Chapter Text
Harry had always been told he looked like his father. That was the first thing every wizard told him when they first met him. It wasn’t until his first year at Hogwarts when he saw a photo of his father for the first time. Harry didn’t quite see the resemblance. Sure, his hair was dark enough, and resembled the same curly mess, but besides that they didn’t look alike. Harry has his mother’s eyes for sure, but a lot of his facial features couldn’t be traced to either of his parents. And he was short, much shorter than his parents had been at his age. It made for quite a suspicious conclusion, Harry realized.
Nothing ever came of this realization until the summer after his fourth year at Hogwarts. Harry is waiting at the train station for his relatives to arrive. He’s been waiting for over an hour. Honestly, he’s pretty sure they forgot to pick him up today. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do if the Dursleys don’t show up. Without them, he doesn’t have anywhere to go.
He’s contemplating finding his way to Diagon Alley when he hears a dog bark. He turns and sees Padfoot running up to him.
“Hey, boy!” Harry exclaims, reaching out to give the dog some head pats. As he’s petting the dog, he notices something attached to the collar.
“What’s this?” He asks aloud, not expecting an answer. He takes it off the collar to find an envelope addressed to “Prongslet”.
Take a left out of the station. Follow the road until you get to a park. Wait for me there.
Padfoot is already out of the station by the time Harry finishes reading the note. He looks around, trying to find anyone he recognizes, but he truly is alone. People walk back and forth across the train station, but none recognize Harry. Every wixen child was picked up hours ago, and only regular London commuters remain in the station.
He might as well leave, Harry decides. If the Dursley’s aren’t here yet, they probably won’t show up later. Vernon is more likely to realize they are late picking him up and assume that he’ll find his own way back. He never sent them any letters, and he doubts they read any letters delivered by such freakish means as owls. They probably spent the last year living peacefully without him.
Finally making a decision, Harry decides to meet Padfoot. Harry trusts him. Sirius knew his parents. He was his father’s best friend and most trusted ally. He didn’t give them up to Voldemort, which means Harry also trusts him.
Harry waits alone on a bench at the park, staring into nothing. The Dursley’s never came to pick him up. He never likes returning to Privet Drive, but there’s something about the familiarity that comforts him. He feels lost without it.
He knows what it means that the Dursley’s didn’t come to pick him up. They’ve finally written him off. He isn’t allowed back into their home. He should’ve known this would happen. He’s honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner.
One moment he’s lost in his thoughts, and the next he feels a dog licking his leg.
“Padfoot!” Harry exclaims, reaching to pet the dog again. However, before his hand can reach him, Padfoot steps back and transforms into Sirius Black.
“Sirius!” Harry yells, hugging him as tight as he can. He relishes the feeling in his gut when Sirius hugs him back, running his hand through Harry’s hair.
Sirius wastes no time getting to the reason he wanted to meet with Harry. “I got you a passport. It should hold up to the British security to get you on the plane. We’ll list your father as an American, giving you citizenship to allow you in the country.”
“Wait, what? Sirius, slow down. What are you talking about?” Sirius looks as if his mind is going a thousand kilometers a minute and Harry can’t keep up.
“It’s not safe here,” Sirius continues, barely stopping a moment to think. “I need you to get to your father in America.”
What? “My father was American?” Harry asks, ignoring the former part of the statement over the absurdity of the latter.
“Is American, Harry,” Sirius replies, emphasizing the present tense.
“My father is alive?” He asks again, louder. Sirius finally pauses, taking a breath.
“Look, Harry. I have to tell you something but just know that your mum and dad loved you. They loved you so much. And I love you. This changes nothing.”
Harry is so confused. “What changes nothing? Sirius, I’m not following.”
“James isn’t your biological father.” It felt like a punch to the chest. What? What do you mean James wasn’t his father? His middle name is James after the man.
“But I look just like him?” Harry says in a questioning tone, knowing he doesn’t quite believe it.
“Two unrelated people can look similar,” Sirius argues. “But that’s not the point. The point is, James isn’t your biological father, but he was still your dad. He knew he wasn’t biologically related to you and he still adopted you and planned to raise you as his own. You were and still are his son. But right now, your biological father will keep you safe.”
“In America? How can he help? Dumbledore always says I’m perfectly safe here.” Harry is full of questions.
Sirius seems to darken at Dumbledore’s name, but continues anyway. “His name is Anthony Stark and he lives in New York.”
Anthony Stark. Why does that name sound familiar? He’s sure he’s heard it somewhere before.
“He’s a billionaire,” Sirius continues. “So, he has the means to provide for you and hire the best security American aurors can provide.”
So, he’s a billionaire. Maybe Harry has seen his name in the tabloids before. Americans do tend to end up in crazy situations all the time, although Harry’s not one to talk.
“Does he know about me?” Harry whispers, afraid to know the answer. If this Anthony knew of him and never tried to find him after his parents died, Harry doesn’t think it’s worth meeting him.
Sirius laughs, shaking his head. “No. Lord no. He’s a muggle and Lily didn’t want to put his life in danger at the time. But circumstances have changed and now I know America is safer for you.”
“For me? But what about you, Padfoot? You aren’t safe here. You’re still a fugitive.”
“I know, Harry, believe me, I know.” He pauses, looking Harry directly in the eyes. “But sometimes, being an adult means making hard decisions. My face is plastered all over the muggle world for breaking out of Azkaban. There’s no way I could set foot in an airport without being arrested. You at least can slip under their radar. Muggle technology is getting so much better at detecting people. I’ve nearly been caught too many times. Sometimes I think muggles have their own kinds of magic.” Sirius starts to go off on a tangent, so Harry brings him back.
“So you can’t come with me?”
Sirius sighs. “No. Technically, MACUSA and the Ministry have some agreement that if I was found in the US, they’d arrest me and send me back to Britain.”
“What’s MACUSA?”
“The U.S. version of the Ministry for Magic. I don’t really know how it works. But anyway. I got you a bag. It has the documents you need to get to America and a few other essentials.”
“But I can’t leave you behind, Padfoot.”
“You have to, Harry. The Ministry refuses to acknowledge Voldy is back and they’ve painted you as a liar. You aren’t safe here. I don’t trust Dumbledore with you either. Please, Prongslet. I need you to be safe.”
“Sirius, you aren’t making any sense? Why can’t I stay here? You still haven’t told me why it’s not safe!”
“You told me all about your adventures at school, and most of the times you got hurt were avoidable. Why would Dumbledore allow a teacher who had You-Know-Who possessing him into school grounds? Isn’t Dumbledore strong enough to make wards to keep those with ill intent from teaching at Hogwarts?”
“Or what about the troll? There’s a troll in the dungeon and the headmaster tells everyone to go back to their dorms, ignoring the fact that half the house’s rooms are in the bloody dungeon! Or your second year, when people were getting petrified, instead of doing the reasonable thing and shutting the school down for a weekend and using the aurors and department of mysteries to investigate, he tells no one in the Ministry and just lets school move on like normal. Many students missed months of instruction and were not provided any aid in catching up with their academics.”
“Or, this last year, when your name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire, instead of trusting you and backing you to everyone, Dumbledore acted like you wanted to be in the tournament. He did nothing to protect you from the press like a proper headmaster should do for his students. I do not agree with his teachings and I do not trust him with your safety. He throws you at the nearest sign of a threat and hopes you survive without giving you any instruction.”
There’s so much for Harry to unpack in these accusations. He does find it strange, now that Sirius mentions it, that during the troll incident, Dumbledore told them to go to their dorms with their prefects instead of having them stay in an one room that they could protect all together. It doesn’t make sense from a strategy point, something that Dumbledore is revered from in the First Wizarding War. Some of his points, however, seem weak. Dumbledore isn’t infallible, and he shouldn’t be treated as such.
Sirius’s rant goes on, clearly stuck in his mind. He seems to be slowing down, getting the last of his argument out when he finally reaches his final point.
“Dumbledore left you with the Dursleys!” Sirius yells, eyes going wild.
Harry gasps. What? Dumbledore could have picked anyone and he picked the Dursley’s to care for him? Why?
“He left you with those muggles and never looked back. He got regular reports about you and ignored every time they mentioned you being hurt. For the greater good, he always says,” Sirius mimics Dumbledore’s voice in a mocking manor, “but it wasn’t good for you. You might have been safe from death eaters but you weren’t safe from your relatives. That’s why you have to go to America. There, you’ll be safe.”
Harry is still shocked. “I told him I didn’t want to go back, and he said it was safest, that there were protections there that would keep me safe. And the whole time he knew how they treated me?” Harry starts to get worked up.
“See,” Sirius continues, realizing that Harry is wearing down. “This is why you have to leave. I’ll stay in contact with you once you find your father, but he’s your best chance for survival.”
Sirius uses his puppy dog eyes. “Fine,” Harry grumbles, grabbing the backpack Sirius brought. He might have to reevaluate his memories of Dumbledore. He’d always been this stark figure in Harry’s life, a person he could trust. But now he realizes that Dumbledore didn’t always help him. He would be there, but just sit back and watch as Harry dealt with the next obstacle.
Harry’s also aware of what the Daily Prophet has been saying about him. He knows it’s not flattering and borderline criminal. The Ministry wants him silenced in any way possible, including sending him back to his relatives, even after watching Cedric die. He’ll do this. For Sirius. Because if his father can protect him, maybe he can get some lawyers for Sirius. Without a trial, they couldn’t have legally incarcerated Sirius for years, meaning Sirius has a case. While Harry might not have many means in the Wizarding World due to his fame, maybe his so-called father has some better connections.
But if this doesn’t work, he’s coming back for Sirius. No matter what.
Harry gets through airport security and customs fairly quickly because of the various charms hiding his items. He didn’t bring much with him, just a small suitcase Sirius picked up holding a few pairs of clothes, his father’s cloak, and his broomstick. He released Hedwig before leaving the park, telling her to wait a few weeks before coming to find him once he’s safe. He trusts that she’ll know when.
His papers say he is 16, which allows him to travel solo. His passport gets him onto the plane and Harry learns that while he loves flying on a broom, he doesn’t quite enjoy airplanes. When he uses a broomstick, he’s in control. He decides how fast he flies and what direction he moves in. However, he has no control over the metal plane he is in. He hasn’t attended a muggle school since he was 10, so he doesn’t understand the theory behind how a plane flies, which only adds to his unease. What is stopping the plane from just dropping out of the sky? Not magic, that’s for sure.
Harry falls into a fitful sleep on the plane, waking up every half hour or so to the sound of Voldemort’s laugh. Eventually, the eight hour flight comes to an end and the plane lands safely in New York.
His first issue arises when he arrives at U.S. customs. He waits in line, feeling the stares of the people around him. When it’s finally his turn, he approaches a young woman with short brown hair and hands her his passport and ID.
She takes it and does something with the computer. It doesn’t appear to be working because she frowns.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this passport is invalid. Do you have another one?”
Invalid? What? Sirius was supposed to take care of this. While Harry had grown up in the muggle world, he never traveled anywhere in England, let alone to another country. He doesn’t know what papers he needs to travel internationally, but Sirius said his paperwork would hold up. This is his first time seeing his passport.
“Um. I don’t,” he replies, gulping.
“Do you have a visa?” She continues. Harry doesn’t know what a visa is.
He shakes his head, still looking down. “Um, no.”
She goes back to her computer, typing some things while examining his documents. After a few minutes she seems to have reached some conclusion.
“Well, Mr. Potter, I’m afraid that these documents need to be looked into further. If you could follow me, I’ll show you to a waiting room.” She guides him to a sitting room with guards posted at the entrance and exits.
Not even an hour into his time in the U.S. and he’s already being arrested. Great. Is it to late to head back to England?