Chapter 1
Sirius let out a stream of curses under her breath as she charged up the stairs to her flat, clutching the bundle of Harry and blankets to her chest and praying he didn’t start crying until they were inside the noise-cancelling wards.
As if he’d read her mind and decided he wasn’t in the mood for discretion, Harry started grizzling.
“Hush, Harry, please hush,” Sirius whispered into the top of his head as she rounded another corner, trying her best not to jostle him.
Harry settled a little at the sound of her voice and didn’t descend into full-blown wailing, but he was sniffling by the time they made it to Sirius’ door, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Sirius chanted, fumbling with her keys in the lock and shouldering the door open, slumping with relief once they were in the flat and behind the protective barrier of spells.
She shut the door quietly so as not to startle him, checked the perimeter, and finally plonked herself down on the ratty couch, moving Harry around until he was lying in her lap with his head by her knees and his feet pressing into her stomach. She unwrapped the blankets and checked him over, praying he hadn’t been injured this whole time without her noticing – but no, he was fine, except for the fresh scar snarling across his forehead. She’d done her best with the healing spells she could remember back at Godric’s Hollow, but she’d been rushing, anxious that Hagrid would regain consciousness and try and stop her again. She’d managed to stem the bleeding, at least. It was alarming to look at on such a tiny face, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at this point.
Harry started squirming and whinging under her frantic examination, obviously sensing how terrified she was and getting scared himself.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius said, forcing herself to calm down and handle him more gently. She wrapped him back up in his blankets, aware that the flat was freezing and damp, but made sure to leave him room to wriggle around and move his legs. “You’re okay,” she said again, lifting him up again and holding him close. “We’re okay.”
Harry sniffed and nuzzled into her shoulder. “'Kay” he mumbled in his little piping voice.
“That’s right,” Sirius said. “Everything’s okay.”
Harry shifted in her arms and turned his head, blinking as he looked around the dingy room. “Mum?” he asked.
Something went in Sirius’ chest and she was abruptly fighting back tears. She leaned him away from her so she could look into his face. “Mummy’s not here, Harry, I’m sorry.”
Harry appeared to process this. “Dad-dad,” he said firmly. If Lily wasn’t here, then James would have to be. One of them was always near. That was how his world worked.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius repeated, her voice cracking. “He’s not here either. They’re gone, Harry, they’re both gone.”
The top of Harry’s nose crinkled into a tiny frown. “Dad-dad,” he said again.
Very suddenly, Sirius was sobbing, unable to hold back what she’d been forcing down ever since she’d landed outside the Potter’s house, seen the roof caved in, seen the look on Hagrid’s face, realised what she’d done…
For Harry, already confused, overwhelmed and exhausted, this was far too much. He started to howl.
When Sirius came back to herself, she had a pounding headache, a crusty face, and a damp patch on her shirt where Harry was bawling into her chest, his little starfish hands clenched with the effort and his whole body shaking in her arms.
“Oh no, oh Harry,” Sirius choked out, lifting him away slightly to look at him. His face was red and covered in snot and tears, but he calmed down a little when he registered that Sirius had mostly stopped crying, moving from full-blown wailing to little hiccups and whimpers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry…”
Harry sniffed hard. “Mummy,” he said again, voice wobbling. “Mummy.”
Sirius managed to stop herself from losing it this time, but it was a close thing. A few more tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped them away hurriedly. “Come on,” she said gently. “We’ll find some tissues, and then you can have a sleep, and then we’ll figure out what to do, alright?”
Harry didn’t reply, but he allowed Sirius to hoist him onto her hip and held on tight while she stood up on shaky legs, moving carefully over to the edge of the room where her possessions were piled up, along with several months’ worth of the detritus that came with living in shitty flat that one rarely had the time or energy to clean. There were no tissues, just an empty box that looked as if it had been home to a mouse at some point, and a dish cloth that she dropped hastily when she realised it was covered in dried blood. She couldn’t even remember if she’d used it for first aid after a mission, or if she’d just run out of tampons at some point and forgotten to bin it. Either seemed likely.
“Loo roll it is,” she sighed, and stumbled through to the bathroom.
She ran the hot tap until it was at its warmest (depressingly tepid) and wet a handful of paper so as to not make Harry think she was trying to sandpaper his face. He let her dab at his nose and cheeks until he decided he’d hand enough and started trying to squirm away again.
“Alright, alright,” Sirius mumbled. She dropped the paper in the toilet and dried him off with the end of her sleeve before tearing off another bunch of paper for herself. She didn’t bother wetting it, just blew her nose and dragged the back of her hand over her eyes until they stopped burning so much.
She tried to flush the loo roll down the toilet. The cistern sputtered weakly, letting out the smallest possible trickle of water, and the pipes groaned in protest.
“Not again,” Sirius sighed. “Merlin. We really can’t stay here.”
The reality of her situation was starting to set in. She was all alone with her dead best friend’s baby, in a grotty flat with dodgy heating and no insulation. She didn’t have any food left, any toys for Harry to play with – she didn’t even have nappies, she realised with a sinking sensation in her stomach. She hastily lifted Harry up and sniffed, relieved when she found him still clean and dry.
“Small mercies,” she muttered, re-settling him on her hip. “Okay. We need a game plan.”
Harry yawned and laid his head on her shoulder, sucking his thumb and blinking sleepily.
“Right. You’re exhausted. Of course you are. You’re a one-year-old and this is the worst day of your life.”
Harry didn’t reply. He was already dozing off.
Sirius carried him back through to the main room and improvised a nest for him on the cleanest part of the sofa, dragging her bedding over from where it was crumpled on top of the dusty mattress she’d been sleeping on and shaking it out to make sure there was nothing gross stuck to it. She tucked Harry in and knelt next to him, stroking his hair the way she’d seen Lily do when she put him down for the night, murmuring nonsense and humming half-remembered lullabies. Soon enough, Harry was fast asleep, breathing deep and steady.
Sirius sat back on her heels and breathed out. She watched him for a little while. Then she dragged herself to her feet once more and started pacing quietly, twirling her wand between her fingers, trying to figure out her next steps.
Contacting the Order wasn’t an option, she decided. Even ignoring the fact that by now they would all be sure she was both a traitor and kidnapper, she couldn’t trust any of them not to immediately side with Dumbledore and hand Harry over to the muggles. At least she could be sure that they wouldn’t come looking for her here – the only people who knew her address were the other Marauders, and Lily. She’d received her assignments from Shacklebolt at various rendezvous points throughout the city, chosen at random, as was protocol. There were only two people left alive who knew where she was.
Peter wouldn’t come after her just yet. He probably didn’t even know that Harry was still alive, let alone with her. She knew the cowardly shit well enough to know that he was most likely off hiding somewhere in his other form, waiting for the air to clear so he could sneak away to safety. She fought down the urge to go and find him and rip his head off with her teeth – she could not, under any circumstances, let Harry out of her sight. She had to put him first. Revenge could wait for now.
Her mind moved on to Remus. Her last friend. Her ex-friend. They hadn’t spoken since their fight. Remus was currently under the impression that Sirius was a spy for the death eaters. Not just any spy, but one who’d accused Remus herself of being one. She winced at the memory of Remus' stricken face, staring after her as she slammed out of the house.
She tried to remember what she’d been thinking at the time. All she could recall was a haze of paranoia and grief and exhaustion, and an easy target. She’d known Remus’ insecurities better than anyone, after all. The fear of rejection. The struggle to connect, to feel that sense of belonging.
There was a sour feeling in Sirius’ stomach. She stopped pacing and looked around the flat. A cockroach was climbing the wall opposite her.
She and Harry really, really, couldn’t stay here. She really, really needed help.
The spell was out of her mouth before she could think it all the way through.
“Expecto Patronum.”
Remus took a drag of her cigarette and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her shaking hand.
“I’ve told you,” she said, fighting hard to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what happened.”
“Are you sure she didn’t say anything to you?” McGonagall pressed. “Anything at all, even something that may have seemed inconsequential-”
“I haven’t spoken to her in months,” Remus growled, her voice rising. “The last time we talked, she accused me of being a spy for Greyback. I know you know this, because I fucking told you when it fucking happened.”
McGonagall didn’t respond. She simply watched Remus for a long moment, face blank in the half-light of the alleyway they’d met in.
Remus took another drag and exhaled carefully, trying to force her anger to dissipate along with the smoke. “Sorry, professor.”
“You’re in a tremendous amount of pain, so I will forgive your tone,” McGonagall said, almost kindly. “But it is crucial you understand that we can’t leave a single stone unturned. We need to find Harry and get him to his relatives. This is our priority above all else.”
“I don’t understand why. The war’s over, Snake-Fucker’s dead, why do we have to-”
“I am sure you’re aware of the concept of a need-to-know basis, Miss Lupin.”
“Christ,” Remus grit out. She finished her cigarette, flicked it away, and jammed her hands in her pockets. “Why does he have to go to them? Does Dumbledore not realise… L-Lily…”
She broke off and tried to breathe through the tears that seized at her throat. McGonagall waited patiently.
“Lily told me about them,” Remus managed at last. “Her sister hates everything to do with magic, she never accepted Lily, and that Dursley cock – you should have heard some of the shit he said about James, not just the magic, they’re fucking racist, where the fuck does Dumbledore get off putting Harry with those people? Professor, he won’t be safe.”
McGonagall pursed her lips at that. “I’ve done my best to discourage Albus from this course of action,” she said slowly. “I’ve been watching the Dursley family, and I agree that the decision to grant them custody is a poor one. However, there are certain factors at play, which - Albus has assured me that this measure is crucial.”
“I'm sorry, but fuck that,” Remus said. “Fuck that with the broken end of a bloody fucking broomstick. Professor. You can’t let Dumbledore do this to Harry. You can’t.”
The professor sighed. “There are much bigger picture here than you are currently equipped to perceive. But I will do everything I can to convince Albus to think of something else. In the meantime – if you see or hear from Sirius Black, contact myself or another Order member immediately, and prioritise the child's safety above all else.”
Remus fought back a wave of nausea at the thought of Sirius as a traitor, of her holding Harry hostage, even with the memory of the fight still burning in the back of her mind. “Are we sure it was her?” she asked, her voice trembling. “That she was the one who…”
McGonagall looked at her sadly. “It is almost impossible for it to have been anyone else,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Remus took a deep breath in, and nodded. She turned on her heel and started to walk away, only to turn back when McGonagall spoke again.
“One more thing, Miss Lupin. There’s a chance that in all the confusion, Mr Pettigrew hasn’t been informed of what’s happened – he’s been lying especially low since his last assignment. I thought you should be aware of that, should you see him before anyone else does.”
With that, she disapparated.
Remus walked home slowly, trying to decide if she’d be able to handle telling Peter what had happened, actually saying the words out loud and seeing the look on his face. She still hadn’t come to a conclusion by the time she reached her flat.
She rubbed her eyes as she kicked the door shut behind her and slumped back against it, ferociously fighting back tears.
Not yet, she ordered herself. You don't get to fall apart yet.
She didn't notice the patronus until it was materialising in front of her, lighting up the room with a silvery glow and sending Remus' heart leaping into her throat.
“SHIT!” she yelped, hand flying to her wand.
The patronus – Sirius’ dog, she realised dazedly, it was Sirius – looked towards her and immediately started speaking in Sirius’ voice.
“Moony – Remus. It wasn't me. I'm being set up, I swear on Uncle Alphard’s grave, I promise I can explain everything, Peter – fuck. But I did slightly kidnap Harry. Kind of. They were going to leave him with those people, and I just…
“I'm sorry for what I said. I need help. I need you. We’re at my place. Please come.”
The patronus dissipated into wisps and faded away, leaving the flat in darkness and Remus frozen where she stood.
Her hand twitched towards her wand, automatically moving to contact Dumbledore. Then she stopped and tried to figure out when it had become such a reflex for her to look to a wizened old man with an almost Dickensian tendency for dramatics before she could let herself make a decision.
She felt around on the wall behind her for the light switch and flicked it on, squinting in the sudden brightness. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so she lit another cigarette and went to sit on stained brown armchair that had come with the flat while she figured out her next steps.
Her eyes kept being drawn to the lunar calendar she’d hung on the wall. She still had the best part of two weeks before the next full moon.
“Literally fuck this,” she said to the air. She dropped the cigarette butt into an old, half-drunk cup of tea on the table, and went to pack a bag.