Remus
They’re early. They’re about an hour early to the orphanage, because Sirius had been nervous and Remus worried about traffic. They’d been pacing about the house, checking all the rooms and re-arranging the pillows and stuffed toys on Harry’s bed, and after half an hour Remus gave up all pretences and distractions and called Sirius to the car before he could do something drastic like change the wallpaper. Again. And traffic wasn’t too much of a problem and neither was parking, so now they’re standing outside the orphanage, an hour early, uncertain what to do now.
“Creevey is supposed to be here,” Sirius mutters, and Remus nods, because he had been the one to talk to her yesterday, and she’d promised to be there with their lawyer so they could sign all the documents for custody—and adoption, if possible—and take Harry home.
“We’re a bit early. Maybe they’ll let us see him first?” Remus suggests, and with a reassuring squeeze along Sirius’ arm, he starts toward the door.
They’re taken into a small office, where tea is offered and small talk is made, as well as a few questions answered about Harry; they hadn’t known his last name, apparently, which was one thing that made the search harder.
“He’s a quiet boy, a bit odd. The kids often say that… strange things happen with him, and it doesn’t help, that scar he has,” the matron says, “but his grades are average and he’s a relatively polite boy, all things considered. We haven’t had too many issues with him, especially not lately, and he mostly keeps to himself.”
“What type of strangeness?” Sirius asks, exchanging a look with Remus.
“Oh, silly things boys make up to get out of trouble,” the matron waves her hand, “that he was in one place and then another suddenly, that something fell or broke without him touching it, things like that. Usually it’ll be boys messing around with one another, then sometimes accidents happen and they’ll blame each other for them.”
“Ah,” Sirius makes a noise as if in commiseration, but he glances at Remus excitedly; Remus doesn’t doubt that Harry has been exhibiting magic, and that these are all signs.
“But Harry is a good boy on the whole; clean, tidy, and fairly obedient—there’s the matter of his hair, but that’s very minor compared to some of the problems we have with the other boys.”
“His hair?” Sirius asks in alarm. Remus frowns. What on earth could be wrong with his hair?
“Yes; he refuses to comb it. Says it won’t stay down, and it grows so fast, it’s impossible to keep it at a short and manageable length. I swear I shaved his head one day and the next it was all back!”
Sirius laughs, a familiar bark that warms Remus to hear. “Harry’s father was the same,” Sirius says, “liked his hair messy. Thought it made him look cool.” He beams at Remus, who smiles back, remembering James’ almost compulsive hair-tousling.
“Would it be possible to meet him?” Remus asks, one of the first things he’s said since entering; Sirius is the one gaining legal rights to Harry, after all, and he has let Sirius take the lead on this. The matron has been giving him looks, as if she’s not entirely sure why he’s here, but neither he nor Sirius have given any explanation.
“Oh, well, I suppose so,” she looks at her watch briefly, “the children should all be in the yard playing about now, so that’s as good a time as any to meet them.” She pauses. “Are both of you wanting to meet him, or—”
“Both, if that’s possible,” Sirius replies with a smile, “Remus and I were both good friends of Harry’s parents. It means a lot that we’ve found him.”
They follow the woman through the building to the yard, where twelve or so children are running around, playing. Remus doesn’t spot Harry at first, tracking the children—all between four and eight, it seems—as they play tag or race on various wheeled toys. Everyone stops when they appear, though, turning towards them eagerly, and while the matron introduces them, Remus manages to catch Harry in the back next to the bushes, poking the floor with a stick. Even from afar, he looks exactly like James.
He’s the only child not turned towards them, Remus realises, and it must be because he does not think they are there for him. Younger children tend to get adopted more often, Minerva had said, and Remus wonders if maybe Harry has lost hope in finding a family.
Sirius seems to have made a similar conclusion, because he looks at Remus, pained. I can’t do this, his eyes seem to say. The grief and guilt that pours out of him are familiar and contagious, but Remus smiles encouragingly.
“You’re welcome to play with the children until—” The matron is interrupted by the ringing of a bell, and she excuses herself to answer the door.
“Remus,” Sirius whispers, looking out at the yard, at the children still staring at them hopefully.
“I’m Andrew,” one kid offers, “and I can do a cartwheel!”
It’s as if a switch has gone off, and they all become clamouring, giving their names and sometimes ages and some special fact about them—usually something about how smart or athletic they are. Sirius winces at the noise, looking overwhelmed. Harry has not taken part, although he is now looking over at them with curiosity.
Somehow, Remus manages to calm the children down, and encourages them to return to their games. He’s about to suggest to Sirius that they introduce themselves to Harry, but then the matron arrives, lawyer and social worker in tow.
Sirius all but flees back into the office with them, putting on an air of confidence and stating his desire to get the paperwork done as soon as possible, but Remus knows it’s because he’s unable to bring himself to greet Harry just yet, not with all the feelings he has inside. But Remus doesn’t want to leave, not when Harry is so close yet not recognising them.
“I’ll stay here with the kids,” Remus offers, and Sirius nods.
“I’ll finish all of this up first,” he says, “then come back out and join you.” When I’m more in control of myself and won’t just burst into tears, he doesn’t say, but Remus understands.
Remus makes his way across the yard, occasionally waylaid by a child or two trying to gain his attention, but eventually—after meeting Benny, and Lewis, and Timmy and watching Andrew do a cartwheel—he makes it to Harry’s side.
Up close, he sees how similar to James Harry looks. He’s small—small for his age—and younger than James had been when they met, but he recognises Harry as if from a childhood photo of James. Harry looks up when he approaches, and Remus is struck by his green eyes, peering at him through a dirty pair of glasses.
“Hello,” Remus greets kindly.
“Hello, sir,” Harry responds, eyes wide.
“I’m Remus.” Introducing himself sends a small, sad pang through him, but he doesn’t let his smile or calm demeanour waver.
“I’m Harry, sir.” Harry blinks twice. “Are you a parent?”
“I’m hoping to become one, but I’m not at the moment, not exactly.”
“If you’re looking to adopt someone, Mikey is very smart, and he’s four. I can bring you to him, if you’d like. He can say the alphabet front and back, and count to twenty.”
“That’s very kind of you, Harry, but I’m not exactly looking. Or, well, I am looking, but I’m looking for a very particular boy, a special boy.”
Harry’s brows furrow. “Mikey’s a special boy,” he insists, “and he’s a good boy, I swear it. He deserves a family.”
“Everyone deserves a family, Harry,” Remus practically whispers it. He’s suddenly grateful Sirius had the foresight not to come, because his temper would not have held through this conversation.
Harry nods in agreement. “What kind of special boy are you looking for, then?”
“I’m looking for a boy whose parents were my best friends, but they died when he was very young. His godfather Sirius and I have been looking for him, so that we can take care of him and love him like his parents would’ve, because he’s part of our family too.” Remus swallows. “His name is Harry.”
Harry’s eyes widen. “That’s my name,” he breathes. Remus nods. “Me?” Harry asks, and again Remus nods. “You’re looking for… me?”
“Yes, Harry. You’re the special boy we’ve been looking for. And I am so, so sorry it took so long to find you.”
It takes a bit longer for Harry to believe him, answering question after clarifying question, saying that yes, he’s sure he’s the right Harry, and he looks just like his father, and anyone who knew James Potter would know Harry was his son, and they’ve been looking for him for months now.
But eventually, Harry seems to accept that Remus is here for him, and knew his parents, and that his name is Harry Potter. The boy looks near tears at this news, so Remus offers him a hug, and doesn’t say anything about the wetness he can feel on his shoulder.
After, Remus suggests they go inside and meet Sirius, which Harry agrees shakily to. Unfortunately, they are blocked by a few of the older boys, who don’t seem too happy about seeing Harry with his hand in Remus’.
“Mr. Lupin, sir, I need to tell you something,” one of them—Lewis, if he’s remembering correctly—says nervously. Remus crouches down to his level and looks expectantly. “It’s only, Harry is… he’s cursed,” he whispers.
“Cursed?” Remus asks, trying not to show his alarm. It could very well be muggle superstition, but Harry was hit with the Killing Curse, so there is no saying what the aftereffects might be—no one, save Harry himself, has ever been hit by the curse and survived.
“Weird things happen to him,” Lewis says sagely, “and things break around him when no one touches them. It’s because of his scar, you see. It’s a cursed scar.”
Beside him, Harry has stiffened, and is squirming uncomfortably.
“It’s just a normal scar,” he insists quietly. Remus refrains from correcting that it isn’t, actually. Sirius had tried to heal it, the night he got it, and Sirius has had enough experience with cursed wounds to recognise one when he sees it.
“Harry hides it behind his hair so no one can see,” Lewis informs Remus. “Show him your scar, Harry.”
“Harry doesn’t have to show me his scar if he doesn’t want to,” Remus tells the boy sternly. “Scars can be very personal things, and plenty of people like to hide them. I myself have many scars, and I don’t like it much when people point them out to others, or make me show them to people I don’t want to show them to.”
The boy looks properly chastised, eyes darting across Remus’ face as if he’s cataloging said scars. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“Please apologise to Harry, not me.”
“Sorry, Harry.”
“’S okay,” Harry whispers, stepping a bit closer to Remus.
“Would you like to go in now, Harry?” Remus asks. Harry’s face screws up.
“But I—weird things do happen to me,” he admits, looking pained.
“I’ve been told; that’s alright. Sometimes things happen and people can’t explain it because they don’t understand it, and then they’ll go around blaming people for it. But it doesn’t mean that it’s that person’s fault, or that anything bad happened. People are just scared of what they don’t understand.”
Harry gives Remus a shaky smile, and they go inside, where they find Sirius bent over documents, signing with a somber look on his face.
“Sirius,” Remus calls, and the man looks up, eyes catching on Harry immediately. “Harry, this is Sirius,” Remus introduces, subtly trying to nudge Harry from behind his leg, “your godfather. He’ll be your legal guardian from today onwards.”
“Harry,” Sirius breathes. “You look so much like your father.”
Harry steps out from his hiding spot. “Mr. Remus says you and my father were brothers?” He asks.
Sirius nods. “James’ parents… your grandparents, they took me in when I was younger, all but adopted me, so James and I were like brothers.”
“You were an orphan, like me?”
“Not… not exactly like you, but… I needed new parents, so James gave me his.” Sirius takes a deep breath. “And… we’ll be like your new parents, if you’d like that. We’ll take care of you, and love you, like James and Lily would have wanted.”
Harry mouths his parents names to himself, and Remus pushes away the pang of sadness at the realisation that he couldn’t have known their names prior to this day.
“Have you signed everything you need to?” Remus asks. Sirius glances at the papers, makes one last signature, then nods.
“I’ll come over in six months, and if everything is going alright, we’ll be able to push the adoption through,” Creevey says, which the men nod at. Remus supposes Sirius had been unable to sign for adoption immediately, something they were prepared for.
“Adoption?” Harry ventures. “You want to… adopt me?”
“Of course I do, pup,” Sirius smiles. “I’m your godfather, and legal guardian, now, but I’ve already lost five and a half years with you; I’m going to make sure they can’t ever take you away from me again.”
Harry is getting that glassy-eyed look again, one Remus recognises as him being too overwhelmed.
“Why don’t you go and pack up your things and say goodbye to your friends?” Remus suggests. “We’d like to bring you home today, if you’re alright with that.”
Home, Harry mouths, and nods eagerly. The matron rises and leads him out of the room, informing them that they’ll be back with Harry’s things.
“He didn’t recognise me,” Sirius says as soon as the boy is gone.
“No. He was too young the last time we saw him.”
“He called you Mr. Remus.”
“Well, I may have forgotten to tell him my last name. And I wasn’t about to ask him to call me Uncle Moony.”
“He’s so small, Rem.”
“Yes, well I’m sure you’ll fatten him up in no time.” Remus smiles, but the responding grin he gets is wobbly. “Are you okay, Pads?”
“I…” Sirius takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. “Yes, I am. Just… bittersweet.”
Sirius turns to the other two still in the room and thanks them for everything. They gather all their documents and double-check everything is properly signed, and prepare to leave. Remus takes some time to subtly check in with Sirius again, but is reassured that everything will be alright, and that Sirius is prepared for the drive back. Soon enough, Harry has returned, single bag clutched in his arms, and within moments they are seated in the car, pulling out of the parking lot.
They stop for gas and lunch on their way back home. The road is long, and Harry has spent the ride sitting silently in the backseat, looking uncertainly out the window; Remus and Sirius have let him be, knowing that this must be a big change and he may need time to process things. Unfortunately, there is more Harry needs to learn before they get home, and the plan has been to have said conversation over lunch, where they can speak to Harry face-to-face.
Seated at some diner at a rest stop, they begin to explain magic. Harry is, of course, skeptical at first, but Sirius subtly changes the colour of his fork, and Remus spends time asking about and pointing out Harry’s own accidental magic, and Harry seems to believe them enough for them to move on.
“We went to a school for witches and wizards with your parents, James Potter and Lily Evans,” Remus explains, “and stayed close friends with them after school, as well.”
“That’s where they met? At school?” Harry seems to gloss over the magic aspect, eager to learn whatever he can about his own parents.
“At school,” Sirius confirms, “Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, where you’ll likely go as well, when you’re eleven.”
“I’ll go to the same school as my parents?”
“If you want to, you can begin at Hogwarts at eleven, although there are other options for schooling—”
“I want to!” Harry is quick to interrupt Remus, then looks slightly sheepish. Remus only smiles kindly; he’s glad Harry is comfortable enough to express excitement and talk over him—he’d been afraid that Harry would be too much like he himself had been when he first went to Hogwarts, scared and uncertain and unwilling to open up to anyone.
“We don’t need to make any decisions about that yet. Anyway, your parents begun dating in seventh year—that is, the last year of schooling—and married and had you a few years later.”
“We have photos back home we can show you—we didn’t bring any with us, because wizard photographs are magic, and they move.”
“Like the telly?” Harry asks, his skepticism back. Remus is already anticipating the amount of sass they will have to handle from the boy once he is older and more comfortable. Lily certainly had more than enough to go around, and with her, James’ confidence, and being raised by himself and Sirius, Remus is certain Harry will be a delightful terror at Hogwarts.
“Except as a photograph, and they don’t talk. Only portraits talk.”
Harry sends Remus a look that says, you sure this man isn’t barmy? but doesn’t say anything, probably realising that Sirius is his legal guardian, not Remus.
“I know it’s hard to believe, Harry, but it’ll be easier when we’re at home. We’ll show you more of those things. We just…” Remus glances at Sirius, uncertain how to proceed.
“There are some important things we have to tell you, about your parents, and what happened to them. How you got that scar. Why it took me so long to gain custody of you.”
“My scar…” Harry’s hand flies to his forehead, where his scar has been hidden in his fringe. “I have dreams, sometimes. A bright green light. Did I… Was I there, when my parents…”
He’s too young for this, Remus thinks, but then again, so had Remus, when he was bitten. Too often, children must learn of the horrors of the world their parents brought them into.
“There was a bad man, a Dark wizard, who was very powerful around the time we finished school,” Sirius says, “and he… he had some dangerous views, that certain people shouldn’t have magic, or that people who don’t have magic are somehow lesser than people who have magic. When we left school—that is, your parents and the two of us, as well as some other classmates of ours—we signed up to fight this man and his followers.”
“It was a war, Harry. You’ve heard of wars at school? World War II, for example?”
“A bit. The German guy killed lots of people, right?” Harry frowns. “Did the bad man kill my parents?”
“Yes, Harry,” Remus says, when it’s clear Sirius cannot, “the bad man—his name is… is Voldemort—he… he was targeting your parents, since they were strong fighters in the war. They were in hiding, but…” Beside him, Sirius sniffs, hiding his face with his hand. “Someone betrayed their location, told him where they—and you, for you were only a baby at the time—someone told him where you were all hiding, and he went after you.” Remus forces himself not to look away from those wide, serious, green eyes. “He killed both of your parents that night, and he tried to kill you, but something happened. Something your parents did saved you, and the curse rebounded. Instead of you, he died, and left you that scar.”
Harry is silent for a while. “So it is cursed,” he murmurs.
“It was a cursed wound,” Sirius corrects, his voice a bit hoarse. He clears his throat. “Cursed wounds are harder to heal, and often scar or leave some mark, like yours. But that doesn’t mean that the scar is cursed in any way, just that you got it through a curse.”
“But why didn’t my parents save themselves, if they could save me?”
“I don’t think they could, Harry. They wanted to, of course they wanted to, but… No one knows what they did, or how you survived. You’re the only person who has ever survived the killing curse.” Remus doesn’t say, we think their sacrifice was what allowed you to live. Harry doesn’t need to hear that, not yet. Maybe not ever.
“And you not only survived the curse, but you killed Voldemort, and ended the war. They call you… in the Wizarding world, that is, you’re called the Boy Who Lived.”
“The Boy Who Lived?”
“Of course, to us, you’re just Harry Potter, the most important boy in the world.”