Chapter Text
“James, are you sure it’s enough?” Lily fretted, glancing worriedly over at Harry asleep in his crib.
“What more can we possibly do?” James asked, running his fingers through his hair. “We’ve got a dozen wards around the house, hell, we’re under Fidelius , there’s not many more layers we can add.”
“But-” Lily’s eyes suddenly brightened. “But what about Harry? Where will he go if- if we-”
“Love, we’ve already sealed the wills, Dumbledore should know he goes to Sirius.”
“But I don’t know if I trust Dumbledore!”
James rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Let’s go to bed, hun. We can talk in the morning.”
Lily twisted her hair anxiously. “I think I’ll stay up and look through the library. Just to make sure there’s nothing to help make sure Harry’s safe.”
“Alright then. Goodnight, love.”
“Yes, goodnight.”
“ Step aside, girl.”
“No! No, not Harry please, take me instead-”
“STEP ASIDE-”
“Not Harry, PLEASE-”
“AVADA KEDAVRA-”
“We’ll put him with his aunt and uncle. He’ll be safe there.”
“BOY, YOU’VE BURNT THE BREAKFAST AGAIN! INTO THE CUPBOARD WITH YOU!” The child was tossed in the boot cupboard by his arm, and curled in the corner whimpering, killing-curse eyes threatening to spill over with tears.
Freaks don’t cry. Freaks take what they deserve.
The door was thrown open, banging into the wall opposite hard enough to dent. The stink of alcohol wafted in.
“I’ll teach you to burn the breakfast, freak, I’ll teach you to burn anything in my house-”
Harry was dragged out, not resisting because freaks don’t fight, freaks take their punishment and smile-
The right side of his head was taken up in one meaty hand, and the other twisted the knobs on the stove, stovetop burners flaring high.
The child whimpered, and the sound seemed to enrage the man holding him, who blinked in drunken stupor and roared , then pressed the left side of the child’s face to the stovetop burner. The child screamed , thrashing in his uncle’s hold, but the hiss and scent of burning flesh didn’t stop, didn’t let up.
Suddenly, the air charged with energy, and there was a crack of thunder.
A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, and the screaming in Sirius Black’s cell is joined by another younger sob. Sirius is shocked out of his misery and looks over with wide eyes at the four year old curled into a ball on the other side of the small space.
He’s been here for four years but he doesn’t remember this being here.
He skitters over, head cocked at a crazy angle, limp hair falling in his bloodshot eyes, and pokes the new addition cautiously.
The thing immediately stiffens, then begins to whimper, and looks up at Sirius with killing-curse eyes.
Sirius blinks, not quite certain what to make of this.
The child blinks. (that’s what it is, a child)
Sirius smiles a little, an upturn of the lips that feels unfamiliar but seems to lessen the child’s shaking. He reaches out a cautious hand and the child flinches violently, but stays still.
He is running his fingers through the child’s hair, limp and greasy like his own. The child relaxes a little, falling into Sirius’ touch.
“Well,” Sirius says, voice rusty from disuse, “I guess you’re mine now.”
The child looks up and smiles a little. Not a whole smile.
But that’s normal for Azkaban.