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Remus Lupin had thought the night’s celebrations were going well, until he walked in on his husband’s godson with a knife to his wrist.
Remus lingered in the doorway, the smile frozen on his face. Downstairs, sounds from the party were tinny and strange, elongated and not quite fitting in his ears. The joy celebrating the anniversary of Voldemort’s death was, oddly, clashing with the sight of another, almost-death:
Harry Potter, his adopted godson, was standing beside his desk.
He had a blade in his hand instead of a wand.
And he had a detached look in his eye that Remus was horribly, terribly, intimately familiar with. So much so that he could feel his hand shaking on the doorknob, the color draining from his face. He was looking in the mirror while his friends and family were laughing and singing, and Harry Potter had been about to kill himself.
“Professor Lupin,” Harry said, hardly so surprised. His gaze briefly flickered down to the item in his hand, then back up. “You look...worried.”
Remus snapped out of it. Damn right he was worried. But he needed to be delicate about this. Casual, even. And he needed to be calm, even when his heart was jumping in his throat.
Don’t think about jumping, his brain chittered.
Oh, he was woefully unprepared.
Remus’ brow creased. “Harry, I haven’t been your teacher for years.” He strode toward Harry, taking the blade before Harry could stop him. “Are you quite alright?” he asked, lightly setting his hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry kept his eyes fixed on the knife. A slight jostle from Remus seemed to rouse him, and he slowly focused on Remus.
“Do you remember being my professor?” Harry asked. “All the things you said to me?”
Remus shook his head a little, mystified. He breathed in sharply through his nose. “Harry, we need to talk about what I saw just now. You had--”
“You got so angry with me,” Harry said quietly. “You said that throwing my life away was a pretty poor way of repaying my parents for dying for me. Because that’s how it is, right?”
Harry slipped out from under Remus’ hand, drifting over to the bed. He sank into the mattress, the springs creaking with the weight. From far off in his mind, Remus had the thought he and Sirius ought to buy him a new bed.
“How what is?” Remus heard himself ask, so horribly ill-prepared for the direction this conversation was going in.
“I can never die,” Harry said, “because then I wouldn’t be ‘the boy who lived.’ But I’ve been thinking... Maybe it’s ‘lived’, in the past tense, for a reason.” Harry crossed his arms, clinging to each one like a lifeline. He stared beyond where Remus could see as he whispered: “He’s gone. I’ve outlived my use.”
Remus shut his mouth against the immediate urge to tell Harry off. He was, of course, entirely wrong--but Remus now understood how his passionate words from third year had stuck in Harry’s mind. They’d warped to fit Harry’s manifesto, yes, but the years hadn’t dulled any of their edge. Words could very well be his enemy, if not chosen with care.
“You think you were born just to be a tool for destiny?” Remus asked.
“No,” Harry replied. “It’s what I grew up to be.” He gave Remus a look of soft bewilderment. “I don’t think anyone expected me to make it this far.”
“The world certainly tried its best to take you down,” Remus said, allowing some humor to color his words. He turned and gestured at the rest of the house. “Harry, why don’t we go back down to the party?”
Harry didn’t respond as brightly as Remus had hoped.
“Is this it?”
Remus shifted, pausing. “What do you mean?”
“Now the danger’s gone, what do I do? Just...grow old? Just live? How?” Harry looked down at his hands. “I felt like when Voldemort died, I should’ve had a big exhale, like everyone else did. They’re all breathing in now, laughing, going on and making something of themselves...” Harry blinked, turning his hands over. “I’m still frozen. Like when he stopped breathing, I did too. When he ceased to be...I ceased to be needed.”
Harry pushed his hair back, running his fingers through it.
“The moment never felt real. I kept waiting for it to break through; to hit me; for these skeletons to let me go.” A shudder went down Harry’s spine. “Now I understand,” he said quietly, hands falling to his sides. “I don’t know who I am without skeletons around me. I’ve practically been one all my life.”
“Harry, you’ve felt like this for a year?” Remus asked. “You went on this long, without telling Sirius or me? You think I haven’t been in your position? Me, of all people?”
Harry’s eyes slowly went to Remus’ face.
“You’d all just be angry with me. For thinking about taking away--all you have left of James and Lily.”
Remus inhaled sharply. He took a step back, dizzied by the words.
Damn delicacy.
Remus’ voice came out louder than intended.
“You are not your parents, Harry! You are not a prophecy on paper, or a thing to be used! You’re a person all your own!”
The yelling made Harry’s veins itch and, all at once, he shut down. They were done here.
Harry got to his feet, taking quick strides to face Remus and tell him off.
A door opened down the hall, and Harry faltered, Sirius’ footsteps betraying his advance. Harry knew the sound of them better than anyone else’s. And, sizing up the battlefield, Harry knew he’d do a lot worse against Sirius than his husband.
Sirius’ winning smile, bright and flashing--just as dangerous or as comforting as the knife in Remus’ hand, depending on the company. The way his tired eyes were still so warm, and the way his arms always had room for Harry. How his sonorous, calm voice always said Harry’s name with the same reverence someone held a baby.
Tears pricked the corners of Harry’s eyes. Sirius was his weak spot.
He’d make sure to cut him out first.
Harry stepped forward, forcing Remus back. Harry could hear the snap of Sirius’ clothes; the jingling of his watch chain. It was now or never.
“I’ve done everything you needed me to do,” Harry said, coldly, robotically, renewing his attention on Remus.
Remus shook his head, at a loss. No, he hadn’t. There was so much Harry hadn’t experienced, free from the grip of cruelty, trauma, or evil.
“Harry?” Sirius asked, half of his face appearing behind Remus’ shoulder.
Harry refused to look. Remus’ foot lingered on the threshold of the door, his body curled away from Harry’s quiet desperation.
Harry drew a breath. “If I can only have one choice in my life that really belongs to me--”
Harry nicked the knife from Remus’ loose grip, pushing the man into Sirius’ arms. Harry watched him stumble with hard eyes--Lily’s eyes, at their darkest.
“I’m prepared to make it,” Harry finished, shutting the door.
Remus, his heart sinking, knew without reaching that the lock would be spellbound. He stood in Sirius’ embrace for a beat, trembling and hollow. He’d lost, trying to reach Harry. The abrupt silence of the hallway, broken only by the ticking of Sirius’ watch, felt to Remus like the end of the world.
“Ah,” Sirius breathed into Remus’ ear. “I’d been wondering when it would happen.”
“What?” Remus said, dazed. He pulled himself upright, out of Sirius’ grip. Daring the end of the world, he breathed in sharply through his nose. “We’ve got to do something, Sirius. Break the door, he’s going to--”
“I know,” Sirius said, eyes hooded. He turned, leaving Remus, and continued down the hall. “Get the cocoa ready. Tell the others Harry and I are retiring for the night.”
“Cocoa?” Remus echoed scathingly. “We need an ambulance, we need therapists, doctors, bandages--”
“It won’t go so far, darling,” Sirius assured him, charming even in disaster. In a flash, he’d transformed into his dog form, nails clinking against the floor as he ran.
Remus threw his hands in the air, watching him go, exasperated and unable to follow. Remus bit his lip.
Unable to follow, but able to help in other ways.
Remus straightened his shoulders and fixed his clothes, turning back to the party. Going down the stairs, he made a cheery announcement, being sure to put a spring in his step as he danced to the kitchen.
Sirius, meanwhile, tracked a familiar trail of boyhood. Nudging open a servant’s door with his nose, he knocked a painting aside with his paw. He slipped into a crawl space of a hall, dug out by the house elves of decades past. He knew by heart which exit led where, and he snuck into Harry’s room within a minute of him locking the door.
Except, curiously, the room now sat empty.
Sirius paused, lifting a paw. His eyes flitted to Harry’s invisibility cloak, still laid across his desk chair.
Then his eyes went to the open window, curtain fluttering in the night breeze. Sirius huffed to himself, turning human once more.
Dog’s paws tended to slip on roofing tiles.
Harry said nothing, curled up close to the gutters, as Sirius expertly scuttled onto the roof. He waited until Sirius was within striking distance to haughtily announce:
“I knew there was a passage you didn’t tell me about.”
“Ah, I’m a firm believer that every man should have a few good secrets,” Sirius said, sitting himself beside Harry. “You, however, have kept the biggest one in the whole house.”
“You don’t seem as surprised as Remus,” Harry commented.
“You astound and astonish me every day,” Sirius replied. “But no, I have been waiting for this.”
“What’s ‘this’?” Harry asked, hushed. “My first fight with my guardians?”
“Listen. I know you’ve got a knife in your hand, Harry. Not a wand. And I know what you wanted to do with it.”
Harry watched Sirius out of the corner of his eye, body ready to run. Sirius kept his cool gaze on the city dotting the landscape, admiring the twinkling lights and dusky horizon. A truck rumbled down the street below them. A dog barked, and Sirius chuckled under his breath.
The laughter abruptly caught in his throat, and he swallowed over the wreckage.
“Harry,” he said, more careful than cavalier, “this isn’t an answer.”
Harry disagreed. “I’ve been trying to find another one. For a year, I’ve tried. And I haven’t gotten anywhere.”
“You didn’t tell Hermione or Ron,” Sirius said. “Ginny or the twins. Remus or me. You sat and stewed and went through your emotions--which can be good,” Sirius added quickly. “Some people need the silence to sort through the muck. God knows I know how that is. But you...” Sirius readjusted his position, fighting a cramp in his leg. “You’re slipping, Harry. Dangerously close to being out of my fingers. And I’m not keen on losing you.”
“I’m not a possession,” Harry hissed, the words dark and deliberate. He fixed Sirius with a sharp glare. “Not anymore.”
“You imagine I think of you that way?”
Sirius’ soft tone broke the sternness of Harry’s brow. His shoulders slumped, and he fought not to let go of the knife. Harry licked his lips, revealing a small truth.
“I think that’s when you thought the best of me.”
Sirius’ lungs collapsed, his breath blown out all at once. “Oh, Harry,” he exhaled.
Damning the blade, Sirius pulled Harry into a hug. It didn’t matter if Harry tried to bolt, and it sent them tumbling off the roof. It didn’t matter if Sirius got hurt or even died in the fall, because he’d be holding Harry as damn tight as he should’ve been all these months.
Some people need space to think.
Sirius cursed his former self. How could he be so stupid?
Harry had been alone all his life.
To Sirius’ relief, Harry didn’t shove him away. He let himself be held, and very quickly, the words finally came tumbling out:
“People ask how I am now, but it’s all pushed aside. They just want to talk about the final battle, or what it was like beside Death Eaters. They want the details, the deception, the fear--the hero; fighting, fighting, fighting.” Harry shook his head against Sirius’ shoulder. “They don’t want the peace. I don’t matter when there’s peace, because no one cares about ‘Harry learning to bake a banana bread.’ ”
“What are you saying?” Sirius asked softly, a smile in his tone. “Ginny was proud of you for a week.”
“But there’s no way--there’s no way that’s enough,” Harry stressed, his voice breaking on him. His breath hitched. “I was made to defeat the Dark Lord. I was made to save the world. What can anything I do with my life afterward be considered enough? It’s all just a--a...disappointment.”
“Harry,” Sirius said deeply, warmly, “you were not ‘made’ to be anything. You were born. You lived. You chose to do very brave things.”
Sirius separated from Harry, taking his face in his hands. Tears had begun to track down Harry’s cheeks, but he’d spent too long learning how to break down quietly for Sirius to know when they began.
“And sometimes, people forced you to do very brave things,” Sirius continued, raising his eyebrows. “The world owes a debt to you.”
Harry opened his mouth in a gasp, his bright eyes filled with a brimming self-loathing Sirius quickly sought to douse.
“The way that debt is repaid is by giving you permission to live the rest of your life however you want.”
Harry took a moment to reformulate his response. “...What...do you mean?”
Sirius took another risk, ruffling Harry’s hair. He’d stopped doing it around Harry’s most recent birthday, imagining his godson felt too old for the contact. But here Harry shivered and, for the first time, smiled at his touch.
Sirius smiled tightly in return, wishing he could better see his mistakes before he made them.
“Everyone is so proud of you,” Sirius explained. Harry rolled his eyes at the familiar phrase, but Sirius cracked it open, going deeper. “They have to let you know why. They want to acknowledge your sacrifices. They want you to know why they adore you, and how much you fill their hearts. Seeing you alive, bright, and happy? It’s all we want. Because it’s what you gave us, and it’s what you’ve earned, too.”
Sirius changed his grip to Harry’s shoulders, weighing him down.
“We all deserve it,” Sirius continued. “No one really wants the fight, Harry. Not here. It made a home in you for so long, but now...” Sirius glanced at the knife in Harry’s hand, then slowly worked the hilt from Harry’s palm. “I think it’s just kicking its final legs, and wants to drag you down with it. But the moment you exhale, and let it tumble without you...”
Sirius motioned for Harry to breathe in with him, locking eyes and counting beats with Harry. Then they breathed out together, a soft whoosh in the quiet night.
“You can really start looking for your answer.”
Remus hadn’t told anyone to leave. He hadn’t explained what he was whipping up peppermint hot chocolate for. By all accounts, the guests should’ve imagined it was for them, with the way the party was still thriving.
But as he worked, Remus kept getting touch after touch on the elbow, and whispered goodbyes in his ear. A kiss to the head; a squeeze around the shoulders. Finally, it was just him and Molly Weasley, the main level eerily emptied to just them two.
“Would you care for a night cap?” Remus offered politely.
Molly chortled, waving him off. “I’ve decided to let everyone loose in the Burrow. More rooms, more land, more--well, everything, with so many kids.” Molly looked around the kitchen, eyes briefly flitting upward before settling back on Remus. “Seemed like a good time for all of us to slip away.”
“Harry’ll be upset you left before he could say goodbye,” Remus warned.
“I don’t want to hear him say goodbye,” Molly replied.
Before Remus could ask how much of an understanding she had of the situation, or why exactly everyone had left, Molly laid her hand over Remus’.
“It’ll be alright,” Molly continued. “We’ll all be fine. We have each other.” Molly sniffed, taking her hand back. “Let Harry know I’ll be expecting him for dinner next week. If he tries to say no, remind him of the time I saved him from blue lumberjacks.”
Remus raised a brow. “Blue lumberjacks.”
“He’ll know,” Molly sang. She raised her arm to apparate, pausing to add: “He’s as much my adopted son as he is yours, Remus.” She locked eyes with Remus. “I hope he knows that.”
“I’m sure he does,” Remus assured her.
“Well, I plan on making sure of it,” Molly said. And with a sharp flick, she discorporated herself to the Burrow, leaving Remus alone in his kitchen.
A few minutes later, the floor above Remus creaked, and slow voices traveled through the rafters. A soft giggle here; a warm laugh to follow, the footsteps getting closer. Remus smiled to himself, setting the cocoa down onto the kitchen table.
He’d been flummoxed earlier, but this time, he knew exactly how to help.
Harry didn’t ask why the house was empty. He sat down and complimented Remus’ sugar-work, like he always did. The sharp sting of peppermint brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks and a light to his eyes. He looked like he usually did, sitting under the kitchen glow, nestled between his guardians.
But something disquiet and troubling lingered at the edge of the room. And soon enough, it slid its foot over the linoleum, breaking into the group’s brief cheer.
“We love you,” Sirius said, interrupting Remus’ question of lumberjacks. Harry looked over to Sirius, who had not a trace of humor on his face. “We love you, Harry. Your worth is not decided by your actions, or lack thereof. Your simple existence is enough, and you will always be worthy of it.”
“Oh--kay...” Harry stammered, embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I mean, I think it’s just this time of year. And I did read that article in the Daily Prophet the other day.” Harry sucked in a quick breath. “I wasn’t really gonna do it, the party was just so loud and--”
“No,” Sirius cut him off swiftly. “No minimizing this.”
“It’s alright that you felt sad,” Remus added, rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “Distraught. Hopeless. You aren’t a failure.”
Fresh tears bubbled to the surface, spilling over Harry’s lashes. They dropped to the table, tiny pitter-patters of emotion. But Harry didn’t move to brush them away; hardly reacted to them. His frame shook and he sniffled, but he let the feeling push through him.
Finally, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep.
“Okay,” he said again. Softer, but more sure. “Okay.”
“Alright,” Sirius said warmly, clapping his boy on the shoulder. He switched to tousling Harry’s hair in earnest, which made Harry giggle. “We can talk more in the morning.”
Remus fiddled with the handle of his mug. “Harry. You know we’ll have to take some... precautionary measures.” His eyes flitted to Harry, then back to his mug as he muttered: “Move the knives.”
The smile on Harry’s lips faltered.
“Yeah, I get it,” he said.
“Just for a bit,” Remus said, reaching for Harry’s hand. “Just because we care.”
“I get it,” Harry insisted. He cleared his throat. “I, uh...thank you.” His voice dipped, hushed and husky, bent beneath the weight of his words. “Thank you...for helping me. For--for still loving me.”
“Oh,” Sirius and Remus tutted at once.
Sirius ran his fingers along Harry’s scalp. “Of course we still love you,” he said.
“You have no idea how much,” Remus added.
“But we’d love the opportunity to show you,” Sirius said. He stood from the table, bucking his head upward. “It’s late. Remus and I will clean the place. Why don’t you get ready for bed, and tuck in?”
Harry hesitated. Sirius wondered if Harry wanted to keep the conversation going, and really crack into those demons before the comforting night was swept away.
Harry tapped his finger on the table, nervous. “Can I...sleep with you two tonight?”
Sirius broke into a wide smile. “We’d love a sleepover! Wouldn’t we, Remy?”
“Maybe you can stop your godfather from hogging the whole bed,” Remus considered.
“That’s why we have a king!” Sirius scowled.
“And somehow I still end up feeling like a crushed peasant.”
Sirius rolled his eyes as Harry laughed. Sirius grabbed the moment and held it close to his chest, burning it to his memory.
He’d almost lost the chance to hear that sound ever again.
Sirius turned and helped Harry out of his chair, pushing him up the stairs. He and Remus watched as Harry made his way down the hall, opening the bathroom door. The faucet turned on. Harry started singing, soft and tuneless.
A marker, to know where he was. A beacon, to show he was still there.
And all at once, all of Sirius’ composure shot out of him, like a dove startled at dawn. He shuddered out a breath, pressing a hand to his chest. Another inhale rapidly filled his lungs, but he couldn’t quite fill them properly--like pumping air into a tire with a hole in it.
Sirius reached out for Remus, who was already there, steadying him by the elbow and running his hand through his hair.
“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” Remus insisted.
“He was--He almost--” Sirius gasped, turning and twisting his fingers into Remus’ shirt. He searched Remus’ face. “Was he really going to...?”
Remus gave one grim, hard nod. Sirius’ knees buckled, almost as hard as they had at Azkaban. Because this was Harry Potter, his godson, who had been entrusted to him to keep safe. Lily and James’ child, whom he had let fall into the shadows. Whom he had failed.
“Oh God,” Sirius muttered, blinking hot tears from his eyes. “Dear God, I never thought--”
“Why would we?” Remus mumbled back, pressing soft kisses to Sirius’ temple. “He’s frighteningly good at hiding his emotions, when pressed.”
No, he’s not, Sirius wanted to protest.
Harry was snarky and willful and cheeky. He was full of life and bravery, and whipped himself into a frenzy when it came to friendship. He was hardy and steady, but cried when he needed to. He bloomed and blossomed and wilted and came up again, like tulips out of the snow. He could play at being coy, at being tersely polite, but something would always clip through. Some hidden slip of anger; of judgement, he couldn’t resist pressing into someone’s palm.
The Harry Sirius knew didn’t tamper his emotions so heavily, as he’d done this past year.
But the boy in the cupboard, living with the Dursley’s?
Well, that would be the only way he could survive.
Sirius didn’t quite let that terrible thought out of its cage, though. He’d seen and heard enough terrible things tonight. He’d been honest, telling Harry he had expected all this facade to come crashing down. But just because Sirius knew some of the darker parts of Harry’s life, didn’t mean they’d discussed all of it.
Sirius hadn’t ever felt ready, his hands shaking into fists at the thought of the Dursley’s constant cruelty, or the injustice Umbridge had done to Harry. Grief, trauma, turmoil, all of it--all wrapped up in a pretty bow for Sirius to undo whenever he wanted. Stray comments from Harry about abuse, or shining eyes after a dementor-laiden nightmare--Harry had been ready to open up the box a few times, too.
But it needed undoing with two hands. Maybe three.
This wasn’t all about Voldemort, no matter what Harry had said. Having more people, with more experiences, might help Harry feel less alone. He didn’t have to be high up on the pedestal anymore, swaying in the wind, as people on either side waited for him to fall.
He’d already landed back on Earth, into caring arms. He just didn’t know it yet.
But, judging by the bright smile on Harry’s weary face the next morning at breakfast, maybe he was starting to understand.