Verus

1996, Diagon Alley, London

Harry grimaced to himself as he stepped out over the threshold to the only available wand shop within the alley, or so he’d been told. He’d asked around earlier after having made his hasty escape from the Nott men and Mr Malfoy, and had received nothing but raving reviews about Ollivander’s, but as he exited the shop Harry couldn’t quite hide his displeasure for the senile old man.

It had taken the better part of an hour for the wandmaker to finally locate a suitable wand, and for it to only turn out to be the brother of another. Lord Voldemort’s in fact, which in itself was rather ironic.

It seemed that the two wands shared a certain feathered core, both belonging to the same phoenix. Phoenix feather wands were always the pickiest when choosing a suitable wizard too, Harry recalled as he popped the blasted thing into the leather holster at his wrist and came to a pause on the cobbled curb.

Wand acquired. All that was left to do now was find somewhere suitable to take up accommodation for the time being, he could investigate what was left of Wizarding Britain at a later date.

Hm…

With a single thought, Harry clicked his fingers and the scroll he’d been gifted earlier during his stay at Gringotts appeared in his grasp. His eyes trailed across the scrawled list of properties available to him as heir, but he honed in on the one closest.

Staying within the confines of London was his best plausible option, he didn’t need himself getting lost this early on in the game, and it would be rather beneficial to him in the long run, for when he’d need to prepare for his next year at Hogwarts.

“Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest floo network is, would you?” Harry asked an older looking gentleman in passing, having since tucked the scroll neatly back into his robes.

The gent paused in his stride and cocked his head.

“That would be the pub, my boy. Same way you came in, I reckon.” The man replied in a burly tone, and just as Harry went to thank him for his aid, the elder’s bushy brows rose just beneath the brim of his top hat. “Say, you look a little familiar, have we been introduced before?”

A niggle of anxiety wormed its way into Harry’s chest at the question but he plastered on another pleasant smile and shook his head lightly in retort, “I’m afraid you might be mistaking me for another, sir. I haven’t seen much of Britain yet, only arrived this morning.”

The gent frowned with a thoughtful hum, a whitened moustache blanketing his upper lip. “Are you quite sure? I never forget a face. Perhaps your father then?”

Harry fought against every instinct in his body to not react. He couldn’t afford to. Not now. But the question had jilted him to the very core.

With a curt shake of his head and a somewhat stiffer smile, Harry took an obvious step backwards towards The Leaky Cauldron. “I’d very much doubt it, I simply must have one of those faces.” He acquiesced with, what he deemed was, a casual shrug, “Thank you for your time, sir, but I really do have to get going.”

The man appeared to remember himself then and nodded once in return, “Of course, my apologies for keeping you.”

Harry shot him an amiable grin. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He called out hurriedly over his shoulder, and then he was gone, whisking himself into an approaching group of shoppers.

He allowed a simple moment to steady himself once he was sure that he was out of sight, up by an animal emporium where he could somewhat hide behind a plethora of metal cages, paying no mind to the hooting owls.

The entire conversation had been completely unexpected, but Harry only hoped that it better prepared him for such encounters in the near future. His father, James Potter, had been a rather skilled auror during the height of the first war, and although Harry had grown into his own, he knew he still somewhat resembled his long departed parents. Perhaps it would be a good idea to further work on his disguising charms, at least in the lead up to September. It would do him no good, the world working out just who he was before he was ready.

So with that thought Harry stepped back onto the footpath and strode towards the pub hunched over in the near distance, all the more eager to use the floo.

—

An unavoidable cough expelled most of the sooty ash and powder that had lodged its way into the back of Harry’s throat as he stepped through the next fireplace and into, what appeared to be, a receiving room. He blinked the itchy smoke from out of his eyes and took a good look around.

The sound of his boots clacked loudly against the wooden floorboards as he meandered throughout the untouched space. A quick once over told Harry that the place had to have been uninhabited for well over a decade, perhaps even more.

Occupying most of the shadowed room was a dark emerald sofa, it had a low back, rolled arms and a deeply buttoned upholstery which perfectly complimented the gentleman's armchair stood proudly beside it. A hefty china cabinet perched in the nearest corner- its insides held an array of eery objects and items Harry already knew were far too dark to be displayed so carelessly- and opposite was a grand piano, one that reminded Harry greatly of Rowena’s own. They shared the same likeness, a deep mahogany wood and elegant ivory keys.

As he turned, Harry scrunched his nose up distastefully at the substantial layer of dust that coated many of the surrounding surfaces, thickening the air.

“Talk about opening a window.” He muttered lowly to himself as he made his way back over to the nearby fireplace.

A single finger through the greyish grime which lined the once artful decor’s mantle had him grimacing, quickly he vanished the remaining dust from his hand and swept the phantom remnants against his cloak. His eyes flickered over towards the wall on the far side of the room, taking in the many characters which marred the image of a spindly willow tree. He hummed to himself thoughtfully, someone had spent quite some time recreating a family tree- only, all of their hard work seemed to have been tarnished later on down the line, faces burnt off completely.

It was then that Harry startled slightly, a pair of brash voices erupted throughout the lower-level of the property, putting him immediately on his guard.

He was so beyond certain that this house had been labelled vacant when he’d decided to pay it a visit, so there shouldn’t have been a soul in sight, much less any loud chatter.

A ghost, perhaps? Harry frowned, perplexed, and then cautiously set off to investigate.

“Oh for merlins sake, Moony! There’s no need to go about calling in the aurors, it’ll just be Kreacher up to his old tricks again!” A harrow voice hissed out before it lowered into a dull scoff, “Wretched thing lives to make my life a misery.”

“You said you felt the wards change, Pads. That sounds a little more-“

“A little more, what? Serious?”

Harry slowly stepped out into a long stretch of hallway which wound a little to the left just as an amused snort echoed over the webbed walls, he halted when he was met with the scene of a scowling man with auburn hair flicking another, slightly shorter, man stood beside him. He quirked an intrigued brow at the duo.

“Oi! You know I hate it when you do that.” The shorter declared in an affronted grumble, rubbing at the shell of his ear with a little more force than necessary. He turned then, probably prepared to walk away, but couldn’t help the way he jumped back in surprise, almost barrelling into the former.

Harry briefly wondered what a sight he must have made, propped up against the nearest entryway with his arms crossed casually over his chest, merely observing. He wasn’t all that fussed by the sudden appearance of the two strangers in his ancestral home, and not nearly as worried as he should’ve been. In actuality, he was quite delighted by the two’s odd dynamic and this sudden change of circumstance.

“Is there something I can help you two gents with?”

The taller gawped at him for a long moment whilst the latter simply blinked, head snapping over to his companion once before his storm-like gaze fell back on Harry. “I beg your pardon?”

He seemed rather bewildered. Which was strange.

Harry observed them both a second longer before he kicked his ankle out over the other, settling in for the obvious discussion that was due to take place. “I asked how I could be of help… you seemed to have wandered into my house unannounced.”

The latter ogled him as though this was the last thing he had expected upon entering the property, before he visibly jolted and started in on an incessant ramble…

“Sorry, come again- did you just say your house? I’ll have you know, kid, this hellhole has been in my family more than nine generations! I lived here sixteen years! My own mother died on that very landing, right there! And I can vividly remember the scorch mark my grandfather left in his wake as he went up in flames one Yule’s eve! Yourhouse! How exactly is this your house?”

Well…

But before Harry could even counter this man’s argument, he noticed how closely the second stranger seemed to be watching him and it was then that the taller spoke.

“You’re of Black blood?” He queried, intelligent eyes shifting back to Harry’s face from where they had just previously been. Harry’s own eyes narrowed.

“Remus!” The former called out, almost in accusation.

“No, no, just look.” The man urged, eyes shifting again before he gestured vaguely towards Harry’s chest, to where his arms were still folded in his amble stance. “The ring, it bares your family’s crest.”

The dark haired man immediately quietened and took a scrutinising step forward, forcing Harry to tense slightly.

“Where’d you get that?” He asked, a sharp fury making his voice quiver.

“Sirius..” The taller- Remus, Harry mentally edited- murmured hesitantly, gaze sharpening as a thousand thoughts flitted through his head.

His companion, Sirius, paid him no heed though, the anger he felt only seemed to fuel him.

“That doesn’t belong to you.” He claimed boldly, every vowel annunciated.

“And what right do you have to say as such?” Harry snarked right back.

The feral bite to the man’s unexpected snarl had Harry’s back straightening, he knew a threat when he saw one.

“What right?” Sirius barked out, striding forward with an utmost purpose, almost like a wild animal with its sights set on its latest prey. “What right, he asks! I have every right. That ring belongs to my heir. The only heir I have ever and will ever claim. And you’ve stolen it!”

Harry had his wand in the palm of his hand and pressed against the crazed wizard’s neck before either one of them could blink.

“Stolen?” Harry repeated, voice low and teeth clenched. “I am many things, but a thief I’m not.”

Sirius’ chin was wrenched outwards in an angered jut, but with the tip of Harry’s wand tickling his pulse point he didn’t dare move a single inch. When he spoke again it was in a taut tone, dark eyes unyielding as they darted between Harry’s own, a fire burning behind them.

“Explain it to me then. Just how did it come into your possession?”

Harry’s jaw ticked in agitation, he could feel the house’s wards reaching out, intertwining under his very feet and locking within the confines of the walls, but they did not act out, even as the man’s companion took a cautious step towards them.

“Look, there’s no need for any violence.” He, being Remus, said in an attempt to placate the situation his partner had not only caused, but furthered. His very presence had Harry on immediate edge, and the closer he drew, the more Harry realised that there was simply something off about the man. “I think this could probably be resolved a little quicker if we were to all sit down and just talk, no?”

That was all it took for the events to turn.

Harry had glanced in Remus’ direction for a mere second and the man at the end of his wand had decided to act, but he had done so whilst simultaneously underestimating Harry’s ability.

Sirius took his chance the moment Harry’s eyes had darted away from his rigid form, going to dislodge the arm at his neck in an attempt to get the upper-hand, but with a simple sidestep and a wordless hex Harry landed him on his arse.

The latter looked down at him with a void expression from where he now stood towering above, displeased. “Not the smartest of moves.”

The man in question merely glared in retort, looking rather vexed. He went to open his mouth, probably desperate to spit some more vitriol, but his companion was between them in an instant, using his taller frame to his advantage.

The forced proximity had Harry’s animagus howling from deep within, the sound hollowing his chest and hazing his brain. His eyes locked on Remus’ own, a honey colour which bled outwards into a deep ring of hazel, and something intense dragged between them both. Something Harry couldn’t quite explain.

He heard the older man’s breath stutter from where he was standing, but didn’t expect to hear the next thing that slipped from the other’s lips.

“Harry?”

Harry, in turn, gulped, hand tightening on his wand just as a second voice from behind Remus noisily parroted, “Wait- Harry?"