Draco was bored.
It didn't take a full three days of winter break for him to lose steam on the excitement of being home for the holiday, as while he loved his parents there was just so much more to do at Hogwarts than at home. More people to talk to, he should say, since as much as he liked talking to his parents he also knew he was not quite on their level so far as their way with words went. Now that he'd gotten used to actually using every lesson he'd ever been taught against other real people (and ultimately realized how bad he was at it all honestly) it was much less fun being forever on the losing side against his parents.
Because his mother and father were clearly on the same team and could read each other's minds apparently, so Draco didn't even start with them. Which meant he'd defaulted back to pure honesty where he could, and choosing not to bring up other topics he didn't want discovered since he had no hope of actually hiding anything from them… like his lessons with Madam Pomfrey specifically.
It had happened organically that his holiday ended up being mostly spent in his room or the potions room his parents had given him, but he'd tried his best not to be too much of a nerd given he already lacked a lot of the social ability his housemates had. It's just that there wasn't anyone to talk to in order to practice his own way with words and everything he was currently planning was still years in the making: there was nothing to physically do during this break but… study?
It's just, since Harry wasn't coming over things felt a lot more lackluster than he'd been hoping they'd be. He'd already established all his gifts either before leaving Hogwarts or within their first trip into Diagon, gotten everything ready for both that and what his mother asked him to prepare for the party. That hadn't taken him long at all though and since it still felt like there were just so many hours in the day to use up, he'd defaulted back to his childhood activity of playing quidditch on their lands.
But even flying had lost all of its thrill when he was suddenly once again stuck to just imagining his opponents. Now that he'd been on the house team, attended real practices and gone through real games, solo practice alone in the air on his broom somehow seemed to be negative fun compared to what it used to be. Compared to playing with his team or practicing with Harry, just being there in the air felt more like standing still than doing anything important right now. He still liked flying on its own, but just hanging out in the air and maybe practicing some sprints and basic exercises did not fill up the entire afternoons for him like it once did, and he actually managed to get tired of it when his body got tired too. It was an unwelcome first for him.
His next choice of activity was usually bothering other people… but it was at that point he realized just how isolated Malfoy Manor really was. He hadn't quite realized just how alone he was growing up a single child in a Slytherin world where 'friendships' had to be useful to his parents first, and his mother and father didn't actually have a use for anyone.
He could bother his friends, but there was almost no chance Nott would respond and Blaise was undoubtedly insanely busy now that he was under his mother's thumb once more—he would very much not appreciate even the minor distraction a letter would be when he needed to keep both eyes firmly on Lady Zabini right now. The normal invite was either to go shopping or come over to the manor, but since they were going to be seeing each other at the Yule party anyway, even he knew that felt a little dense, socially. They weren't Gryffindors who hung out without a reason… even if maybe Draco kind of wanted to.
Since he'd rather die than admit that though, he was stuck just sitting in the Manor until the party which was still over a week away. He couldn't even write to the Gryffindor who'd accept his boredom, as Harry was off visiting his werewolf godfather or whatever and had warned he'd be out of communication pretty much the whole break. They still had their journals but… they hadn't used them since the summer and Draco sensed that was very much on purpose, as something was silently there preventing them from bringing it up again. A couple weeks break was not long enough to push them to be ready to use them again, apparently.
No quidditch, no friends to bother… he even ended up doing his homework in it's entirety as he knew if he acted bored around his mother, the first thing she'd ask was if he did it or not. With it out of the way though he was now fully out of things to do.
Even without his friends, he did have his parents' whole attention if he wanted it… it's just, he kind of didn't.
Which sort of rolled into his last remaining option to occupy his time: his studies in healing.
It'd been an impulse not to tell Severus, but now faced with his parents in just the other room or questioning how his day had gone when he'd just been occupying himself the entire time, he found himself actively not bringing it up to them. There were many reasons, he told himself… his mother could say it was too dangerous or his father could say it was too pedestrian or light-minded an activity and make him stop. They could start to give input into what he should be doing with his ability, or try to pile on more information if they for some reason knew any healing themselves.
He just… didn't want to hear it though.
It was just a hobby, but it was his hobby. Madam Pomfrey was the authority on the topic to him and he respected his parents too much not to listen to their input if they had any, but he very much did not want to get caught between those two forces. At least that's what he was telling himself and would maintain if caught.
Besides, while he ended up cracking open the texts Madam Pomfrey had given him and revising the journal he'd started to keep on his healing notations out of boredom, it also played a part into his long term goals so… he was killing two birds with one stone while he was at it. It just so happened that it also ended up being the only interesting thing of the entire break filled with quiet, empty days so he ended up spending a lot of time on it.
His tutors growing up had beaten strict note-taking practices into him, emphasizing having a new journal for each subject and how to properly organize it. The subject of healing was a little less straightforward as everything overlapped in some ways but there were different categories he could break them out into. The physical body and how it worked was one, how magic worked with the body was another, and then even his spellwork practice which was pretty much a new topic entirely as he was attempting to do the traditional spells a unique way with his ability. Even the physical body though could be broken out into completely separate journals, once for bones, one for blood, an entire one just for the heart or the brain… yeah he had a lot of journals going suddenly, and it started to make more sense why the Madam had an office with the walls entirely lined in them.
It was kind of cathartic though, refreshing in a way to start a new journal and slowly fill it out, categorizing his growing knowledge into buckets he could detail out as much as he wanted to help him study and memorize it all.
He also got creative with it, going through his expansive potions books and splitting them out into a new journal, collecting all the potions he thought relevant to the task of healing and trying to connect what he knew the ingredients did to the exact function of the human body they were supposed to interact with. While he knew a lot less on the topic he also started one for healing charms as well although… since a lot of his spellwork was him trying to figure out the right pattern in cups of water he ended up with a desk full of parchments he was doing a lot of trial-and-error with, only saving the precious few he finally got right into their appropriate journal.
He did genuinely like learning how the human body worked, thankfully over the initial squeamishness of blood and organs relatively quickly, and soon he found himself up probably too late at night, not because he was reading quidditch magazines for the tenth time, but instead books on anatomy because it felt like there was more to the puzzle he was determined to figure out before he called it a night. The texts Madam Pomfrey had let him borrow went into all the basics, but also had in-depth tangents on how bodily functions worked, like a big contraption of many complicated parts. Being of a previously-dark Slytherin house, the skull décor around Malfoy Manor was pretty common and suddenly he was noticing which skulls were anatomically correct and which were clearly some artist rendition… he also noticed one in one of his mother's sitting room that he was slowly become more and more sure was an actual human skull. He could even tell about how old they were and that they were once female too, which was… both eerie but also very cool of his own abilities.
And of his mother.
Unexpected hazards aside, he liked having knowledge in this area (an expertise in something for once), he liked understanding more about health and how to fix broken things like a puzzle that just needed the right skill to achieve. It was nice that even if he didn't know how to do everything, the scope of work was easily understandable… he could learn the basics now and get an idea of how far he had to go to be able to actually do some of the things he was reading about.
He was also happy to break up the reading, interesting as it was, with practicing the beginner spells he'd been taught in a cup of water. Very quickly he established that size meant strength, so when trying to trial-and-error a new one he had one of the house elves bring him a thimble, and the tiny cup allowed him to quickly try many different tactics until he got close to the right pattern, letting him then increase the size of the cup and practice it again and again to get the power and speed down too. The relation to size was also a good warning to him, as Madam Pomfrey wanted him to be able to create the exact ripple pattern on a cup in less than a second… which would mean if he tried this on a full human, which was physically more than a cup of water, it would take him many seconds and much more power too. The goal was not 'a cup of water in less than a second'… the goal was a human being, which meant he needed to be able to do it to a cup of water instantly, and several dozen times in a row, and then maybe he'd be able to do it to a human.
It was difficult, tedious work, but with understanding of his first spell, figuring out how to get the correct pattern of other spells went much faster. Then it was a matter of drilling it constantly until it worked.
He did NOT like being oh so very close to nailing down a new spell in his thimble, only for his hands to start to shake and a now very familiar sense of coldness seeping down the back of his neck telling him he was running low on magic. A couple times he switched back to reading until he'd rested enough, but he hated needing to leave something unfinished and found it was much harder to switch gears back to absorbing text when he'd just been focused on practical work. He liked reading of course but he liked doing way more, and when he was close to not only doing something but succeeding at something, it ate at him like a parasite that wouldn't stop clawing at his stomach.
He knew better than to push himself into magical exhaustion though, as not only would his parents find out, so would Madam Pomfrey (somehow, he knew she would) and both of them would halt this hobby of his in its tracks since he couldn't be trusted to be responsible with the knowledge. He also knew that this was all part of the "learning healing" process, since the act of reaching his limits and trying again on a new day would slowly but surely increase his magical core capacity over time, which was a key factor in one day actually being able to heal a full human body.
Now that he'd read a bit more into magical core theory though, he knew that that slow process wasn't just slow... it would take years for him given his age and current magical core size. When this frustration of his own limits first became a real annoyance he'd actually done the test himself which required nothing special but the right medication technique—and he had cheated and used his wand instead of trying to figure out how to do it with just his ability because he needed to know his core size and at what rate he recovered magic to know how soon he could get back to practicing. The results were not stellar, as he was perfectly average for a twelve-year-old, which on one hand was okay he supposed… but it also meant it would take over 24 hours to fully be back to his 'full' magical core capacity, and that each time he reached the shaky-hand stage, he was really only giving himself maybe 15 to 20 seconds additional time until he reached it again compared to last time. Doing that calculation was pretty demoralizing to realize he could work constantly for a full week and even in the best case scenario would only give himself at besttwo minutes of extra time while he worked until his magic ran out again.
He could only go just under two hours of his thimble practice until he ran out of magic. If he were practicing a spell he already knew in a cup of water, even accounting for the fact he was probably much more refined with how much magic he was using since he wasn't just blindly searching for the right pattern, he could still only go for about 50 minutes. Since he liked to know his goals he'd decided that 'being a healer' meant, to most people probably, working at St. Mungos for let's say… and 8-hour shift (although Madam Pomfrey had implied young healers never got such nice working hours unfortunately). That meant if he exhausted his magic every single day then he would get another hour of practice every 30 weeks or so. If the goal was to get to at least 8 hours then that was around three and a half years… not accounting for the fact he was practicing on a single cup of water, not a full human body, and the spells he was learning now were the absolute basics… they would only get harder and require more and more magic as time went on. Even in a thimble his trial-and-error method wasted so much magic because he didn't know what he was looking for in the spell until he found it by feel, and with the spells undoubtedly going to get more complicated and cumbersome… three and a half years seemed like the bare minimum of time it'd take to get there, but it'd take much, much longer most likely.
All of that was also not counting the fact he couldn't just spend all his magic in a day on healing, he also had other classes while at Hogwarts and other magic to learn and be tested on and use on a daily basis. Defense Against the Dark Arts and— embarrassingly enough given who his best friend was—Transfiguration were not his strong suits and would no doubt take a lot of his time and effort while in school. They did have the priority after all, since healing was just his hobby.
He knew he was not accounting for the fact that his core would naturally grow as he grew up as well, as you wouldn't know the final size of a magical core until the body was at least twenty-five years old or so, but that was too hard a variable to account for in his impatient calculations here. He was just doing it because he was frustrated with his pace, not because he wanted an exact day he felt like he'd 'made it'… he doubted that day would ever come with how much he had to learn, but he wanted a general idea of how long the road ahead of him was.
And it was long, let's leave it at that.
So… while he couldn't push himself to exhaustion, he was a budding healer and the ultimate goal was to actually use these skills on someone someday sooo… why not test it on himself?
While she hadn't explicitly shown him how to do it yet, he had seen her use a healer's journal and was very tempted to give it a shot himself. It wasn't a file, which was a person's medical history and should be consolidated and passed along to the next healer that treated that person, but instead a personal record for the healer themselves. A journal of sorts one would log their daily activities, where they would write out how they puzzled together the right diagnoses and the corresponding potions, charm, or spell needed to treat it. Once the correct (or even incorrect) treatment was given, then the ultimate outcome was copied cleanly into the file for proper documentation.
The Madam had insisted that doing too much 'in your head' was a dangerous game to play as you could miss something… having a practice of writing it out and double checking for basic as well as complicated things helped prevent making mistakes or overlooking simple, routine things as well as the unique and difficult ones too. Doing the same exercise for every single patient, the same checklist no matter who or what it was, and having it be an ingrained habit is what made nebulous knowledge a healer may or may not have into something usable and consistently accurate in practice. The fact she still did it for every patient that came through the Hospital Wing's doors meant Draco had been paying close attention, and he knew that if one of the best healers in the world was doing it even for diagnosing simple calming drafts to an anxious third year, then he wanted to get into the practice of it too.
And since he had a patient that needed assistance (himself) he figured it was best to start somewhere after all…
He played around with what format he wanted to use, knowing he had to keep it concise and to one page per treatment if possible so diagnosing didn't take forever when he was put on the spot. Using himself as the test subject he filled out all the information he knew he'd need if he were looking at someone else with the same issue of 'insufficient magical core capacity'… and made his first diagnoses.
Luckily, he had full access to a brewing set up and any ingredients he ever needed or wanted to practice potions with, and since he was quite confident in his ability, he started making nutrient, pepper-up, and mild magic-enhancing potions for himself. All of which had minor core-expanding properties temporarily while they lasted and would not interfere with each other, so he could take all three and gain almost two full hours of extra practice time with his thimble, though only an additional hour or so on a full cup of water. Going by how fast he regained magic after using it, he could do that twice a day—once every twelve hours or so with no magic use in between and be perfectly fine.
While he was skirting Madam Pomfrey's rules on a technicality, Severus' rule was to never consume something he'd brewed unsupervised without getting his personal clearance it was safe, and Draco knew his parents assumed he was sticking to that when they saw him brewing in their potions room for hours on end… he just didn't tell anyone that wasn't the case.
He was hanging out with too many Gryffindors apparently.
So if he were breaking rules anyway… frankly he was more scared of Madam Pomfrey than Severus so he was just going to proceed and pretend his godfather would never find out about this. The Madam didn't seem to be chatting with the potions master about this hobby of his for now anyway, so while he did just assume she would somehow know he was getting more practice in than was strictly possible with his core size and how many hours in a day there were, he doubted she'd do more than frown at him and would probably not rat him out to the man who taught him potions in the first place.
Besides, he wouldn't do it if he weren't completely confident in his potion brewing ability. Severus had even said himself that Draco was easily third-year level of potion crafting at the end of last school year, with his knowledge being that of a fourth-year before even starting at Hogwarts even! The entire point of learning this healing stuff and potion brewing was to use it on others someday, and he would never be ready to give them to others if he wasn't confident in consuming them himself.
It's just that, well, he was confident in drinking his own potions, at least these three which he'd been confident on for over a year already, amongst others. He'd be fully confident giving them to Harry even, which was the metric he knew for certain meant he was as sure of the quality of these potions as he could possibly be. Yes he was still young, and maybe Severus had not taught him potion-making with the true intention of ever thinking they were 'good enough', but more as a hobby himself that he never intended to go anywhere with other than ensure his godson did the best in his class out of the rest of Slytherin house…
But Draco sure as hell intended to go somewhere with the knowledge he'd been given and he was impatient enough to want to start now.
Some of his housemates brewed potions to give to others in exchange for trades, and no one thought it weird after all. He saw no reason not to brew potions to use on himself, not even to give to others and risk anyone besides his own health! Severus' rule was just outdated, he decided for himself… a remnant from when he was six and learning the pepper-up potion for the first time and routinely doing it terribly. Not now that he was twice that age and having had it mastered years ago.
So he broke the rule… a first for him, in a lot of ways. Slytherins weren't supposed to care about rules, more specifically laws, but even the people who taught him that fact undoubtedly still believed he would follow their rules… for some reason. For a long while he did, he would've actually… uncaring about Hogwarts or Ministry rules since day one but still unwaveringly listening to his parents and Severus because he loved and respected them deeply. The idea he would disobey any of them felt… bad, to put it bluntly, but he'd never really encountered a moment where what he wanted went directly against what they'd been telling him. They had always been on his side after all, their advice was to help him get what he wanted, not prevent it.
For the first time he realized that might not be the case… not due to any of their faults but mainly because they didn't currently know what he wanted since he was wasn't telling them about his studies.
So he was disobeying, yes. It felt weird for sure, but he didn't exactly feel guilty either since this is what he wanted and Slytherins were supposed to go after the things they wanted. He knew Severus would forgive him if it ever came to that, though he also wouldn't feel that bad if he never found out either.
He was self-reflective enough to know that Harry had been disobeying the world since the very first moment they met and hadn't ever given a single shit since he'd probably been doing whatever he wanted for years at that point. The fact Draco himself was fast approaching thirteen before the thought to disobey his mentors even occurred to him made him wonder just exactly where the stereotype that Gryffindors were 'rule followers' and Slytherins were 'dissenters' actually came from. Or was it because lions were the ones typically making the rules and snakes had their own game with different rules that the two things never really lined up?
He was ignoring that for now, it made his temple twitch to think too long on it.
With this new initiative and a lot of time to kill over break, it didn't take long to get into a habit. Wake up, have breakfast (or lunch honestly, since he was a late riser) with his parents if they weren't out for the day, go out and fly on his broom to get a work-out in if not refine his skills some. Then come in and freshen up, read some to get into the mindset, take his potions then either practice his thimble work to find a new spell on the list the Madam had given him or on a full cup of a spell he already knew, and once he was out of magic take a break and have a snack or read some more… then head to his potions room to fix up his recovery potions. He could make two days' worth of potions in one go so every other day he skipped this step to just read more or continue working on his journals. Dinner with his parents was always a quiet affair yet a nice break to actually talk to people instead of living in his own head for an entire day, and then afterwards, late into the night he'd get his second wind and, potions downed, would practice again until he was out of magic once more. Off to sleep, then rinse and repeat every day, and finally the break seemed to be move quicker instead of dragging on in boredom.
It was this act of diagnosing himself with exhaustion from trying his drills too often and self-prescribing a fixed sleep schedule and potion regiment for himself to help increase his pace of practice that sunk home how… nice, it was.
There was a problem and he could fix it with the knowledge he had.
When the people around him were struggling with things, most of the time he had no idea what the problem even was much less any idea of how to fix it. And he very desperately wanted to fix it if he could, it's just… that's never how it worked.
Most people neither wanted nor needed his help.
Things like broken bones or sick stomachs though… maybe people would actually accept his help if it were tangible things like that, things he could fix in an instant if he had the knowledge and skill of how to do that. As the weeks progressed he found satisfaction in that he was making progress, he was slowly getting there to the point he would have that knowledge and skill someday… to actually help if someone needed it.
The break seemed to fly by then, Draco finally satisfied with his days and even missing having friends or just more people besides his parents to talk to, found he didn't mind the new pace he was living at all.
000
"I can't believe you let me do this—do you regret it now?" Harry couldn't help but tease, Moony just rolling his eyes as he set their hot chocolates down on the coffee table and took a seat on the rug beside him.
"Not at all. I like it: it's much more like a home than before I think." They observed their work with varying levels of excitement, but a shared joy nonetheless. "Thank you Harry."
"No problem!" He cheered, fully satisfied with their afternoon's work in a way he'd never been before. He'd been tired after the ordeal that was the alleys, and usually Remus insisted they did something calm with their evenings so he thought this would be much more active chore than normal when he first suggested it, but it hadn't been that hard in the end.
Magic made things much easier after all.
And 'chore' was overstating it, as Harry had had a ton of fun doing it—like he'd been waiting his whole life to be asked to redecorate. Much less with a werewolf at his disposal who was pretty good with color changing charms and not that bad at Transfiguration himself (since Harry couldn't currently use magic) to make pretty much whatever he was trying to imagine come to life. He'd had a grand old time bossing Remus around to 'do this', 'change this color', even walking him through the Transfiguration principle Harry had discovered to change existing materials properties to make the couch and cushions and blankets fuzzier and softer.
He didn't go crazy with it like he was sure most people thought he would if given the chance, but just because he liked to dress with a lot of color didn't mean he wanted all that in his face on the walls too. He'd gone with a lovely forest green for the walls, with deep orange and gold accents for everything else since the furniture was already mostly a dark wood and he thought it all went together very well. Remus had even let him rearrange the furniture itself (finally, an actually good use of the levitating charm) to what Harry considered a more comfortable layout with the living room area now centered around the small tree they'd taken from the woods outside and decorated with paper stars. Moony also had a stash of interesting collectables, past gifts, pictures, and paintings that were just sitting on his shelves or in a box in his room that Harry had great fun hanging on the walls as proper decoration instead of just being clutter, and it all came together to be a much homier place than before. It had already been pretty cozy to be fair, but now it felt Christmas homey and also had a lot of his own whacky sense of style to it too instead of just being strictly functional and comfortable.
He basked not only in the joy of his successful handywork, but also in the praise and gratitude. That Remus had actually asked for his help and then just trusted him to do whatever, promising that he could just revert it all when he moved out in less than a minute with magic, had given him a freedom he hasn't tasted before.
But he loved it.
He'd been so focusing on getting out of the muggle world by any means necessary, no matter where he ended up needing to go in order to do it, it never really occurred to him to think about where it would be. If Sirius did get free, obviously Moony would still be part of his life… he hoped. After that though, one day he wouldn't need any guardians at all and he was rich enough that literally the day he turned seventeen he could just go out and buy a house or something. He could do this again, with his own place… he could make a home himself without needing to beg anyone else for the privilege of living there.
He loved a lot of people and loved living with them. Draco, Neville, Remus… but there was something to be said about having his own space. Like the apartment back in Contrair; he could've decorated that probably. If he'd been in a better headspace he might've, but all he'd been focused on at the time was survival.
It wasn't that he didn't love being with people, but this exercise had introduced the thought that someday he'd have a place in this world that was just his and he could make it however he wanted it to be… and well, he couldn't wait for that day. No matter what happened with Sirius or his relatives, in four and a half years he'd get the chance and no one could stop him. He was excited in a breathless way, but tried to stamp down on it given he'd been at Hogwarts less than two years and already that time felt like a lifetime… almost five more seemed an eternity.
"Do you really like the colors? It's not too much?"
"Of course not, I told you I don't have much of a preference and I think this turned out very nice. The green is very fitting for the forest too; perhaps I should get some plants to liven it up some more." Moony reassured him.
"That might be nice. House plants are always a good addition—I'm trying to convince Neville to bring more into our dorm room but he'd worried about them getting damaged."
"The Gryffindor boys' dorm isn't historically known for being a calm place I suppose." Moony allowed.
Harry snickered from the truth of it all. He liked to think himself pretty organized but if they were playing an exploding snap game or Dean and Seamus were arguing about one of their quidditch teams and it resorted to wrestling, or Seamus got a little too bold and attempted to do his (inevitably explosive) Charms homework in their room, then all bets were off real quick.
They chatted some more, dinner done and enjoying the new feel the small place had. This was about the time they either read or played some card games before Remus always managed to get him into bed somehow, so it was kind of a surprise when instead of picking out a book the werewolf seemed to pause as if considering something, and then suddenly returned to an earlier topic.
"Harry…"
"Hm?"
"Would you tell me more about that charity you mentioned earlier?"
Harry blinked, not exactly having expected that. To his chagrin, him bringing it up was mainly a deflection away from Remus asking why he needed to go back to Gringotts later, not the main point, so he hadn't mentally prepared a ton to share about it. It couldn't hurt to explain that one though… hopefully.
He stuck to the basics though, so he didn't fumble at being put on the spot.
"Ah, yeah… it's called the Eileen Prince Foundation. Apparently my mom started it but by the math Axeclaw gave me it ran out of funds when I was like three. People published books about me apparently though and Axeclaw got a bunch of royalties from them in my name so I'm going to use that money to fund it going forward."
"That's very clever of you," Remus smiled along, not seeming alarmed so Harry felt a little more confident to continue.
"I don't like the books in the first place so using the money for a good cause just worked out," He shrugged. "The foundation itself as Mom put it only applies to muggleborns, so purebloods can't use it. I also asked Axeclaw to change the terms as well that the foundation will pay for not only tuition but all school supplies as well—only if they're bought in Contrair though. Diagon gets enough business and is frankly not that helpful with the introductory stuff for muggleborns, but getting my stuff in Contrair first year really helped me catch up so I want to point people there."
"That's extremely generous,"
"I mean not really—I'm still profiting off my apparent fame for something I never wanted and I don't want that money to begin with. Better use it if it's there because I'm not gonna touch it. Honestly if I had my way I'd get rid of those stupid books outright but Axeclaw said there's nothing to be done about stuff that's already out there within sinking a lot of money into it… and maybe it's a goblin thing but he really didn't seem pleased with that option." He admitted, amused at Remus' nearly involuntary snort of humor at that. "Is there anything in particular you're interested in about it?"
"I was just wondering, about the tuition in general. It's not a topic that comes up often, and I remembered your parents once talking about it. I hadn't realized anything came of that decision, like a charity… but to me it's very fitting for your mother."
"What decision? What did they say about it?" He perked up, curious. Remus had promised to tell him anything he wanted about his parents but… honestly they hadn't had a lot of those conversations this visit at all. There just seemed to be other things to do and be preoccupied by, and yeah there were the moments of nostalgia here and there that Moony would offer up, but Harry rarely asked outright and therefore the topic seemed not to come up often.
It was just, this holiday had been about meeting each other now and having fun with the whole Christmas spirit thing… nostalgic topics like his long-dead parents really only brought the mood down unfortunately and Remus seemed to accept that it wasn't the time or place and respected it by not bringing it up himself much either. All the other adults in his life who used to know his parents never missed a chance to tell him his had his mother's eyes or his father's talent in something, but Remus—who theoretically knew them better than anyone else Harry had met yet—hadn't done so since their first conversation in that muggle café.
He'd picked up on something and had held back ever since, and… Harry was thankful for it, in hindsight.
Now though, maybe the hesitation to ask was because this was something less-cheery, but important, so Harry was sat and tuned into the conversation a bit more seriously than before.
"I know your father didn't pay tuition because of a deal the Potter family once had with Hogwarts. I didn't either to be fair, but more because Headmaster Dumbledore was kind enough to waive it due to my family situation," Remus admitted, Harry instantly needing to stretch his poker-face skills not to outwardly make a face.
Ah fuck. Bloody old fart got to Remus already… I need to bring that up because that's so not good.
Before he could really plot to direct the conversation towards seeding the werewolf against Dumbledore, Moony continued with his tale.
"After we all graduated I believe it came up that your mother did pay the tuition, as did most other muggleborns."
"But not purebloods." Harry finished, Remus not seeming very surprised that he'd already known.
"So you know,"
He shrugged. "Axeclaw mentioned the deal, but that it was canceled. I assumed Mom did that and then made the charity thing because of how unfair it all was." He acknowledged, not even getting into the meddling bastard of a Headmaster who created the unfairness in the first place.
Remus just smiled though.
"Not exactly… I'm sure if she got there first she probably would've, but they weren't married when that discussion happened so she wouldn't have had a right to cancel it in the name of the Potter family. It was actually James who canceled the deal after she brought it up."
Harry blinked.
"He did?"
"Does that surprise you?" Remus was half amused, but also half sad as if he already knew what Harry was about to say.
"I mean… kind of. I guess what I thought I knew of him, he wouldn't care like Mom would. About that at least." He mumbled a bit.
"Well, they both certainly cared, although you're right they cared about things for different reasons, and in very different ways."
"I can figure out why Mom cared but… why did Dad then, if it was so different?"
Remus paused… then put his mug down on the table. "It's a bit of a long story, if you want to hear it?"
He asked slightly too delicately to be casual. Harry knew what he was really asking was if it was okay to get really misty or sentimental, whatever it was they were when they talked about the dead Potters. So Remus clearly had been purposefully not bringing them up since he sensed his guest wasn't that thrilled about it in normal day-to-day conversation.
Now was different though. They'd had a fun day and the night was quiet and serene enough that… perhaps getting a little melancholy wouldn't be a bad thing at all.
He just nodded in confirmation, ready to hear it.
Moony smiled and folded his hands in his lap thoughtfully as he began.
"In our last years of school, your father definitely felt the weight of the war over our heads. During our fifth year it seemed everything went wrong in one way or another—we had a lot of issues going on in our friend group, his and Lily's fighting was the worst it ever was, and of course the death toll of the war had peaked from a few terrible incidents. The overall outlook on the war was taking a rather dark turn… that was about that time that people started to think we couldn't win… that maybe we wouldn't in the end."
"That's…" Harry tried to absorb it, but as pessimistic as he could be he'd also never really given up like that before. Hearing it put this way, it made sense that people might've felt unbelievably relieved when the apparently hopeless war ended out of the blue because of him. He personally wasn't thrilled with it, but it did put his fame into a better perspective to a point.
Remus seemed to agree with his internal thoughts, face clouding over briefly at the memories.
"It was not a good year, and on top of that we were faced with OWLs and needing to decide what we wanted to do when we grew up, which to a teen is about as much pressure as you can handle. And with a rapidly more depressing war happening around us, the options we did see in front of us and were being asked to choose from were… bleak." He frowned deeply. "James, on the most part, was pretty much untouched by a lot of the life everyone around him was suffering from. He didn't necessarily need to work and in any case knew he was going to be an Auror—had known that since he was five, actually. He had the grades and the means to do it easily as well. He was from a good family full of expert fighters with the best wards Gringotts could provide to protect against attackers, so he hadn't lost any family to the war either."
"Popular, good grades, mischievous." Harry repeated… on paper, James Potter never had a care in the world. "He was spoiled, like Draco." He concluded bluntly, Moony not even blinking to nod in agreement. And that was coming from one of James Potter's best friends once upon a time, with zero hesitation to call him spoiled, so it must've been just as bad as Draco could be.
"Yep… honestly from what you've mentioned in your letters, they might actually have a lot in common on that front." He gave a wry smile, Harry finding that unspeakably funny for some reason. "Ultimately, he ended up acting pretty weird that year, acting out and pulling some of our worse pranks. If you ask McGonagall she probably has that whole year blocked from her memory it was so bad."
Harry wanted to laugh at his favorite professor's misfortune before the point of it distracted him. "Acting out?"
"It wasn't until sixth year when he suddenly had this change of heart that I finally figured it out." Remus gave a fond look. "He was always, at the heart of things, a really kind guy. Admittedly pretty self-absorbed most of our childhood, so he never quite figured out how to express his desire to do good in a way that wasn't selfish or all about himself. Hence the pranks and the picking fights and skipping tests just because he knew he could get away with it. Things like that."
Harry didn't quite follow.
"He was self-absorbed because he was kind?" He repeated, tone clearly expressing his doubt. Remus chuckled, though it had a bitter air to it.
"His world had always been good, so he didn't understand how anyone else's world could be so bad. Much less those he cared about, called brothers even." Despite his smile the sadness reached his eyes then. "He saw how hard things were on others, my own situation even, our own classmates losing so much in the war… and when he was young, he was arrogant enough to think the world shouldn't be that way, so eventually it'd work itself out. I think ultimately he came to realize injustice and cruelty wouldn't go away just because it was wrong, because the white knight in his head said evil always lost and good always won—to learn that was far from the truth honestly terrified him I think."
Hence the acting out. He… was just a kid. And not a kid who'd learned about unfairness from the time he could walk like I did. He was more like Draco… sheltered and loved and completely unable to wrap his head around that not everyone grew up with that same things.
Everyone grew up differently and Harry did it when he was four or something. Before he could remember, for sure. You could even say him deciding to take care of himself was another way he 'grew up' before he was actually old enough to be called grown—some could argue he still wasn't grown either, just by age in fact. The time when he was senselessly angry over injustice had long since passed though: it still ticked him off of course, but he'd moved past it in order to start acting instead of being shocked or stunned by rage and unable to do something to counter that injustice. He was already very intimately aware of it, so it no longer took him off guard or surprised him into paralysis.
But some people… some blessed, spoiled few, had no reason to grow up until the world pressured them to, if ever it did. And James Potter had been very blessed; if what Remus was saying was true, he hadn't grown up until he was sixteen.
Harry wondered if the same thing would happen to Draco… and he wasn't sure if he even wanted it to.
"He figured it out eventually, and from then on there was a definite shift in how he acted and treated others. He was still himself of course, but he definitely got over his self-absorbed, self-destructive habits that used to drive me insane." Remus scoffed some. "Lily too. She liked the new version of him much better and it only took a couple months to go from them fighting constantly to actually dating. It gave everyone whiplash if I'm being honest."
Harry smiled, liking that mental image of his parents the best so far.
"Lily may have started the charity but James canceling his family's contract with Hogwarts was all him, both for the same reasons of course. Lily was probably focused on evening the playing field for muggleborns and purebloods, but James had much more training in politics thanks to his upbringing and apparently canceling the deal was much more complicated and political than it appeared—I don't know the specifics but I know it took him weeks to do it.
"Your mother was always focused on giving to those in need, but she never did it at cost of others. She didn't want to take down purebloods, she only wanted to give muggleborns the same chances." Remus explained, before getting a dry look. "James was a bit more aggressive. If he ever saw an opportunity to take down a pureblood doctrine, even one he and his own family benefited from, he didn't hesitate. He always had that 'I'm untouchable' attitude about him so even when he was self-destructing to take out another family, he never minded."
Harry felt a little stunned, eyes getting wide.
There were very few things he recognized as things he might share with his dad. People told him he acted like his dad sometimes, rarely, but most of the time people were just saying he looked like his mother. Even then it had never truly sunk in because those were just people he'd never met, and he was himself right here in the moment so it didn't really matter. Mentally he still aligned pretty strongly with the snake house after all, so he'd assumed James Potter as the raging Gryffindor that people tended to talk about him as, would be rolling in his grave every time his son acted Slytherin.
But the whole 'take them out with you' thing… Harry felt that in his core.
"You look a little stunned." Remus pointed out gently, eyes seeming to search his face to absorb his reaction carefully.
"I just… I thought I took mostly after my mom. That whole idea of 'take people down with you' though, I think is the first thing aside from quidditch I think I really share with my dad." He admitted, certainly feeling a bit stunned as mentioned.
There was a deep sadness in Remus eyes, but he managed to give a genuine smile through it.
"I'm glad you have that then." He agreed quietly.
Harry hated it.
He hated that somehow he could both see and sense how sad his werewolf godfather was but he just wouldn't stop smiling.
He absolutely couldn't stand it and shoved closer on the rug to bang into his side a little too aggressively. Remus didn't seem to mind at all and just put an arm around him automatically.
"…don't be sad Moony." He mumbled petulantly.
"Ah," The man cleared his throat, and Harry felt a hand come rest on his head. "…I'll do my best."
He hated that too.
"Did you like Contrair today?"
"I did."
"Did you like the way I decorated?"
"Absolutely. It feels much more like home this way, don't you agree?"
"Yeah." He pressed his lips into a thin line, face still out of sight where he'd tucked himself into the werewolf's side. He couldn't help it though, as the words sprung to his lips without permission. "Why did you let me do it."
It wasn't a question and Remus paused a moment, seeming to realize this himself.
"Ah. I… probably should've guessed you would've picked up on that."
"So there is a reason," He accused, lifting his head to give a little glare at the man who did not seem intimidated at all when he returned gazes, just calm and patient as ever.
"Does it feel like home to you? Even a little?"
Well… he had him there, so he just had to nod.
"That is all I wanted then. Even if after this holiday we don't get to come back here, just for this break I wanted you to be comfortable."
"I liked it the way you had it too." He grumbled.
"Even if that's true, it's not the same as someplace you've made your own. Even if it's just the color of the walls, the fact you had a hand in it is better, don't you think?"
"You did that on purpose?" He was still accusing him, but now got a little wary. He just… couldn't see why he'd do something like that. It made him uneasy, the same way he knew he couldn't outmatch Mrs. Malfoy and her manipulations, only worse because he'd let his guard down around Moony since he was supposed to be a Gryffindor and hadn't even realized Remus was after something at all aside from them just having fun.
Moony soothed his agitation immediately though, squeezing him with his one-armed hug for a moment.
"Maybe… it's not like I minded opening my home to someone I care about after all."
The tease was gentle but it was also so sincere Harry felt like his heart physically hurt. And maybe it was the preexisting melancholy of the conversation, but the genuineness lodged a golf ball in his throat and made it hard to breath for a moment.
"Oh." Was all he could get out.
Clearly his struggles were audible in his voice because Remus practically jumped in alarm, arm over him pulling him into a more proper hug immediately with a soothing sound.
"Don't cry pup," He said as Harry went to hug him around the middle automatically, but he couldn't help but pause and blink twice.
"Pup?"
"Ah," Moony coughed, flustered that he'd slipped up apparently. "Sorry… your father and our friends had some stupid nicknames once upon a time, as you know… when you were little you got stuck with one too, apologies."
The confession was quiet, a little pained but overall light and fond as he regaled yet another memory he clearly held dear. Talking about his father's journey had clearly made Remus nostalgic and something else he hadn't meant to say slipped up through the cracks in the ground where he buried them.
That's right… Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. I saw the map—obviously I know Moony and he said my dad was Prongs but… I still don't know who else was who.
And… Pup?
It hit him, suddenly. This vivid image, like a fairy tale in his mind but an infinitely precious one. He imagined his parents—exactly as they were in the pictures Hagrid had given them since that was the age they'd died at—with a younger Remus who was the same just, maybe a little less pale, less scared. Less tired and sad. He imagined the nebulous shapes in his mind's eye that he had for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, all of them gathered in some bright place when they were all still just happy, twenty-year-olds barely out of school.
All of them just kids basically, barely not teenagers but still kind of acting like they were sometimes, goofing off in a house the Potter couple owned with stupid nicknames and a brand new baby between them as they tried to figure out how to be adults. They were the Marauders after all… more than one person had compared them to the twins, so it was agonizingly easy to suddenly imagine what playful chaos four notoriously mischievous pranksters and a young witch with a fiery temper just like his own got up to. He imagined it filled with laughter and prank spells, a ton of smiles and unserious chatter—food and teasing and a home that not everyone lived in but everyone felt welcome in. Five barely-not-teenagers with a baby to entertain, he could only picture the playfulness and stupid antics they got up to, and how it probably rang really similarly to the Gryffindor boys' dorm when they were at their most chaotic.
He imagined James Potter—Prongs—being teased by his guy friends at settling down and having the first kid so young. Of Lily Potter, who oh so recently had just been the Lily Evans that they'd known for far longer and they still weren't quite used to calling her that, would scold them if they messed up her house or turned her son's hair funny colors with their pranks, but secretly loving the chaos. He imagined the Peter Pettigrew people had talked about a lot like Theo or Neville—quiet and less vibrant as others maybe, but a careful wallflower happy to be there and be a kind ear if needed. He imagined Sirius Black… a young man who had no idea what hell lay in wait for him in the future, just a happy prankster… people almost refused to say much about him so he didn't have any more detail than that but just imagined him as innocent since that was the one thing he was clinging to about the man right now.
He imagined Remus… Moony, as a much younger, happier version of himself who was less afraid of himself, surrounded by people who loved him no matter his condition, his parents and all their friends teasing him that the babe in his arms was just a pup to a wolf.
He couldn't help his eyes start to burn with tears at how breathtakingly nice it sounded. The image Moony had unknowingly painted for him, of his friends who'd once loved them both and had never once been afraid of him—unlike how Remus was afraid of himself, even now since it'd been so long since anyone had reminded him he was worth more than his illness by the time Harry got to know him now.
The image in his head felt real for a moment.
It was so easy to imagine it all happen, like it was right there in front of him. How Remus had once been happy, how Lily and James Potter had cursed the Ministry to the pits of hell and placed their infant son in his arms whenever he was there to visit and promise the beaten werewolf—their friend—that he was part of their family and their son's godfather no matter what the stupid law said. Moony had probably held the baby a lot, a freshly registered werewolf after graduation and dealing with a lot of hate and aggression from the world at large but oh-so-thankful to be part of a family who loved him unconditionally.
Sirius probably held the baby a lot too, as the actual godfather… Peter too as the quietest of the bunch who probably got put on nap duty a lot.
All the marauders probably held the first son of their friend and been playful, loving caretakers once upon a time. And they were the marauders… obviously the innocent kid they found themselves in charge of would get a stupid nickname too.
He felt tears before he could do anything about it.
He could almost hear Moony getting a crying baby put in his arms, perhaps a little panicked and unsure about what to do about that since he was still only twenty and had probably never been near kids in his life, automatically clutching the infant tighter with a 'don't cry pup' just falling from his lips the way it just had now… eleven years later when he was no longer a baby, but he was still crying.
It was just… the way Remus has said it felt so natural. Like it was the most normal, routine thing in the world to say it, like he'd said it a thousand times before—so much that it came out as a habit the moment green eyes in front of him got teary again, no matter how much time had passed.
Harry tried so hard to consolidate that image of that crying infant who was once that loved and… himself.
The image felt so bright, so important and warm and… and when he tried to imagine that it was him in that dream-like tale in his head, when he looked back at his life and tried to connect to the fact that it'd been him who was once loved like that he… found nothing.
Not a single memory of the warmth he could imagine being there, like a synapse trying to connect and utterly missing—electricity disappearing into the vast blankness of a void with nothing to hold onto except the hope that something had once been there, even if it had long since disappeared. Like trying to land home on a planet that had completely disappeared from the cosmos and only falling deeper into empty space as you completely missed where gravity said you should've landed safely.
It was like nostalgia for someplace he'd never known. Homesickness for a place that did not exist.
It felt like agony in his chest in a way that hadn't hurt since he'd stared into that damn mirror almost exactly a year ago and been angry with the world for never giving him the chance to know better. He was less angry this time because by now he understood just a little more than he had before about what he had missed out on. Before, he only knew he was lacking in his life, now he knew how close a life with parents and family who loved him he'd really been, so the realization he still never had any of it hit even harder somehow.
He felt like crying all the more, but despite wet eyes and a snitch in his throat he held it together because he needed to know. He had to ask, even if it came out pitifully wet.
"Am I a pup because you're a wolf?"
Remus gave a surprised, strangled laugh over his head as his arms tightened around him slightly on instinct. Like he found it funny, but it also hurt his heart just as badly as Harry's own heart hurt right now.
"Ah… well, amongst other reasons. It's a long story." His voice was choked and drenched in a deep sadness; clearly it was very hard for him.
"Even if it's long, can I know it?" Harry barely felt bad because he needed to know, or he'd go insane. If it wasn't just Moony he wanted the full picture—even if he could never have it he wanted the entire warm image in his head complete, to know for certain what it was he'd lost or the unknown would eat him alive he was sure.
He pulled back from the hug to look up at him with as desperate look as he could get up at the werewolf, whose golden eyes seemed just as pained back.
"Please?" He begged quietly.
Remus paused a long minute, seeming to need to build the courage to speak again.
"I… think I said I should probably wait until you were older to tell this story but…" Given the situation, clearly he was caving now instead, his resolve crumbling at the sight of watery emerald eyes and small arms wrapped around his middle. His heart was far too soft to hold out, so even if he maybe still thought it a bad idea he gave in anyway. "We ah… we had a friend, back then. It was… well it was a secret but it… probably doesn't matter anymore at this point."
He took another long pause, clearly struggling. Harry waited him out patiently, not intending to even blink until he finished.
Remus wavered but… eventually continued.
"I guess… your father, and some of our friends were… illegal Animagi. I'm going to assume you're familiar with those."
"Really?" He breathed. Obviously he knew… McGonagall was one and it was high on his priority list for the future, once he was old enough to do something like that. There's no way it wouldn't be with his love of Transfiguration. "What was my Dad?" He asked immediately, transfixed on the Transfiguration skill. He didn't give a quaffle about the law, the only reason he hadn't looked it up himself was his respect for McGonagall (and her explicitly forbidding him from doing so in literally the first ever class/conversation he'd ever had with her), not because of anything the ass-backwards Ministry had ever decreed.
Moony hesitated less this time, sensing his fixation and knowing the lesson of 'don't break the law' was probably wasted on him right now.
"A stag. Hence the whole 'Prongs' thing… I told you we had stupid nicknames."
"Prongs like a fork?" He frowned.
Remus huffed in amusement. "Like antlers." He corrected gently.
Harry suddenly remembered the herd of in forest last night and felt… shaky.
He barely noticed himself lean more into the man's side with eyes wide. "But if he was a deer and you're the wolf then that is why I'm the 'pup'." He pointed out, still trying to desperately grasp something though he wasn't sure what.
Remus froze for a moment before seeming to very purposefully force himself forward…despite actively looking like he wasn't sure if he should keep talking or not, even as words left his mouth.
"We… had a friend." He admitted, sounding… uneasy. Either in surprise that he was actually saying this, or just in pain. "He was a dog. Padfoot… because his paws were very squishy," He gave a sudden, short, involuntary laugh it seemed, but it audibly sounded like his heart was actively breaking and he was trying very hard to pretend it wasn't. "It was a very stupid nickname." He repeated again, seeming… breathless, and broken.
And Harry knew why.
He tightened his arms around him almost pointedly tight, closing his eyes tightly against his jacket and also against the topic he was about to breach.
"…Sirius?"
He felt the werewolf under his grip freeze solid. When he didn't say anything for a while, Harry peeked up cautiously and saw him just staring at the bookshelf fireplace in front of them, but also clearly not seeing it at all.
He explained. "I saw my parents will. Axeclaw gave it to me… and Daphne told me what happened."
Remus just… nodded, after a long moment.
"I'm… so sorry." He got out, sounding dazed. "But y-yes. He was a dog. You were 'pup' because of the both of us." He finally admitted, a deep resignation in his voice. But… there was also a warmth Harry couldn't help but cling to immediately.
The words confirmed everything Harry needed: Remus didn't believe Sirius was guilty either.
He was not angry right now at the mention of the supposed 'traitor', he was sad.
Moony missed his friend and fellow marauder. He was not glaring at the carpet because he blamed the man for costing him everything that night, he was gazing at the fireplace almost like he was hoping if he tossed himself into it, time would turn back and the world would be different when he finally turned to ash and scattered to the wind. Or that he at least wouldn't need to continue to live bearing the weight of all this, if he were just cinders.
He wanted to be happy, and in fact he was for a brief moment to the point he opened his mouth, ready to tell Remus that 'it's okay' or 'I have great news!' or 'you don't have to be sad because—'
But whatever he'd been about to say, since not even he really knew honestly… he felt his heart skip a beat at the sudden image of a small diamond hairclip that had never really existed flashing before his eyes.
He remembered very clearly wearing it, a small blue paw print made of some priceless clear gem clipped to the side of his hair. He knew every detail of it from where it normally sat on a rather blank gravestone, and he remembered vividly seeing it reflected back at him in a mirror: lightly tangled in his more wayward locks of hair since he'd worn it much shorter last year and it's natural wildness had caused smaller, more delicate clips to simply disappear as he moved his head.
A hairclip that had never existed in reality, only in his mind, and apparently in his deepest desires that an enchanted mirror would know about.
How did I know he was a dog?
Some deep part of his psyche must've known, because why did his meditation and careful, precious building of the graveyard produce a paw print to put on the otherwise blank grave of Sirius Black? A grave he had not been to in half a year now, but the memory of a place he'd forgotten about—abandoned like a child fled the warzone of a vicious fight between enemies you didn't understand—rising up like a vengeful ghost jumping up to scream in his face, haunting him as he realized everything he'd run from six months ago without a backwards glance was still there. It hadn't gone anywhere, it was still standing behind him like a demon waiting to catch him turning his head for the first time in months and acknowledge it, breathing down his neck in anticipation for the moment he finally stopped keeping his back to it.
How did I know?
The only thing he could think of was maybe, just maybe, some part of him from years and years ago in a childhood he'd completely forgotten but somehow knew in his heart he'd had, remembered his godfather. So deep in his memory he couldn't pull at it if he tried, only surfacing in a tiny, small clue of who Sirius Black once was to him on instinct while meditating over a graveyard.
The sheer hope that something that fantastic and romanticized could've actually happened within his own brain nearly killed him right then and there.
He wasn't sure what emotion it was he was choking on, but choking he was, because suddenly he was crying openly, burying his face out of sight into Moony— who startled, holding him tighter as an automatic response.
"Harry!?" He startled, "It's okay, it's okay… don't cry," But Harry just clenched his fist into his sweater tighter as he cried… and Remus relaxed for a moment as he realized what the sobbing child in his arms wanted, and his heart seemed to soften again. "Don't cry pup."
He corrected himself gently, smile in his voice as he said it even if that voice was quiet and sad.
Harry just cried even harder though, Remus taking to just pet down his hair soothingly, knowing it wasn't all bad somehow—or that he needed to get it out.
It was just… logically he'd known Remus was friends with his parents, with Sirius. The hard proof that they'd really cared about him once—maybe still—hadn't hit home until just now with the proof and uneasiness of that coincidence in his mind, and it was extremely overwhelming. And whether he'd ever admit this or not, the realization of how hard he'd lost everything in his graveyard scared him more than a little bit. He already knew his brain was broken, his life was broken, and the reminder of that hit harder than ever when he'd just been feeling so happy.
It took a couple moments, but you couldn't sob your heart out forever. Eventually you needed to breathe and the tidal wave of emotion that had crippled him passed it's peak, even if the tears didn't really stop. He was still able to collect a few stuttering breathes in and get out what he needed to.
"You don't think he did it, do you." He accused, still sniffling but fighting them off valiantly.
Remus froze again, hand pausing on his hair.
"Harry…" He began but trailed off, seeming to want to say a whole lot but was unable to finish. Harry pulled his head back without letting his arms budge and inch from their wrap around his middle to shoot him a demanding look. It was probably the wet face and eyes full of pain, but Remus' willpower vanished instantly as he placed the hand in his hair kindly, but firmly, atop his head and respond in barely a whisper. "… of course I don't want to believe that." He confessed.
Harry sniffed pointedly and fixed his expression determinedly.
"So then don't."
"Harry-"
"I don't believe it either!"
"Harry." The tone had him shutting his mouth for once as the werewolf gave him an indescribable look. After a moment he seemed to come to a decision and focused more intently on him suddenly, releasing him to place large calloused hands either side of his face. "I don't want you thinking of things like that. I know you probably can't help it, but looking back doesn't help us now. There is nothing good that comes out of this line of thinking."
"You're wrong," Harry shot back immediately, defiant to his last breath.
"Maybe I am," Moony derailed his aggression in an instant. Harry couldn't help but be startled that he'd admitted defeat so quickly and it took the wind out of his sails before they could even catch. "But… you're right. I lost three brothers and a sister that night, including him, a-and I-" He needed to pause to take in a wavering breath himself then. "Maybe… maybe I do still believe he did love us both at one point. I can't do anything for him now though, and neither can you."
His voice was quiet but stern. Harry had gotten used to that voice because it's usually how he found himself in bed earlier than he wanted to, or reading some fantasy child's story instead of something on Transfiguration, or shoveling snow when he just wanted to be throwing snowballs at his godfather's turned back. Somehow he'd already gotten used to making a playful pout but complying with it but…
But this time he threw it to the wind because no matter how much he loved Moony, this was the hill he would die on.
"…maybe you can't, but I can." He insisted with a seeping of coldness to his voice that he used to ward off less friendly Slytherins when they got too snippy with him. Yes he knew it was brutal, and braced himself to see the pain on Remus' face that he was making the choice to cause—but surprisingly it didn't come.
Moony just gave a small smile, like he already knew this cold fact better than the twelve-year-old in his grip right now ever could, and was just amused he'd even try that with him.
"You shouldn't need to put that on your shoulders." He didn't even acknowledge Harry's sharp words, that's how ineffectual they were.
"It's not a burden if it helps him." He insisted.
"How very Gryffindor of you," He got countered with a calm patience that Harry normally liked but was now starting to piss him off.
Because Remus should be just as up in arms about this as he was, not resigned like he was about every other terrible thing that he knew they both hated to the pits of hell! Harry was angry, he wanted Moony to know it too.
He yanked back to pull his hands off his face by his wrists, shaking them uselessly as he got half angry he wasn't taking him seriously.
"It's not me being a Gryffindor it's me being selfish! He's my godfather, right? You—" He choked on the words for a moment as it occurred to him he'd never actually said it but— "Y-you are too, you know!"
It didn't matter if it was their first conversation about it, it was true.
It had been true since some of Moony's best friends had a child together and he chose to love him like he'd always loved them.
That actually got a reaction out of him, and clearly it hit him hard as he lost his composure to stare in open shock—and hurt. His eyes were looking at him but Harry knew he was seeing something from eleven years ago instead of the second-year in front of him, and whatever it was it was breaking his heart all over again.
"Harry, that… I'm not technica-"
"What did my parents say though?" He cut him off, not going to even give him a chance to argue this. "So what if it wasn't in their will, I know what they said even without ever having met them! I know what they said so don't pretend you don't when you actually knew them!" he accused hotly, still sniffling up the remnants of his breakdown and cheeks growing cold from the previously hot tears. He was also still latched onto his sleeves so he flailed their arms in frustration, and Moony let him do it, seeming to just be numb from all of this.
What Harry said was true… and he hoped Remus was too caught up in the echoing memories of James and Lily Potter's voices in his head scolding him for claiming he was anything less than family, too touched by their son echoing that same sentiment eleven years after their death to question anything further. He didn't exactly know about the blood test and Harry wanted to keep it that way for now—this wasn't the time or place in any case.
Actually, maybe it worked a little too well as he now just seemed unable to speak, but suddenly dropped his arms to his lap from where Harry was pulling at them. The look on his face made him worry a bit.
"Moony?"
"I'm so sorry," He got out though it sounded hard and his eyes getting pretty glassy himself, struggling to keep it together. "I'm so sorry I couldn't live up to that role for you."
Harry felt a little bad now, but didn't drop his chin.
"Axeclaw said you were… laughed out of the Ministry." He winced as he said it, but Remus didn't blink.
He just scoffed, dark and bitter as he nodded once.
"That's… a blunt way to put it, but not untrue. The court thought it… very humorous I would even ask to be your godfather."
Harry immediately matched his bitterness toe-for-toe, with a flare of anger tossed in there too… though unfortunately it was buried beneath a deep sadness he suddenly felt for the golden eyes looking down at him. There wasn't anything he could say that Remus wasn't 100% aware of already, at his core.
"That's rude." He mumbled petulantly instead.
Moony gave a single, humorless laugh.
"They're not interested in hearing any others appeals from me, since I… wasted their time before. I only had that one chance in court and… well. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it didn't work out. If I'd chosen to try and fight for Sirius instead maybe he'd be here, maybe he'd be a better godfather than I ever was, and you never would've-" He cut himself off, frustration and sadness in eyes building all the more. "I should've picked him and things wouldn't have turned out this way and I'm sorry for that. For choosing wrong, for not being able to win." He bowed his head slightly, completely dejected.
He chose to fight for me instead.
That was all Harry could think of, instead of anything else. After their first letters, when he still hesitated in properly reaching out again, he had felt anger and this sense of betrayal. He'd felt let down that this man he didn't know, who was supposedly so important to his parents, to him once upon a time, had stayed away for eleven years.
Of course he'd been angry. Frustrated and annoyed, with little grace about the meek werewolf's reasoning but what reason could he possibly have that would make up for a childhood at the Dursleys.
That was before Harry knew him though.
Now he did and… things had changed. Or, his perspective had.
Because in reality, anything Remus brought to the court would've been laughed out. No matter how delusionally optimistic this werewolf was, Harry wasn't. He knew enough of this world by now to know in his bones that if Remus had brought the appeal to give Sirius his day in court instead of him, absolutely nothing would've changed. It didn't matter what he chose, Remus was always destined to lose in this world, and frankly it was insane he still held any belief that that wasn't the case—to the point he actually felt guilt that it was his choice that failed them both. His choice had nothing to do with it, no matter what he'd have chosen to do Sirius would still be in prison and Harry would still be an orphan trapped in a muggle hellscape… nothing Remus did would have ever mattered.
For as much as he seemed resigned to his abysmal fate, the fact he still had even that bit of hope made Harry feel slightly panicked, because he physically couldn't stomach the idea of seeing the day Remus finally lost that last tiny bit of useless optimism he had. And he did fear it, because going by how the world worked he knew it was only a matter of time.
His heart ached from the stress that gave him.
But also… because even knowing nothing could have actually saved them no matter how much they maybe wanted things to be different, Harry still felt like crying again from the way his heart lifted at the confirmation that they wanted things to be different.
Remus never had a shot in hell of changing shit, but… he'd tried. And all his choices would've ended in a loss, but still, the once choice he did make was for him.
He didn't choose to do nothing, to save himself the embarrassment (and danger) of being laughed out of the Ministry by wizards who only wanted to see him suffer, and he didn't choose Sirius who he considered his brother in everything but blood, who was trapped in Azkaban and potentially innocent as Moony never for a second thought was truly guilty.
He didn't do any of that though, he chose Harry.
And yeah, maybe nothing came of it, but that didn't mean the choice didn't matter. It mattered a whole fucking lot because Harry was realizing that it actually meant everything to him.
"I'm happy you chose me though." He confessed quietly, looking up at him hesitantly. "And… you're here now in any case."
Remus made a strangled expression, but it settled into a smile.
"I am. I'm… so sorry it took me so long… I'm sorry you had to reach out first."
"Stop apologizing," He huffed, frustration making eyes wet again, though he was not entirely sure why. "Just… I do get why, it's just… I like having you in my life now. Again, whatever. I don't care that you're a werewolf or that you're a coward—just promise me you'll stay in my life. The past or who you are and what you've done don't matter to me as much as having that promise from now on."
It was a childish demand, and he knew it was unreasonable but… he refused to not ask right now. He had to because he was not letting something go unsaid and have him lose anyone else right now.
The golden eyes above him widened for a second, before he collected himself enough to nod. "I am a coward, it seems. Or I have been one, for a long time now. But… I promise I will stick around from here on out, the best I'm able to. I… don't think I have to tell you about how unfair the world is sometimes."
"I know," Harry scrubbed the returning tears away with his sleeve rather aggressively. "But you have to promise me you'll always try."
"I promise. I will absolutely never give up trying to be a part of your life in some way."
"Even if it's just a letter." He demanded of him, almost bratty.
"Even if it's just a letter," He repeated dutifully, grave and deeply sad from the fact they both knew maybe it might actually come to that sometimes.
Harry attempted to rid himself of the tears once more but gave up, giving the werewolf in front of him a watery glare over his sleeve instead. "I still intend to get Sirius a trial." He announced defiantly.
Moony pulled him in again with a sigh, letting his red head rest press into his shoulder tightly. "I am begging you to let it go."
"I won't!" Harry objected immediately, yanking at his sweater again but not breaking the hug. "He could be innocent and maybe they won't listen to you but what am I famous for if not to get people to listen to me!?"
"…I know." Remus sighed deeply, tone heavy. "But even if he's freed he won't be able to help you."
"You don't know that!"
"Harry, I do." He shot out, voice distressed and pressing him in tighter, as if trying to prevent him from wiggling away despite the fact Harry had no intention to do so. "I know what Azkaban does to people… even if he never meant to do it, he'll still have been insane enough to get caught up in in the first place. A man that dangerous would never be able to take care of a kid, the Ministry would never allow it. Even if he does get his trial, it won't be the answers you want to hear… he—he won't be able to take you away from your relatives."
Harry froze.
… he attempted to pull back but went nowhere from how tightly he was being held, and realized Moony knew exactly what he was doing. He just held still again, kind of… confused.
"…I never said anything about that."
"I know."
…his fists curled tighter into the sweater beneath his hands, probably ruining the knitting.
"But… I never said anything about that." He could help but repeat, seeming to be stuck.
"I told you about that necklace I got for Christmas, right?"
Harry couldn't look anywhere but the couch behind them from how his head was pressed into Moony's shoulder and not going anywhere, but he barely saw a thing. The odd conversation switch made him blink a couple times and he…vaguely remembered something like… but he had had pushed it from his mind until…
"I guess…you said my dad was mad about it… or something." He recalled blankly.
"It was a silver necklace. My father sent it to me." Remus' voice was small in a way he hadn't been before—in away that meant the crackling of the bookshelf fireplace almost made it hard to hear. "I opened it before I really realized what it was and burned my hand something awful. That was our fifth year, and as I said James was… acting out pretty often when things that unfair got shoved in his face like that. He really was so, incredibly angry on my behalf… I'll always be thankful he was, because I didn't learn to be angry about it myself until years later."
"…angry?"
"Yeah. Angry." He repeated patiently, unhurriedly. "At the time I was just… scared."
Silver.
Silver burns werewolves.
Harry had suspsected at the time… the twins' necklace he wore sometimes…
The arms around him constricted even more to the point it was hard to breath, and it was only then he realized he was trembling. Moony was trying to hold him together, apparently.
"But I didn't say anything." He insisted, not sure why he couldn't move past that part.
"I know," Moony reassured him. "You don't have to."
"I…" He faltered. "I told Neville. I tried to tell Draco… once. I wish could but… I can't. He's spoiled and a bit bratty and he's had loving parents his whole life. He can't understand." He blurted out, not even sure…
No, he was sure he did not want to talk about it, but there it was… coming out of his lips.
It was the truth in any case. That clawed at his stomach more than if it'd been a lie though.
"Sounds familiar." Remus admitted, regretfully. "I didn't actually tell your father the details beforehand which is why the necklace probably shocked him so badly. I… I told Sirius though."
He forgot to breathe for a moment.
"Did he…?"
What am I trying to ask?
"He was a loud Gryffindor in a family of very purist Slytherins… even you would probably agree his mother was evil. Let's just say he always understood too."
Well, at least Remus seemed to get what he was asking, as that actually… it made some kind of sense… maybe…
For some reason there was a comfort that there were others. It wasn't just him, it wasn't new: children who'd been abandoned and reject for one reason of another, for being a Gryffindor, for being a werewolf, for being a wizard… there was always a reason. No matter who they were, there was always some bullshit reason.
There was always a reason.
He felt Moony press a hand to his back and tap gently, and he remembered he was supposed to be breathing. He had to switch to doing it manually though, or surely he'd stop again, and he didn't know if the black spots at the edge of his periphery was because of that or… everything else.
"How about I make you a promise." Remus offered softly, and correctly interpreted his silence as curiosity. "I will listen, and I won't do or say anything you don't want me to. But I will listen."
"But… you're an adult. If… if I say something bad, something that makes you angry…"
The arms around him just rocked slightly as a hum went through the chest beneath Harry's ear, and they'd clearly been still too long as it felt good to stretch some, to… get more comfortable since there seemed to be no intention of moving for a while yet.
"You said I was a coward, before. And you're right in a lot of ways that I was never strong enough to admit, but you're right. I'm a cowardly Gryffindor if ever there was one." He sighed, but not in defeat this time. "Harry I know about secrets you don't want to share, but that you need to share. I… I've kept everything quiet too, since the day I graduated Hogwarts and people stopped listening. Sirius understood to a point, so I felt I could talk to him at times but… he was so brash and he got so angry over the worst bits that it… wasn't what I needed, really. I didn't need people to get angry on my behalf, I just wanted a friend to listen to me, so I didn't have to struggle alone."
He couldn't move even if he wanted to, but he clung to each word like a lifeline.
"The right thing would've been to tell an adult and let them help me out of my situation, but I didn't. Just like dozens of children at Hogwarts right now don't either. Everyone keeps quiet, keeps it to themselves, lets it eat away at them…" He took a steadying, if not shaky breath.
Glance at him. "Of course I want to be able to do something, not just listen. But… you should at least walk before you run. It may not be the right thing to do, to keep your secrets, but then again I'm a coward and I haven't been able to do the right thing for eleven years. I will listen and I won't do anything with what I know until you permit me; I won't pressure you to do something either, I will simply be here if you want me to be. Right or wrong, at least it won't then eat you alive."
'Like I think it's eaten me', went unsaid, but Harry heard it hanging in the air after he finished speaking anyway. He sensed it in the deep sadness that never seemed to leave the werewolf's eerily golden gaze from the moment he'd met him, that hung above them like a cloud that was barely there most times, but never, for a second ever gone.
He could only stare out at nothing… hearing the heartbeat in the chest beneath his cheek and counting each one for a long while to be sure he was still awake, and alive right now. Most of himself felt like it was ten feet away in a dream honestly but he clung to that one stimulus to ground him here.
"You… really promise that?"
"Yes pup. For you, anything." He promised quietly. "I can't be your godfather, and I'm so sorry for that… but I can do my best to be a friend."
Harry felt the tears again, but at this point he could give a fuck and ignored them.
Instead he found his mouth opening and replaying word-for-word a nightmare that he'd once promised himself he'd never let control him again.
It wasn't until he was giving the horrors words to bring them to life once again that he realized just how much of a lie that had always been.