allowed to spend two weeks with a classmate… it would be fine. They’d clean up Grimmauld Place again, straighten out Sirius’s money issue. They would go to the Malfoy’s on Christmas, even if Harry really didn’t want to go… it would be great.

“We are not killing my relatives,” Harry repeated for the dozenth time, clapping his hands for emphasis. “Specifically - you are not killing anyone. Do you understand? You cannot kill anyone, Sirius. No one. Not my aunt, not my uncle, nobody.”

“I’ll do as I damn well please,” Sirius said stubbornly, mocking Harry as he too clapped his hands. “It is well within my rights as your godfather to kill those slimy cunts.”

Godfather? Harry nearly laughed. Somehow, in just six months, Harry had managed to forget that technically Sirius was his godfather. It only took Sirius two hours of time at Grimmauld Place to remember it and to bring it up.

They had dropped their trunks in the sitting room then collapsed on the dirty and dusty sofas. Harry brought up their lists that they were both meant to make of things they needed to deal with and that was when Sirius explained that the first thing on his list was to kill Harry’s aunt.

“Sirius, please.” Harry stretched his leg out to nudge Sirius’s foot with his. They were both so short that they were comfortably able to share the sofa. Sirius had his arms crossed and his jaw clenched stubbornly, but Harry was sure that his tense shoulders relaxed some when Harry nudged him.

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll lose you,” Harry said, easily thinking of fifty ways that Sirius killing the Dursleys could go wrong. “Trust me, they’re not going to hang missing flyers for me if I don’t return.”

“We’ll see,” Sirius said. It sounded enough like a concession on the matter that Harry moved them on to more important troubles.

They needed to find Pettigrew before he found Voldemort, but that would mean a trip to Albania so they’d probably have to wait for summer. They needed to get the diary from Lucius Malfoy so the Chamber of Secrets couldn’t open, but that could be done on Christmas Day. Really the only things they could actually deal with during their break was Sirius’s will and his vaults.

“And we need a new house-elf,” Sirius said. “One who isn’t a bit of filth.”

“Sirius…” Harry groaned with what felt like real impatience and the beginning of a stress induced headache. “Is Kreacher here? Right now?”

A quiet scuffle from the closet in the corner answered the question for Harry. Sirius sat up and opened his mouth, but Harry tackled him to keep him quiet.

“You can’t fire him now!” Harry hissed. “He’s been eavesdropping! Who knows where he’ll go or who he’ll tell?”

Harry had no issues with being rid of Kreacher and he would have celebrated seeing the hateful elf leave the house. Harry would never forgive Kreacher for cackling when Harry called for Sirius before he went to the ministry or for apparently lying to him about Sirius’s whereabouts.

Sirius could have died because of Kreacher. So, no, Harry wouldn’t have cared about him being fired and kicked from the only home he knew. Or, he didn’t, until he realized that while they had been planning aloud, Kreacher must have been eavesdropping.

What Kreacher would do with that information? Harry couldn’t begin to guess. The Order had been afraid that he would find the next closest Black relative and tell them everything he knew though and Harry couldn’t disagree with that concern.

Sirius reached up and carefully pried Harry off him, too easily pushing him in the seat beside him instead of directly on top of him.

“Then I’m going to have to kill him,” Sirius said, sounding completely serious. He definitely looked serious as he pulled his wand and aimed it at the closet where Kreacher hid. “I’m not living with him again, Harry. I won’t do it. I don’t have to.”

Harry agreed with him on the last part - Sirius didn’t have to do a single thing he didn’t want to. Not again. Except murdering a house-elf, even one as hateful and horrible as Kreacher, didn’t feel like a great plan. It made Harry feel sick to picture Kreacher falling, his oversized eyes losing their light… never to move again.

Harry hated Kreacher, he didn’t hate him enough to stand by idly while he was killed. Harry didn’t even have to say what he was thinking, Sirius must have figured it out.

Sirius flipped around until he was straddling Harry. Harry’s thoughts went a bit wild and he suddenly began thinking about how good-looking Sirius was going to be in a few years… Harry could feel his face burning, but Sirius paid that no mind.

“No.” Sirius grabbed Harry’s face and smushed his cheeks, which was effective in ending Harry’s thoughts about what the future might be like.

“No?” Harry repeated, his words garbled given how squished he was being.

“Nooo,” Sirius drawled slowly. “We do not give Kreacher the same pass you gave Peter. Understand me? What happened when we let Peter go free?”

Harry tried to defend himself, but Sirius only squished his face harder to silence him.

“Exactly,” Sirius said, nodding serenely as if he understood a single word that Harry said. “He ran off to Voldemort, killed a boy, tied you to a tombstone, tortured you, brought Voldemort back. Do you really want to think about what happens if you give Kreacher the same pass?”

Harry didn’t necessarily need to think about it… he could vividly picture Kreacher’s glee when he said Sirius would never return.

Sirius wasn’t wrong… Harry had talked him into giving Pettigrew mercy and it got Cedric killed… what if giving Kreacher mercy got Sirius killed?

Harry lifted his hands to clasp them on Sirius’s and forcefully removed his hands from Harry’s cheeks.

“He’s just an elf,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t… I can’t just watch you kill him. Isn’t there anything else?” Harry tried to wrack his brain since he didn’t think Sirius would look for an alternative.

It hit him at once, the perfect solution.

“Oh! Sirius!” Harry turned his head so he could lean forward and whisper to Sirius while he watched the closet door in case Kreacher tried to sneak away.

“Can we send him to Hogwarts?” Harry whispered quickly. “We could wipe his memory, send him there, right? Then he wouldn’t know anything and the other elves would take care of him.”

“I don’t know…” Sirius was hesitating, Harry could sense it. “I’d have to erase a lot, he might end up useless afterward.”

“Better useless than dead,” Harry said. “Please, Sirius? I - I don't want him dead, just unable to hurt you.”

“Damn it, Harry.” Sirius leaned forward out of nowhere and touched his forehead to Harry’s for a second while he released a shaking breath. “Fine.”

Sirius rolled off Harry and barked out Kreacher’s name with a scowl that looked more like a pout given his age. Sirius had to repeat himself and shoot a spell at the closet door before it slowly creaked open and Kreacher snuck out with his thin shoulders hunched and his face curled up in a look of disgust.

“Mistress’s bastard grandson - or is it her dirty son? - is back again,” Kreacher muttered while he tiptoed across the room in what seemed to be as much of a bow as he would give. “He is plotting with the boy who killed the Dark Lord, he is. Kreacher is telling Mistress that the new boy is no good, no good at all.”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped at Kreacher angrily. Kreacher had laughed —

“And he’s never coming back!”

— at the thought that Sirius wouldn’t return home.

It made it difficult for Harry to not kill him himself, much more difficult than he thought it would be. Harry didn’t even remember grabbing his wand, he only felt it in his palm when he tried to ball his hands into fists.

Kreacher began moving his lips silently and his eyes bulged as he grabbed at his throat. Sirius laughed meanly then and Kreacher actually spat at him.

“That answers who the house belongs to then,” Sirius said, calmly tapping the spit that landed on his leg with his wand to clear it away. “Condolences for your loss,” he told Harry.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes for emphasis. “Is that how it works then? I own the house so Kreacher has to listen to me?”

“Yup, but there’s always loopholes,” Sirius said. He looked at Kreacher with something mixed between disgust and hate. “Especially for slimy bits of filth like him. It might be kinder to kill him.”

Harry thought about Neville’s parents and how they hadn’t even recognized their own son and Lockhart, who was more of a permanent child than man. There were times that death was a mercy, Harry didn’t think that meant they should start with murder though.

“If it doesn’t work, then that’s what we’ll do,” Harry decided uneasily. If anything was missed, Kreacher would be able to tell Dumbledore about Sirius. It was a risk… not as much of one when Harry thought about the likelihood of Kreacher telling Dumbledore a single word.

Sirius shrugged and flicked his wand at Kreacher, freezing the elf in place. Kreacher’s eyes watered, but Harry thought it was with anger more than fear.

It took Sirius at least an hour to finish whatever complicated magic he spun. By the time Sirius slumped back on the sofa, he was panting and seemed genuinely winded.

“Done,” he said. “Go ahead and test it.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he was meant to test it. Kreacher stood in front of him with a glazed look in his eyes and a slack jaw that didn’t really inspire confidence that they weren’t going to have to kill him.

“Er… what’s your name?” Harry asked Kreacher.

“Corvus,” Kreacher said. It was the same croaky voice and there wasn’t much of a delay between Harry’s question and Kreacher’s wrong answer. Harry looked at Sirius and Sirius waved his hand.

“I don’t think anyone would know his name, but just in case,” Sirius said. “Oi, Corvus, who do you serve?”

Kreacher took longer to answer as he looked from Sirius to Harry many times. He eventually raised his hand and pointed a trembling finger at Harry, though he didn’t seem sure.

“His mind is telling him something different from his magic,” Sirius said. “You can send him to Hogwarts now, or Hell, I’m not picky.”

Harry took a minute to try and find a way to word his order to Kreacher without leaving him any loopholes. He was not to tell anyone about the conversation he just heard, or hint at it, or even think about it. He was to go to Hogwarts school of magic and ask for a job, that was it.

There was a palpable feeling of relief in the room when Kreacher disappeared. Neither of the two of them had wanted him there and Harry was pleased that they found a solution that didn’t involve killing him.

Honestly, for someone who had been in Azkaban for so long, Harry didn’t understand why Sirius’s first idea for all their problems involved murder.

Sirius was noticeably happier though and offered to walk down the street to pick up something for dinner. Sirius also told Harry that any magic he cast inside the house couldn’t be detected by the Ministry - and why he never told Harry that before, Harry couldn’t guess - and he could clear up the dining room for them.

Harry had no problem with cleaning up, he really didn’t even need magic to do so. But the second the door closed behind Sirius, Harry felt something closely related to panic seize his chest.

Which was dumb.

Sirius was fine. He was walking down the street.

They did not need to be together for every second of every day.

Even while Harry scolded himself for being stupid, he couldn’t force his legs to move out of the front room for the dining room.

Then the door opened back up, barely a minute since it had closed, and Sirius poked his head in.

“We can clean the dining room together,” Sirius said hastily. “Why don’t you walk with me? I don’t even know what you like.”

Harry let out a loud breath and quickly snagged his sweater - Sirius’s sweater? - to pull back on. He followed Sirius out the door and when Sirius threw an arm over Harry’s shoulders, it felt normal.

Good, actually. It felt good. Which wasn’t actually normal for Harry, but it was slowly becoming normal to expect when it was just him and Sirius together.

With most of the offices in the Ministry being closed on weekends, Harry and Sirius spent Saturday and Sunday cleaning. It wasn’t bad, really. It was much more enjoyable to clean together when Sirius kept complaining about being short and had his old records playing.

Harry didn’t feel any sort of rush to get anything done, Sirius certainly didn’t care about their pace. Harry wore a pair of protective dragon-hide gloves that were dramatically too large for him and inspected everything they found curiously.

Sirius would give Harry as much of an explanation as he could when Harry asked him about different things.

The strangling set of robes in the hall closet were meant to choke anyone who tried to steal them. Sirius said he couldn’t imagine who would want to steal such an ugly set of robes and then Harry had to save him from being strangled for that.

A clock that shot bolts out had been given to the Black family as an assassination attempt. Sirius claimed that it had managed to kill one of his ancestors before another killed the giver of the clock. Then they kept it for sentimental value.

There was a heavy and ornate locket necklace, one with green and black gems that made a large S on the cover. Harry tried to pry it open, to find out what made it so warm in his palm, with no luck. Sirius admitted that he didn’t actually know the history behind it then started inventing a story for it anyway.

“It was a forbidden love,” Sirius said, spinning the story over the soft rock music that played through the room. Harry was sitting on the floor with his legs crisscrossed and quickly became caught up in Sirius’s tale.

“Their fathers were enemies, sworn to never again speak, and carried a blood feud through their children’s lives. Serapion Slytherin had been told by his father that Gryffindors were dangerous and would destroy magic itself with their ideals. Elowen Gryffindor had been told that the Slytherin family was cruel, cold, evil. Then the two children met at Hogwarts, finally outside of their fathers views.

“Serapion was smitten immediately by Elowen’s beauty and her bravery. He tried to resist the urge he felt to be near her, but he couldn’t resist looking at her when she was near. Elowen wasn’t as immediately taken by Serapion, she was a dutiful daughter and knew that her father planned to make her a marriage match with a wizard who shared the ideals of Gryffindor. A noble man, one who was good and honorable. There was a contender, one of the Peverell Heirs. Petrimus was a good man, handsome, and kind. It would be a grand wedding on the day Elowen turned fifteen and so she refused to entertain Serapion’s advances.

“A week before the wedding, Elowen was outside of the castle, collecting the flowers that she placed in the Great Hall every morning. An enemy of magic, an agent of the royal crown who believed that magic was evil, had learned the beautiful Elowen’s routine. He waited until she was alone and then struck, kidnapping the girl and planning to kill her so to scare the others away from Scotland.”

Harry gasped, entirely caught up in Sirius’s story. It was the way that Sirius talked, pitching his voice and using his graceful hands to enhance everything he said.

“I know,” Sirius said solemnly. “Luckily for Elowen, Serapion had seen her get taken. He rushed to the castle and sought out Petrimus. Serapion told him what happened and what he suspected, that it was a plot to drive magic away. Petrimus shed no tear for his betrothed and began protecting the castle, keeping the other children safe from the same fate.

“Serapion didn’t care about the children in the castle, he cared about Elowen. So while Petrimus protected the others, Serapion began tracking Elowen. It took every bit of cunning and intelligence that he had, but Serapion eventually found her in a cottage on the other side of the forest.

“Before he left to rescue her, Serapion went in search of a sword to wield. He had his wand, his magic that the agent so feared, but Serapion longed to inflict true pain upon the agent. There was only one sword worthy of rescuing Elowen with - the one she herself would give her husband on their wedding day.

“Serapion took the sword of Gryffindor and raced through the forest, slaughtering any creature that tried to keep him from Elowen. He was bloodied, wounded, but determined when he found the cottage. Elowen was tied to a tree behind the cottage while a fire slowly grew at her feet. She cried out a warning when Serapion ran to her and the agent attacked.

“It was a long battle, a duel between a man filled with fear and a boy filled with love. The agent had the upper hand as Serapion’s attention was torn while he used magic to protect Elowen from the flames and the sword to save them both. The agent cut Serapion across the chest, a wound deep enough to break the chain of his family locket…”

Harry’s hand tightened on the pendant while his heart raced over the ending of the story.

“Elowen saw this blow dealt to Serapion and screamed with the pain of seeing his blood spill so freely. Every interaction they had, every longing glance that Serapion had sent her, could no longer be ignored. Serapion was willing to fight for her, to kill for her. And, if need be, he would die for her.

“Serapion was weak, he was tired, but his fierce love of Elowen gave him just enough strength to finish the duel. Serapion raised Godric Gryffindor’s sword high in the air and drove it forward, slicing through the chest of the man who dared touch Elowen. The man died choking on his blood and Serapion collapsed in the blood, his eyes only searching for the one he loved above all.

“With the flames extinguished, Elowen was able to free herself from her bindings. She ran to Serapion, crying his name. Elowen dropped beside him in the blood that soaked the ground and began weaving magic into Serapion, trying desperately to keep him alive.

“It made no difference… Serapion Slytherin, the first born son of Salazar Slytherin himself, died that day. Serapion died with a smile on his face as Elowen whispered words of love and regret to him. It might have felt too late to Elowen, but Serapion was content to see his love returned in the end.

“And that…” Sirius nodded his head at the locket Harry clutched. “Was worn by Elowen Gryffindor until the day she died.”

Harry was only mildly surprised about the lump in his throat. Harry didn’t think he was overtly emotional, it was that Sirius was too gifted of a storyteller.

“Did she marry Petrimus?” Harry asked after swallowing the lump and subtly checking that he hadn’t actually started crying.

“Probably,” Sirius said blithely, an abrupt return to himself. “Imagine Petrimus’s face when he undressed his bride on their wedding night and found Serapion’s locket on her chest, eh?”

“Sirius!” Harry scowled, though he also huffed a laugh at the way Sirius wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What a horrible end, you git. Why couldn’t Serapion have won the duel and they lived happily ever after?”

“Because that would be a fairytale,” Sirius said. He kicked off the wall he had been leaning on and stretched. “Life is horrible sometimes. C’mon, pitch that thing in the burn pile and let’s go buy some groceries. I can make a mean sandwich.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry agreed. He stood up when Sirius began walking toward the door, though he hesitated when he looked down at the locket he held.

It was a hideous locket, tacky and overly Slytherin, but the story Sirius told had been beautiful, even with the tragic ending. Harry imagined that he could actually feel the heartbeat of the dead Serapion inside of it, looking for the woman meant to wear it.

Harry ended up pocketing the locket to put in his trunk at some point. Harry would never wear it, but it would always remind him of Sirius.

On Monday morning - it was more like afternoon, Harry was greatly enjoying the freedom to sleep in as late as he fancied - Harry and Sirius decided it was time to straighten out the vault situation. It wasn’t a trip that Harry was altogether happy to make, but he didn’t want Sirius to feel like he had to ask Harry for money every time he wanted to buy something either.

Sirius was confident as he led Harry through London to get to the Ministry. Harry thought they would walk or even call for the Knight Bus, but Sirius wanted to take trolleys and buses. It did make the trip more interesting as they commented on the people they saw and laughed over some of the conversations they overheard.

By the time they arrived at the phone box that would give them access to the Ministry, Harry felt much less uneasy about it.

“Last time I was here I thought you were dead,” Harry told Sirius just before they stepped in the booth together.

Sirius paused with the phone in his hand and blinked at Harry. He didn’t look upset, only a bit surprised.

“Last time I was here I thought you might be,” Sirius said. He grinned, somewhat weakly and definitely forced, “And now we’re here to listen to my will.”

Harry felt goosebumps erupt on his arms at that ominous thought. The second that Sirius finished telling the operator that they were there for the results of a will, Harry snaked his hand out and grasped Sirius’s wrist.

“I bet you’ll cry about my will,” Sirius said calmly. His hand twisted and Harry breathed easier when their fingers were interlocked.

If someone tried to take Sirius, Harry would know instantly.

“I will not cry,” Harry said indignantly, snatching the badges that were deposited to them. “You should cry, this is your dad we’re here for.”

“Bastard orphan, remember?” Sirius said breezily. He paused while they were moved down to the entrance of the Ministry, then spent the rest of the walk to the department they needed explaining how Sirius James Black wouldn’t shed a tear for the father that abandoned him.

Sirius was the most ridiculous person that Harry knew… Harry was hopeless.

Hopelessly attached, hopelessly addicted to every smile and story Sirius had… hopelessly in love with him.

It was probably wrong and strange and there was nobody that Harry could talk to about it. Harry loved him though, he did.

If they were in Sirius’s story from the night before, Harry would be Serapion - happy to die for Sirius.

Hopeless.

Harry was utterly hopeless.

Harry was also rather ridiculous and had to work very hard to keep from sniveling when Sirius’s will was read. It was ridiculous because Harry was holding Sirius‘s hand, he knew he wasn’t dead… but what if he was? What if Harry didn’t follow him through the veil and had to hear a ministry official read how Harry was the most important person in the world to Sirius and how Sirius wanted him to have everything be owned and live a happy life with it?

The only bright spot during that was Sirius pretending to be jealous that his father preferred Harry Potter to him. The ministry worker who had embarrassingly fawned over Harry when they first arrived seemed too happy to see him leave with Sirius.

“An outrage!” Sirius complained loudly, attracting too much attention as usual. “I thought that if my father had been on Voldemort’s side that he wouldn’t leave the Black fortune to Harry Potter! I’d hire a lawyer if I weren’t impoverished!”

“God, shut up,” Harry moaned as he tried to duck his head and not be seen. It wasn’t working because Sirius seemed determined to create as much of a spectacle as possible.

Every employee they passed whispered Harry’s name excitedly and gossiped under their breath about the son of Sirius Black.

“Why would you do that?” Harry demanded when they finally made it out of the ministry. “I think some witch took photos of us, Sirius!”

“But nobody stopped us, did they?” Sirius grinned remorselessly. “Nobody wants to talk to the Boy-Who-Lived when there’s a mental Black screaming.”

That… was true.

“Fine,” Harry said, not ungratefully. “Can you try and tone it down in Diagon Alley though? I’d rather not be in the papers.”

“Too late for that!” Sirius swung their hands between them. “The witch that took your photo? I’m pretty sure that was Jody Pinkerton, a photographer for the Prophet.”

Brilliant.

Harry, unlike Sirius, tried to keep his head down while they traveled to Diagon Alley. It wasn’t too hard to do in Muggle London, but they caused another scene in the Leaky Cauldron. There were dozens of customers in the pub and they all stared and whispered while Harry and Sirius hurried through.

Diagon Alley was quite busy, busy enough that Harry thought he could make it to Gringotts without being seen.

Harry didn’t count on Sirius being called out to by classmates, many of whom Harry didn’t even know.

“How do you know all these people?” Harry asked, exasperated when Sirius greeted a third student that Harry didn’t recognize.

“I talk to people,” Sirius said simply. He bumped his shoulder on Harry’s. “Also I think that most of Slytherin is convinced I’m related to Salazar Slytherin himself. I can’t imagine how such a rumor started.”

Harry, against his will, grinned sheepishly.

“That’s crazy,” he said, working hard to stay serious. “Tell them that Voldemort gave you some of his power instead. It’s not a better reputation, but hey, at least nobody will think you’re the Heir of Slytherin.”

“I think I’d rather be considered a descendant of Slytherin,” Sirius said. “Imagine having Voldemort’s power. I reckon someone with that would have to be irredeemably evil. Nope, no hope at all for someone who shared his power.”

Harry was momentarily offended until Sirius nudged him again and winked.

“Thank Merlin that they’d be cute though, eh?”

Harry was still blushing when they reached Gringotts. Sirius was too charming when he was in a good mood and Harry? Harry was hopeless.

Utterly hopeless.

The goblins at Gringotts didn’t seem thrilled when Harry requested to split his vault with Sirius. They muttered about the request, shooting Harry a variety of dirty looks from their huddle, until one of the older and meaner looking ones stepped back up to their tall desk.

“Your key,” he asked Harry in a near bark.

“I - I don’t have it,” Harry said nervously, feeling stupid when the goblins all made sounds of annoyance.

“Heir Potter would like to request a blood test to gain access to his vault, the cost of which would be paid upfront,” Sirius said suddenly. He sounded so mature and confident when he said it too that it actually took Harry by surprise. “Harry, give him three galleons.”

The goblin didn’t say no to, so Harry pulled his dwindling money bag from his pocket and counted out three gold galleons to slide across the desk. The goblin took the coins and inspected them in a way that was insulting really before waving another goblin forward.

“One blood test,” the goblin told the other. “Escort them from the building if the results are unsatisfactory.”

“Gladly,” the new goblin sneered. He pulled a small blade from the belt around his waist and held it up over the desk. “Your finger,” he ordered Harry.

Sirius nodded and so Harry warily held a finger out and watched while the goblin pricked it. A single drop of blood was all that spilled out and it dripped slowly toward the desk. Before it could touch the gleaming counter, a thick sheet of parchment appeared and seemed to absorb the blood.

Harry had to stand on his tiptoes to read the parchment that appeared and, really, he shouldn’t have been shocked by the amount of information it held.

Harry James Potter
Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980
Date of Death: June 18th, 1996
Cause of Death: Suicide
Date of Rebirth: July 31st, 1991

Vaults:
Potter Vault 687
Black Vault 709
Peverell Vault 1015

Heir to the House of Potter
Heir to the House of Black
Heir to the House of Death

Beneath whatever the ‘House of Death’ line meant were lists of numbers that Harry didn’t understand. Sirius also peered over Harry’s shoulder and didn’t seem surprised by anything he read, which made Harry hope that he would explain it all to him.

Harry also fervently hoped that Gringotts would burn that parchment the second Harry walked away. If the wrong person saw it…

“I did not commit suicide,” Harry said to Sirius in a harsh whisper. The rest of the document was confusing, but Harry’s cause of death was just wrong.

“Mm, you did,” Sirius murmured distractedly. He pointed at the lists of vaults, drawing Harry’s attention back to them. “You’re missing one. Vault 687 is a trust vault. Fleamont had another vault, one that should be on here.”

“It was combined with Vault 687 on the day that Heir Potter turned sixteen, as were the orders left in the Potter will,” the Goblin told them. “Gringotts does not recognize time-travel. The vaults were combined on Heir Potter’s 5,845th day of life.”

And ‘Heir Potter’ had a headache. Luckily Sirius was there, really, because Harry didn’t understand anything going on.

“Oh, good. So you should give me back Vault 709, since I’m alive and all, you can have it if I die again. Then you should move everything except a few sickles to Vault 1015,” Sirius said in a knowledgeable tone. “I knew that James had that vault, I told him he should have had a test done…”

Harry felt as if he were caught up in a storm - Hurricane Sirius - while they were at Gringotts. Sirius told Harry what to do and Harry did it - merging vaults, signing documents, adding one another as safe contacts for their vaults. Harry was given a new key to one of his vaults and an ancient key to the other.

The Goblin - Harry didn’t hear a name and was too intimidated to ask, honestly - offered to take them down to their vaults once the paperwork ended and Harry’s things were moved. Harry didn’t think it would hurt to get more gold and he was curious to see what a Peverell Vault was.

Sirius tried to tell Harry about it during the trip down through the levels of the bank - he talked a lot about ancient lines that were passed down and inherited through closest relatives - but most of it sounded like pureblood nonsense and Harry didn’t pay close attention.

They stopped at Sirius’s vault first and the goblin climbed out so he could stroke his finger down the front of the ancient and ominous looking vault. Harry was shivering, the further down they traveled the colder it had gotten, but he forgot about that when the vault door opened and Harry saw the inside of it.

It was packed. And huge. It had to be twice as large as Harry’s vault was. There wasn’t just gold inside of it, though there was plenty of that. There were stacks of books, shelves with jewels. Harry couldn’t even see the very back of the vault because it was so filled.

Harry was happy that Sirius had that vault back, there was so much inside of it that Harry would be worried about being responsible for it all.

Sirius, for his part, moved through the stacks and stacks of belongings with ease. He filled a bag with gold then paused and grabbed a book from a pile then paused again at a shelf covered in gleaming jewels.

“Ugh, never thought I’d need this damn thing.” Sirius reached out and grabbed a ring off the center of the shelf. Harry moved closer, interested when Sirius slid it on his right middle finger. The ring tightened itself, magically shrinking down, and Harry couldn’t help but think that it was an ugly ring.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Sirius said, echoing Harry’s exact thought. “Technically, it’s yours for the House of Black. You can have it back after Yule, if you want it. I’d rather not spend the evening being sneered at though.”

“What’s it for?” Harry asked. “The heir thing and the Peverell people? I don’t remember ever learning about any of it?” Like Samhain or how Harry could let himself in the Slytherin rooms any time he fancied.

There was so much of the wizarding world that Harry didn’t understand.

“It’s pureblood politics,” Sirius said in a mocking tone. He held his hand out and turned it, showing the giant obsidian jewel in the center of the silver band with the winding ropes to hold the jewel in place.

It was gaudy, so it made sense that it would be some pureblood thing.

“Wait until you see the one for Potter,” Sirius said abruptly. He linked his arm with Harry’s to turn them toward the door. “Your dad never wore it, said it was old-fashioned. Fleamont, James’s father, wore it though. I remember thinking I wouldn’t mind inheriting mine if it was as nice of a ring as theirs.”

“Do all families have them?” Harry wondered. They climbed back in the cart and the goblin took off at impossible speeds once again.

“The First Twenty-Eight!” Sirius yelled. He leaned against the side of the cart and had the wind whipping his head wildly. He grinned at Harry and motioned for Harry to join him, the ring glittering on his finger when he did. “There’s something brilliant coming up, you don’t want to miss it.”

Harry carefully stood up and joined Sirius at the side of the rail. At first all he saw were blurred vaults carved into the cavern walls. He could hear water rushing somewhere and maybe even a distant roar. There was nothing interesting to see though, not until they began to descend.

Then Harry gasped at what he could only describe as a horrible and beautiful sight.

Covering the entire endlessly wide entrance to the deeper levels were flames. They trickled downward in what looked like a waterfall and when the cart passed through it, Harry could feel the flames licking his skin and warning him harmlessly.

“The Infernal Crucible,” Sirius yelled beside Harry. “Each level has additional protection. It’s why the oldest vaults are on the deepest levels.”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry replied genuinely. “Hagrid said there’s dragons in here!”

“There are,” the goblin called loudly to them. “You would do well to remember that.”

As if Harry would ever need to try and steal something from the bank. It sounded like there had been two vaults in his family plus an additional one. Harry already had more money than he knew what to do with - he didn’t need to go stealing from others. Sirius winked at Harry though and then started laughing about the warning.

“They said Azkaban was inescapable too,” Sirius whispered in Harry’s ear, his breath warming Harry’s neck.

“No,” Harry said, quite clearly, before Sirius could get any wild ideas.

Sirius pouted, but Harry wasn’t agreeing to murder or bank robbery.

A bloke had to draw some lines somewhere.

Vault 1015 was so far underground that Harry felt heavier when he walked from the cart to the great door. It was massive, at least as large as the entrance to Hogwarts. It was dark too and Harry held his hand near it and could feel electric sparks of magic radiating from it.

Harry was awed, Sirius seemed too casual. It might be hard to be impressed though when Sirius’s vault looked like something from a story book about treasure troves.

“Only the Peverell Heir may enter,” the goblin told Sirius as he swiped his finger down the lock, melting the door so Harry could access the vault. “Any others would be killed instantly.”

Sirius took a step backward and saluted Harry playfully when Harry gaped at the contents of the vault.

If Harry thought Sirius’s vault had been ridiculous, his own was horrifying.

Harry tentatively stepped into the Peverell vault and was immediately struck by the overwhelming sight of wealth and what he thought must be powerful and ancient relics. There were mountains of gold coins that gleamed in the torchlight, ornately decorated chests overflowing with jewels and gemstones of every color. Old books, with dusty covers, were stacked precariously in one corner. Human skulls, some with intricate carvings, laid scattered around the vault, their empty eye sockets seeming to watch Harry.

Shelves lined the walls, like Sirius’s vault, holding delicate glass vials filled with potions of different swirling colors. Everywhere he looked, Harry could see items that must have been important and probably priceless, each piece with its own story.

Harry wished Sirius were in there with him. Sirius probably didn’t know what some of it was, but he might have made up stories anyway. As it was, Harry was too overwhelmed by it all to do more than just swipe a pile of gold in his bag. He was headed back to the entrance when he saw Sirius waving at him.

Sirius’s mouth was moving, but since Harry couldn’t hear him even a meter away he had to assume there was something charming the vault from outside noise. Harry raised his hands in a question and Sirius raised his left hand to point at the ring on his right then pointed at Harry. Pointed at the ring, pointed at Harry.

Unless Sirius was proposing marriage to Harry (Harry was hopeless), then Harry thought he must have been telling him to find a ring.

Oh! There was one for the Potter family that must be in there!

Harry nodded to show he understood then carefully maneuvered around the vault to the shelves of jewelry and gems. There were crowns, tiaras, necklaces that looked more like ropes… Harry scanned it all quickly, mentally wondering at the total value of it all - it had to be astronomical. It took some time to find any rings, but there were at least a dozen of them on one shelf.

One in particular looked cleaner, newer, than many of the others. Harry reached out for it and felt a thrill of heat down his arm when he touched the golden ring with the ruby in the center of it. Harry lifted it up and his heart swelled when he saw what looked like golden antlers decorating the ring, holding the gem around the edges. There was an engraving on the inside, a language Harry didn’t recognize.

It was beautiful and when Harry slipped it on his right middle finger… it felt very much like home.

Like a missing part of Harry was returned through the ring. Harry’s entire history - the ancestors he had, the grandfather who wore the ring before him, the ones who had it made or made it themselves - was wrapped in that ring. An entire line of relatives dating back to who knew when.

It was empowering, to remember that Harry was a part of something ancient and great. There were plenty of traditions that Harry thought were garbage and should never be tolerated, but owning something that belonged to every person in his family before him was somehow everything Harry never knew he needed.