A pinecone, a candle, and a few stones
Minerva’s heart stills a moment as Mrs. Pierce, the muggle social worker, escorts Harry into the primary school’s conference room. The boy had collected his things–a battered bookbag and scruffy jacket–from his classroom’s cloakroom. He looks just like James. Except he has his mother’s eyes.
“Henry, I’d like to introduce you to Professor McGonagall. She is the Deputy Headmistress of a prestigious boarding school in Scotland. There’s the possibility of a legacy placement there.”
The boy’s eyes flash with something (anticipation?) before offering his hand. “Thank you for coming to see me, Professor McGonagall.” Minerva shakes his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Potter.”
“These gentlemen,” Mrs. Pierce continues, “are Sirius Black and his solicitor, Malcom Blackthorn. Mr. Black was your father’s cousin, and has petitioned the court to obtain custody of you.” Potter’s eyes widen, but regains his composure and shakes their hands.
Minerva slips her wand out of her pocket and casts a silent confundus underneath the table to encourage Mrs. Pierce to excuse herself after the introductions. Minerva’s experience at introducing children to the magical world suggests the social worker’s presence will complicate matters unnecessarily.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you all to it then?” Mrs. Pierce asks in a bit of a daze. Harry cocks his head slightly, clearly puzzled by the suggestion, but says nothing. After a moment, Mrs. Pierce places a hand on Harry’s shoulder. The contact is clearly meant to be reassuring, but Minerva notes a suppressed flinch. The rumors of physical abuse are true, then. Morgana forgive us. “I’ll be right outside in my office if you need me, Henry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pierce.” The room is quiet as Mrs. Pierce leaves.
“Well then, Mr. Potter,” Minerva asks gently, “what do you know about magic?” By the way Harry stiffens, she guesses that the boy is one of the unfortunate muggle-raised children whose magic caused others to be frightened or angry with him. Expecting denials, she is instead surprised when Harry raises a mischievous eyebrow in Sirius’s direction. “A lot less than you lot, I reckon.”
Sirius barks out a laugh. “What? He’s not wrong,” he defends against her stern glance and Blackthorn’s cool gaze.
“Indeed, Mr. Potter. The name of the school where I teach is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You’ve been invited to start there in September.” She fishes a pamphlet out of her case and offers it to Harry. The cover shows a group of students in wizarding robes and conservative muggle clothes laughing together as they walk outside, the camera positioned to highlight the castle in the background.
Harry flips through the pamphlet. “Mrs. Pierce mentioned that I would be a legacy student… does that mean my parents went there?”
Minerva softens. “Yes, Harry. They were remarkable students–they were Head Boy and Girl in their seventh year. I had the privilege of having both your parents in my house, along with your Cousin Sirius here.”
“Yeah, pup. James was my best mate… he was like a brother to me,” Sirius chokes out.
“Wow,” Harry murmurs, his avada-kedavra-green eyes holding Sirius’s storm-gray gaze for the first time. “Just wow. I can’t believe I’m learning all this just now. It’s like a fairytale… an orphaned prince is rescued and travels to a magical school…” he turns to face Professor McGonagall and lets out a weak laugh. “I’m not a prince, am I?”
“No, not a prince,” Blackthorn breaks in. “You are Heir Apparent to the Most Honorable House of Potter and will presumably soon be second-in-line,” his eyes flick towards Sirius, “to the Lordship of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”
Harry nods to himself for a moment. “This is a lot. I’m not really sure what to ask next… maybe you could tell me what brings you here today? I mean, September is still several months away...”
“... and you’ve been away from the Dursleys for a few months at this point,” Minerva finishes for him. She exchanges a glance at Blackthorn. It takes a lot to remain calm in the face of the rage, grief, and guilt she is experiencing right now. She can hardly imagine what Sirius is feeling. Harry just nods, eyes cast downward.
Blackthorn steeples his hands together and addresses Harry. “Your parents named your cousin, Mr. Black, to be your godfather and intended for him to take care of you should anything happen to them. However, just after your parents’… demise, he was falsely imprisoned for crimes he did not commit. At the end of last year, new evidence came to light that irrefutably proved his innocence. It has taken a while, but Mr. Black has been completely cleared of all charges and has only just now… recovered sufficiently from the effects of Azkaban to successfully petition for your guardianship.”
At the mention of Azkaban, Sirius shudders slightly and his eyes begin to glaze over. Harry looks like he is about to speak, but Minerva steps in. “You must understand, Mr. Potter, that the prison of our world is not the same as that of muggles. It takes an extremely hard toll physically, and an even more devastating impact mentally and emotionally.” Minerva looks at Sirius reassuringly. “Mr. Black has made a tremendous amount of progress since his release, and has wished for nothing more than to see you as soon as he was able.”
Sirius’s eyes clear a bit. “That’s right, Harry. I know you probably don’t remember me, but I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’m sorry that I don’t remember you, Mr. Black, but I look forward to getting to know you better,” Harry responds carefully but with kindness.
“Sirius. Please call me Sirius–or Padfoot, if you prefer. Mr. Black makes me feel old.”
“Sirius, then.” The world seems to still for a moment as Harry holds Sirius’s gaze for a moment again. “Would you mind calling me Henry rather than Harry? It’s fine if you slip sometimes, but I went by Harry before… before I left, and I decided to try reinventing myself since then. A clean break from the bad so that I can focus on the good in front of me, you know?”
Sirius smiles. “Sure thing, Henry.”
Harry– no, Henry –smiles back, before redirecting his attention to the other adults in the room. “What now, then?”
“Now, Mr. Potter, we will go to collect your things from the children’s home before relocating you to Blackmoor Harbourhouse to live with Sirius and other members of the Black family,” Minerva responds.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
The boy frowns slightly. “Will I be returning here at any point?”
Blackthorn clears his throat. “The plan, Heir Potter, is for you to be tutored in our customs and history at Blackmoor for the next few months before matriculating at Hogwarts in the fall.”
The boy nods absently to himself once more. He doesn’t seem distressed, just preoccupied. “Okay–that’s fine. Do you mind waiting a moment while I write a note to my teacher, Mr. Knightsbridge? I’d like to thank him… he’s been really helpful since I started here this year.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Potter. Just be sure not to mention magic to him.”
Henry nods again and extracts a page from a spiral bound notebook stored in his bookbag. The three adults watch quietly as the boy writes out a few lines with a ballpoint pen. He pauses a moment. “Is there an address I can leave Mr. Knightsbridge?”
Blackthorn pulls out a business card. “Letters posted to this address in Newcastle can be forwarded to you.” Henry copies the address onto the page. “May I keep this?”
“You may, Heir Potter.”
After another moment of writing, Henry folds the page in half, apparently finished. Minerva is struck by how calmly Henry is accepting things. It seems that Sirius shares her concern. He reaches out to touch Henry’s arm as the child puts his pen back into his bookbag. “How are you holding up, kiddo?”
“I’m fine.” Henry sighs. “I’ll be okay–really–it’s just… very sudden. I’m sure that living with you will be great, sir, and I’m excited to learn all about magic, but… it’s just a lot all at once.”
Minerva gives Henry a warm smile. “That’s understandable, Mr. Potter. Under more ordinary circumstances, we would have introduced things more slowly. You would have continued to attend school here for a week or two and met with Sirius several times before relocating.”
“Ordinary circumstances, Professor? Does this have to do with my, er, noble status?”
“In a way, Mr. Potter. But this has more to do with ensuring your safety.”
“My safety?”
Minerva feels a cold realization wash over her. Surely they told him… “What do you know about the death of your parents, Mr. Potter?”
“Only that… the Dursleys told me that they died in a car crash.”
Sirius jolts out of his seat. “A car crash?! How dare they? I’ll kill them… They told you that Lily and James died in a car crash?”
“Sirius! Sit down! You’ll scare the poor bairn.” Sirius slunk back into his chair, muttering softly to himself, eyes wild.
“Your parents didn’t die in a car crash, Mr. Potter. They were murdered.”
“Murdered?” Henry’s whisper was barely audible, his eyes firmly on the conference table.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. At the time of your parents’ death, Magical Britain was at war. There was a dark wizard who… murdered and tortured muggles–non-magical people–and was trying to take over our government. Your parents were among those who resisted him. He attacked your home and they died protecting you. They were incredibly brave.”
“I see. That was a long time ago, though. Are you–are we –still at war?”
Minerva sighs internally. She had hoped for Harry to get settled in with Sirius before having this conversation. “No, Mr. Potter. You see, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked your family’s home… well, we’re not exactly sure what happened. No one has survived the killing curse before, but somehow on that night, the curse appears to have rebounded, leaving you with the scar on your forehead and You-Know-Who defeated.”
“You-Know-Who?”
“Voldemort,” Sirius growls.
“Yes. Well.” Minerva collects herself. “After his defeat, the war ended. But while most of his followers were imprisoned, there are still a few Death Eaters out there who might wish to harm you. You became something of a legend for defeating him, which makes you a bit of a potential target, you see. It’s nothing to worry much about–you should be perfectly safe while at Hogwarts or with Sirius, but now that we’ve located you, we thought it prudent to not leave you in the muggle–non-magical–world without a wizard to protect you.”
“Had I been missing?”
That’s what he latches on to? That boy is too observant. Before she can respond, Blackthorn steps in. “Not exactly, Heir Potter. You had been hidden in the muggle world for your protection. However, when Mr. Black’s name was cleared, your location had to be tracked down officially by the ministry in order to transfer custody, and your location became more widely known.”
Minerva senses Sirius stiffen beside her, and she shoots a warning glance in his direction. Damn you, Albus. It’s not the complete truth–there had been a frantic few days when they realized that Henry was no longer at the Dursley residence–but she agrees with Blackthorn that it would be more information than the child needs right now. “Shall we give your note to Mrs. Pierce and head over to the children’s home,” she suggests. “I imagine Mrs. Pierce is ready to head home herself at this point.”
“Alright.”
* * *
‘He’s nothing like James,’ Sirius thinks. He watches as Henry gives his goodbyes to Mrs. Pierce and the staff at the children’s home. ‘ He’s too quiet. Too mature. Too serious-heh. If anything, he’s more like Reggie.’ His heart pangs as Henry shows him the home. The kid seems unfazed by the dull gray of the concrete, the unadorned hallways, the dirt-streaked windows and fluorescent lighting. There’s no reluctance as the kid brings him to the dorm, no embarrassment as he gathers up his meager possessions. Just a matter-of-factness that makes Sirius want to yell at someone. ‘ The kid deserves more. So much more. I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry, Lily. I failed you.’
* * *
Blackthorn hangs back a bit as Sirius trails behind Henry in the children’s home like a wounded puppy. It’s a delicate balance, trying to smooth over Sirius’s ever-shifting moods while not overstepping his role as the Black Steward. It’s going to be a long summer. He suppresses a sigh, and redirects his attention to his younger charge. The child, at least, seems to radiate a sense of self-sufficiency. He doesn’t seem like he’ll cause much trouble. He watches absently as the boy methodically places his clothes into a paper shopping bag. He’s content to let the boy be. Henry carefully removes a few sketches from the wall beside his bunk, and gathers up a few items–a pinecone, a candle, a few stones–from around the room.
Blackthorn’s breath catches.
The moment the child lifts the final stone, it’s as if a spell is broken. It’s a subtle loss, not something most other men would notice, but Malcom does. He takes pride in his attention to detail, the decades he has spent honing his magical sense–there’s a reason he is the Steward of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. And even so, he nearly misses it, the change only perceptible against the stark, ever-oppressive lack he feels in his bones here in the muggle world. A lack he feels even more keenly now that this weak ward, this slightest of spells, has been broken. In his mind’s eye he sees himself as a child, isolated and ignorant of the magical world, drowning in packaged food and chain-link fences. He knows that, just as this child has done, that he would have clung to whatever beauty he could make or find. That in order to survive, he would have known where to place the candle and the stones.
* * *
The trip to Blackmoor was largely uneventful. Blackthorn had discretely suggested that they stop for a bite at the Leaky Cauldron on their way there. Ostensibly, it was to thank Minerva for her assistance in navigating muggle bureaucracy before parting ways–and it was nice to work with an experienced professional. But honestly, he was more concerned about whether Sirius was still capable of long-distance apparition and whether the former Gryfindor’s pride would allow him to admit it if he weren’t. In the end, he was glad that they had only apparated as far as London, and that Minerva had thought to bring a stomach soother. He had never been responsible for a muggle-raised child before, so it hadn’t occurred to him that a child Henry’s age wouldn’t already be accustomed to apparition.
“Ugh,” Henry grimaced, bowing over.
SIrius grinned. “First time’s a real doozy, isn’t it? Don’t worry, pup, it’ll get easier in no time.”
“Ugh,” Henry repeated. “I’d rather not repeat it enough for it to get easier. I felt like I was sucked through a straw and plopped into a toilet.” McGonagall lips pursed together at the colorful image, but said nothing. Sirius, predictably, guffawed. Which was probably what the child had intended.
The adults shared a pitcher of butterbeer while Henry worked on a pot of ginger-lemon tea. Sirius’s suggestion of chips had been overruled in favor of a cheese and fruit plate. The four of them sat in a companionable quietness at a back table, mostly content to listen to the ever-increasing background chatter as the post-work rush began to trickle in.
Henry cradled a mug in his hands. “So, where is Blackmoor, exactly?”
That’s a better question than you know. “Blackmoor Harbourhouse is located in the magical village of Blackmoor in coastal Northumberland,” Minerva responded crisply.
“And you said that I’d be living with the Black family at Blackmoor? Who other than Sirius will be there?”
Blackthorn nodded. “In addition to Sirius and myself, Sirius’s Great Aunt Cassiopeia has consented to relocate from Ravenswood Hall to assist with your upbringing and education. Your great-grandfather, the Lord Black, will continue to reside at Ravenswood but will join us for breakfast and supper. I imagine he will also instruct you when his duties permit.”
“Nobody trusts me to raise Harry on my own,” Sirius muttered to himself. It was soft enough that Blackthorn could hope that Henry hadn’t heard. If he had, Potter made no sign of it.
“What sorts of things will I be learning?” the boy continued.
“Mostly history and wizarding customs. Etiquette. Possibly politics or estate management,” Blackthorn evaded. He didn’t really want to go into the details with McGonagall present, even if Sirius had put his foot down about teaching Henry the darker aspects of the family magicks. He redirected the conversation to the workings of Blackmoor village. At Henry’s persistent questioning, he found himself giving an increasingly impassioned overview of his responsibilities as Steward and his role keeping the peace between the fishermen, herdsmen, and artisans who lived in the village. Even McGonagall seemed engaged.
However, after a while the conversation inevitably flagged and the platter had been picked clean. As Sirius began to flirt with “Minnie”, Malcom decided it was time to leave. He thanked Minerva for her assistance once more and firmly directed his charges towards the floo. They would travel to the public entrance of Smith, Goldstein, and Thorn, the law firm retained by the Black family and where his brother was a partner. The private floo in his brother’s office was one of the few directly connected with Blackmoor Harbourhouse. Few wizards were as paranoid about security as the Blacks, and for good reason.
Blackthorn frowned a little at the thought of the upcoming invasion of his home. He recognized that the Harbourhouse was no one’s first choice. A compromise–one of many. Sirius had needed his grandfather’s assistance to gain custody of Potter; Lord Black needed an heir. Lord Black insisted that Henry be educated in the family customs and live on Black property, effectively vetoing Sirius’s dream of a modern flat in Soho. Sirius, having no desire to step foot in his childhood home, vehemently vetoed Grimmauld Place in turn. In other circumstances Ravenswood Hall would have been the natural choice, but while the family seat could comfortably accommodate additional family members, the protections on the property were incompatible with the ministry-mandated welfare visits. This left Blackmoor Harbourhouse.
Compared to the other holdings, Blackmoor Harbourhouse was modest. A three story house with thick stone walls and a small front yard situated at the edge of Blackmoor village. The house was well-appointed but not lavishly so; it was a residence intended for the Black Steward, not family. The ground floor held offices for the Steward and the Harbormaster, a floo reception area, a formal sitting room, and the kitchen and pantry. The first floor had a dining room and a study; the remaining rooms in the house were bedrooms and bathrooms.
Malcom, thank Merlin , would retain the master suite. Due to her age, Cassiopeia was given the primary guest suite on the first floor. Sirius and Henry would have their choice of the smaller guest rooms on the top floor. Hopefully they would keep whatever nonsense they got into to themselves. Malcom suppressed yet another sigh. Sirius was likely going to be insufferable, by virtue of being Sirius , and while Cassiopeia was well-mannered, she was accustomed to a greater degree of luxury than Blackmoor could offer. Blackthorn resolved to keep his head down and focus on his work. The boy, at least, appeared polite and adaptable, for all that he was a muggle-raised halfblood. Less than five months until September.