Chapter Text
10/10/1990
Sirius would have been content to nap with Remus for the rest of the evening, curl up with him on the sofa and fall asleep, but he had things to be getting on with.
Things Remus wouldn’t approve of.
Peeling himself carefully from the comfortable lump of blankets, he made a loud announcement that he was going to take a piss, before creeping over to the hall, pulling on his rather scuffed boots, and, not having the energy to go get his own coat, borrows Moony’s.
While the coat did make Remus look ridiculously like Sherlock Holmes, Sirius had to admit that the coat was most certainly comfortable. Soft, a little worn, coming down to almost his calves in length, the smell of Remus comforting, finally slinging his satchel over his shoulder.
He was quiet leaving the house, opening the door only a crack, slipping out, and slowly shutting it behind him, locking quietly, praying that the jingling of his keys doesn’t wake Remus.
As he made his way down the rather dirty path of his front garden, he wrapped his neck up in his scarf, before burying half his jaw in the rather scratchy fabric too, yanking a cabbie hat over his head.
Being a wanted wizard was such a tiring thing, and because of bloody Pettigrew, he’s stuck cooped up in the house most of the time, and any time he goes out, it’s a whole ordeal of trying to hide his identity.
The rain was irritating, drenching him within ten minutes, so he was sure to walk briskly, hair damp despite being tucked into his cap, coat heavier with the weight of rain, the sky a dull, boring grey.
Still, Sirius is on a bloody mission, and he’d already been set back by Remus’s early arrival.
By now he knew his way to Privet drive perfectly, having spent far too much time hanging about Harry’s home than necessary.
He walked at a rather brisk pace, sure to keep his head down whenever anyone passed, mind filled with thoughts going at a million miles a minute, stomach twisting with a stew of different emotions.
Something solid.
His mind turned over that phrase over and over.
He knew, of course, that Remus was only being fair, after all, no matter how much Sirius wants something, he can’t just steal away a child. If Dumbledore needed something solid to prove that Harry would be safer in his and Remus’s care, so be it.
Sirius could get something solid.
Really, everything he’d seen was bloody solid enough, but fine, he could get more.
On that note, there’s the entrance to Privet drive, and now it’s time for the real risky part of this. He stoops behind a bush, glancing around nervously, trying to be sure no-ones around to see, but the rain, and the fact that its still working hours have cleared the streets, everyone indoors and not bothering to look out the window see a man open his bag, shroud himself in a cloak, and disappear from sight.
Sirius should most certainly not have the invisibility cloak in his possession, but he had nicked it back from Dumbledore, and either the old man really didn’t know that James’s cloak was missing from his office, or he just didn’t care enough to come take it back.
Sirius checked thoroughly that he was hidden, making sure that his ankles weren’t visible, or that his front was hidden, but back was exposed, the last thing he needed was to scare a muggle and get the ministry poking around.
Emerging from the bushes, he makes his way down the street, sure to step quietly, not that it would matter, the sound of the rain against the pavement was loud enough to block the soft sound of his footsteps.
Stopping in front of fourteen, he finds the usual immaculate lawn and clean front door, the lacy curtains drawn wide open so that you had a perfect view into the perfect sitting room. It was rather performative, frankly, but that’s how Lilys sister had always been.
Sirius knew that both boys would still be at school, and Vernon wouldn’t be home until five, so the only person to worry about was Petunia, and she was probably too busy reading tabloid magazines or mopping to notice a little, tiny, invisible man pop into the house.
Sure, criminal activity might be... Brash, but Sirius wanted his godson back, and he knew full well James would be cheering him on, if he were here.
If he were here Sirius wouldn’t be unlocking the bathroom window with a flick of his hand.
If James had never died that night, Harry would be growing up with his mother and father, not these goddamn muggles.
If James had never trusted Peter, Sirius and Remus wouldn’t be grieving the loss of the lives of not just their late friends, but a whole future, a family, their own sanity.
Sirius could play the If game for hours, he could go on and on about how things should have gone. He can replay the moment he recommended Peter over and over until he’s pulling his hair out, he can scream about the unfairness until he’s hoarse, but it doesn’t change a thing.
Sirius decided he’d play the If game later, because currently, the biggest IF is “what if Petunia heard me fall into her bath?”, so he decided to focus on the matter at hand.
He sits up, pressing his lips together tightly to resist the urge to curse loudly, pulling himself out of the porcelain tub, checking once again that none of his body is visible under the cloak, before creeping out into the hall, incredibly grateful that the hinges of the bathroom door don’t creak.
He wasn’t sure what solid entailed, but he supposed just about any evidence that Harry wasn’t safe with the Dursleys would do.
Remus would be livid if he found out Sirius was breaking and entering into the Dursleys home, but really, when you think about it, Sirius plans to break nothing, so really, it’s only entering, just without their consent or knowledge.
He could hear some program on the tv, some sort of chatter drifting in from the sitting room, and, sweeping past the door, he could see the top of Petunia’s permed, bleached hair in a chair, facing the tv.
The house felt artificial, to be frank.
It was lovely, sure, but in a forced sense, like Sirius had walked onto the set of a movie, or shrunk into a barbie’s dollhouse.
The floor was clean, so clean he would have been able to see his reflection, if he wasn’t invisible. Pictures lined the walls of the hallway, family photos, all of them featuring the Dursleys over the years, normal, but as Sirius absently examines Vernon’s red, about to have a heart attack complexion intensify over the years, he realizes that not a single photo has even a glimpse of Harry.
He frowns heavily, already noting that as part of his “something solid”, before moving further down the hall to the kitchen. To his surprise, the dishes were left undone, which felt unlike Petunia, given the rest of the house, but perhaps Vernon pulled his weight around here, and the washing up was his job.
He runs his hand over the smooth, cool countertop, getting rather distracted at the sight of their name brand goods, wondering if petunia would notice if he swiped some chocolate.
He decides against it, peering around the kitchen, taking a moment to examine the hideous calendar, which was custom made, a different picture of Dudley for every month, October sporting a picture of the boy enjoying a ridiculously large lollipop, blonde hair perfectly combed.
Sirius shuddered at the thought of the other months, and instead examined the notes for each day.
Dudley had plenty coming up, like a doctor’s appointment, a football match, and three birthday parties. There wasn’t a mention of Harry anywhere, yet Dudley had a whole day taken up by Petunias fancy writing, the riveting note was “Dudder’s wants pumpkin pie!” on the fifteenth.
The dining room, similarly, showed no sign that there was a fourth person in the home, there were picture’s and keepsakes everywhere, but not a whisper of Harry. Not even Lily. Petunias own sister.
Sirius had noticed the trend by now, and needless to say, wasn’t pleased. How was Harry safer with a bunch of bloody wankers who pretend he isn’t even in the house?
Finally, the hardest part, checking the sitting room.
Creeping around Petunias chair, wary despite being invisible, Sirius examined the space, and was completely shocked, flabbergasted and utterly gobsmacked to find that, once again, no sign of Harry was around.
The program appeared to be some American thing, a man with annoyingly slicked hair and white teeth grinning at the camera, a tinned laugh track obnoxiously playing, and Petunia let out a little snort, finding whatever generic joke he told amusing.
Getting upstairs was a hassle, trying to avoid the steps that would creak made him feel like a modern-day Indiana Jones, cringing with each light, testing step, pressing hesitantly to test to see if they would make noise.
By the time he made it to the landing, Petunia had picked up a call, and he had the lovely backdrop of her chattering and gossiping to help brush over the sound of faint creaks as he tiptoed to the first room.
He assumed that the smallest room would be Harrys, but it was hard to tell just based on the bloody doors, which all sported the exact same plain white, so he was stuck playing a game of elimination.
The first room was Mr and Mrs Dursleys, and he vowed to never see those awful, curtains again, the colour a sort of gouge-your-eyes-out green, which Sirius swore he would never decorate with in all his days, quickly shutting the door.
Moving onto the next door, which was clearly Dudley’s room, a grand double bed in one corner, the rest of the room covered in toys. The spoilt little brat had his own bloody tv, and games console, Sirius was pretty sure this room had cost more than his whole apartment, and half the damn toys were trashed.
The next room was just a guest room, clearly unused and mostly for display, the bed made perfectly and completely untouched, the only objects being a lamp and some plastic flowers, Sirius felt very pleased, finally, he could see Harrys room and see if it had anything solid to prove to Remus that they need to remove the boy from this situation.
Opening the final door at the end of the hall, he found that while this room was most certainly the smallest, it was also Dudley’s. Not that that made sense. So... Dudley has TWO bedrooms, and Harry has... Nowhere? Where is he sleeping, then? The bloody couch?
He would have liked to hope that perhaps Harry had very, very similar interest to Dudley, and that’s why the rooms were so similar, perhaps that would make sense, but the room had one of those posters on the wall, where you get to “claim your star”, and you get a certificate naming some made-up rock in space as yours, this one proudly declaring that “star Dudders” was out there somewhere.
Sirius shuddered knowing that it was up there with his constellations, and hoped it would be sucked up by a black hole.
Sirius decided that this was evidence enough, Harry didn’t have his own goddamn room, Dumbledore couldn’t claim that THAT was somehow “safe” for a little boy.
As he stands in the hall, stomach turning in rage, tempted to storm down the stairs and give the Dursleys a bloody piece of his mind, he hears the sharp sound of Petunias heels in the hall, and he peers down the stairs, watching as she unlocks the door, car keys in hand.
Glancing at the grandfather clock in the hall, he finds that it’s ten to three, so schools must be getting out soon, so she’s going to go collect Harry and Dudley.
He knows that he’s stayed long enough, that he’s found something solid enough to confront Albus, and this is his perfect opportunity to slip out of the house with no risk of Petunia watching her back door open wide when no-ones there, but he wants to poke around downstairs just a little more with his newfound freedom.
A little more comfortable with being loud, now that no one was in the house, he made his way down the stairs, considering what to investigate now, deciding to examine the Dursleys bookcase.
It was all rather boring, compared to his and Remus’s books. There wasn’t really any fiction, just cookbooks and things about politics and the economy, and of course, the bible, well, two, the old testament, and the new testament.
There were also books on parenting, specifically for “troubled” children, Sirius could only hope that they were for Dudley, which wouldn’t be surprising, given Remus’s accounts of the boy trying to give other children atomic wedgies.
He had been having a field day going through an old photo album, cackling at what he would consider to be the worlds ugliest baby in all sorts of situations, eating a cake, going down the slide, taking a bath...Pulling Harrys hair.
Okay, that one wasn’t funny, and he mentally noted it as yet another piece of solid evidence, although he doubted social services would step in over a picture of a toddler pulling another toddler’s hair, still, every little counts.
He freezes solid when he hears the door click open, and the awful, whiny sound of the man, the myth, the legend, Dearest Dudder's as he throws his bag onto the floor. Quickly stuffing the book back haphazardly, he presses himself against the wall, creeping into the hall, trying to figure out how to leave quickly, checking anxiously that he’s fully hidden under the cloak.
“Mummmyy, Miss Higgins gave me so much bloody homework!” Dudley whines, and Sirius has to jump back to narrowly avoid Petunia walking into him, pressing himself against the stairs.
“Oh, poor pumpkin!” Petunia said, already mopping up his muddy footprints from the floor, as Dudley trudges down the hall to the kitchen, barely able to reach the cookie jar on the counter, shrugging his coat off onto the floor, hand deep in the jar, pulling out at least three biscuits, before presenting his bag to his mother sadly.
“What do I do? I don’t WANT to make a project on my family.” Dudley whined, and Sirius found he would like to teach this bloody brat a lesson in manners more and more, Petunia made a sad, crooning sort of noise, patting her son’s head sympathetically, taking the hefty bag from him, moving closer and closer to Sirius’s current location, till he’s crouched and pressed against the wall like a cowering dog so that she doesn’t feel him under the cloak, she opens the cupboard door, which he had assumed to be the boiler, and throws the bag right in.
“Harry will do it, poppet, I’ll leave it in there for him.” She said comfortingly, smoothing a bony hand over his blonde hair, and Sirius feels himself turn cold in anger, as he looks into the dark, cramped space and sees a bed. Sees a cardboard box filled with clothes.
In an instant, he decides to enter the space, having to stoop low under the cloak to even fit, as Petunia promptly shuts the door, leaving Sirius plunged into darkness, bar a small sliver of light leaking in from the gap between the door and wall, looking around in growing horror and disgust at Harrys room.
The bed was small and lumpy, the blanket looked old and second-hand, and the box of clothes held barely anything. His lungs felt stuffy from only a few moments in the stuffy, space.
He feels almost sick from seeing it, taking a moment to just take it in, swallowing back the sudden thickness in his throat. Harry Potter, his godson, James and Lilys pride and joy, the boy who bloody lived, stuffed away in a cupboard and hidden.
He can feel his eyes getting rather wet, and takes a deep breath, his hand slowly cupping over his mouth to prevent the strangled sound from being heard.
Just a child, Harrys just a little boy, what could he have possibly done to deserve being put in a situation like this? Rejected by his only family left, brushed out of sight, and not even given his own bloody bedroom.
Sirius had every goddamn right to storm over to Petunia and slap her. Lily most certainly would have, he knows they had always had issues, but how could Petunia be this cruel to her own sister’s child? Abuse an innocent little boy over disagreements from before he was born?
He had every fucking right to burst into Vernon’s office, and break every single drill he made, demand to know how he could look at himself in the mirror every day, knowing he’s such a weak man that he takes his fear out on a child, A coward so afraid of anything different that he would hurt an orphaned little boy.
He drops to a crouch in the tiny space, shaking with sadness and rage, promising to himself a hundred times over that he would look after his godson if it was the last thing he did, that he would take him far away from all this hurt, that he would have a big room with windows to let all the light in, and pictures of him on every wall. Sirius would hang the bloody moon if it made his godson happy.
Standing, he lets out a shaking breath, unsure of what to do, he pats his pockets for a moment, wondering if he has anything on him as a little treat to leave, finally finding some sort of lump, he reaches into a pocket, pulling out a rather melted looking mars bar and a twenty pound note.
Him and Remus did sort of... Need money. Like, a lot, and his next paycheck wouldn’t be for another two weeks, but Harry is sleeping in a fucking cupboard, Remus would most certainly understand.
Tucking the chocolate and money under his pillow, he smiles, hoping it brightens things up for him at least a little, Remus had always said that chocolate could fix anyone’s mood, and while Sirius wasn’t quite convinced on his philosophy, he was more than willing to take a gamble.
Now, all that was left was his grand escape, he peeks anxiously out of the crack of light, finding the hall empty, he slowly, painstakingly opens the door, slipping out, tucked safely under the invisibility cloak, shutting it as gently as possible behind him, before standing in the hall, pressed against the door, wondering how exactly he was to get out without drawing attention to himself, its not exactly as if he can just waltz over and open the bloody door.
On that note, the front door opens, and a bony, tall boy slips inside, glasses covered in tape, eyes tired and rather panicked looking, as though he’s waiting for someone to start yelling.
Harry.
Merlin, he’s getting so big, Sirius would have happily stayed and just gaped at how similar he is to James, but he doesn’t exactly have long to go, so he rushes to the door, slipping out just before it shuts, brushing Harrys shoulder just slightly, frowning as the young boy jolts and spins around, eyes searching wildly for what touched him, staring right at Sirius, who prays Harry doesn’t reach out and feel that he’s there, slowly backing out of the house.
Harry shakes his head, glancing back into the house as Aunt Petunia yells for him to come do the dishes, playing it off as a trick of the wind, and Sirius watches as he shuts the door in his face, unable to stop himself from whispering, almost silently.
“Bye, Prongs.”