Chapter Text
One top secret and meticulously planned scheme later, Remus helps sneak Harry to London to meet Sirius outside Gringotts. What no one had the heart to tell Sirius is that everyone but Dumbledore and Snape were in on the scheme following days of begging on Remus’ behalf because both Harry and Sirius needed the fresh air and be around family.
Harry especially, after what had happened in the tournament.
Not that any of them actually knew, Harry could barely get a whole sentence out to explain what he had seen and experienced. His shaking had been the only thing that clued in Pomfrey to the liberal crucio Voldemort had held him under. The witch had fretted so much over the fact Harry could barely speak.
The Dursleys, unsurprisingly, didn’t care at all that Harry was still in shock and definitely didn’t care that he’d rocked up from school littered with cuts and bruises. Petunia had simply frowned and tutted over what the neighbours would think if they saw him gardening like that.
The plan goes into action two weeks before his birthday where Harry walks into the bank with his pet dog Snuffles and Remus waits on one of the rather uncomfortable benches insisting this was private.
The goblins aren’t all that amused with them. One look at the shaggy grim otherwise known as Sirius and the goblins quickly find a private room to put them in. “You’ll both need to complete a blood test to prove you are who you say you are. Once that’s done we can move on with the heirship and discuss the blood adoption.” The goblin, Ironclaw, informs them.
Harry considers just gesturing to his scar but he’s far too busy staring at Sirius.
“Surprise, pup! None of it’s if you don’t want it – the heirship will make sure if anything happens to me then none of that side of the family can use the Black name for you-know-who. And the blood adoption…” Sirius grins, just as cocky as usual, but Harry sees the vulnerable edge.
It was the same way he smiled when he thought Harry wouldn’t want to stay with him. “Yes,” he says before his godfather can try to explain. Why would he ever say no? “I – yes.” Sirius reaches over to squeeze his hand, maybe understanding what Harry can’t quite put into words.
Ironclaw coughs impatiently. Sirius rolls his eyes, making sure to exaggerate for Harry’s sake, before taking a dagger from the table and pricking his finger. The drop of blood soaks into offered parchment and the goblin draws it back across the table to inspect it. “Very good, Lord Black. Would you care to take a look, or can we move on?” Ironclaw nods but Sirius waves him off.
Harry freezes for a moment with the dagger in his hand. He looks at the blade and thinks of Pettigrew slicing his arm open in the graveyard and he thinks of Cedric’s body and watching something inhuman rise out of magic itself. Then he forces himself to prick his finger and follow Sirius’s lead.
Unlike with Sirius, Ironclaw frowns at the parchment. “You will need to do a full test, Mr Potter, while I fetch the Potter accountant.” Ironclaw slides forward a new piece of parchment and Harry squeezes his finger to get the necessary amount of blood out.
The goblin takes the parchment with him when he leaves.
“It’ll be nothing to worry about, pup, probably just some title business.” Sirius assures him but Harry has a feeling, like his skin is trying to crawl away from his body, and it tells him nothing is going to be okay.
After all, nothing in his life went his way.
Ironclaw returns with two more goblins and Harry knows, by the quickly hidden surprise on Sirius’s face, that this is not normal either.
“It seems that, by some mistake, the Potter will was sealed by the minister and chief warlock which has lead to our current problem.” One of the new goblins says and Harry assumes he’s in charge of the Potter account.
Harry exchanges an uneasy look with his godfather.
“I suggest you read over the results of the blood test first, Mr Potter.” Ironclaw slides the result across the desk. Harry feels his heart jump into his throat.
Name: Hydrus Marvolo Black. (Birth.)
Harry James Potter. (Adopted.)
The words sit there so innocuously, like they don’t turn his world upside down five times over, and Harry keeps staring even when Sirius lightly shakes him. Then he’s not staring, because he’s laughing. It sounds hysterical even to his own ears. Sirius snatches up the parchment and Harry keeps laughing because he doesn’t know what else to do. “This is a joke, right?” He asks with a voice turned rough from the lump in his throat. “I’ve got plenty of proof of my parents on my face.”
Maybe he was a little too harsh there because the goblins eye him warily.
“Pup,” Sirius says gently but he puts the parchment down on the desk like he’s nailing the final hammer in this coffin. Harry looks at him rather like he has grown a second head in the time it took him to read because surely Sirius wouldn’t believe this. “Read it through…just read it.”
Grudgingly, Harry takes it up again to read.
It’s hard to take it seriously when not even his birthday shows the same, landing slap bang in the middle of August instead. Slowly he looks down to the parental section and grits his teeth so hard he wonders if there are spells for this.
Mother: Alya Dorea Black. (Birth.)
Lily Evans Potter. (Adopted, Deceased.)Father: Unnamed. (Birth.)
James Fleamont Potter. (Adopted, Deceased.)
Harry, still on the edge of hysterical, grips the parchment so hard the edges crinkle. “I didn’t know you could refuse to be named.” He comments like it is at all important compared to everything else.
“It’s extremely rare these days, but a mother can refuse to name a father. The father can later come forward and name himself so long as he’s been magically recognised and there are blood spells available regardless. For obvious reasons, few witches employ the option now for the matter of heirships and status.” A goblin explains but Harry doesn’t pay attention to which.
The list of heirships and titles are so long he could laugh, including the conquest rights to the Slytherin one. Having the rights to the Slytherin heirship really feels like some act of divine intervention designed to give someone a right laugh at both his and Tom Riddle’s expense. But then his eyes finally land on what Sirius must have wanted him to see.
Active Spells:
Blood Glamour, tied to the Potter bloodline.
Magical block on elemental abilities. (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)
Restriction on magical core. (Performed by Alya Black and Lily Potter.)
Block on blood tracking rituals. (Performed by Alya Black.)
Harry feels vaguely sick and only distantly hears Sirius mutter about how they never told him but slides the parchment back.
“If you would allow us, Lord Black, we could actually open the Potter’s will.” Ironclaw snaps, something that had probably been building since he found a fugitive animagus entering his bank, and Sirius shuts his mouth with an audible click.
No one protests so the goblin taps a rolled-up piece of parchment which readily snaps open.
“I, Lord James Fleamont Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”
Harry startles at the realisation this was his fathers voice absent of the ghostly quality in the graveyard. This was the voice of James Potter in life, coloured with amusement and just as well spoken as Malfoy of all people.
“I, Lady Lily Evans Potter, swear this has been made of my own free will.”
Follows quickly after and Sirius looks far paler than usual. Harry supposes if he heard Cedric’s voice tomorrow, he might get shaken up too.
“In terms of possessions, we leave the marauders flat in London to Remus Lupin. This includes the basement unit we purchased in the building which has been magically reinforced to hold even a dragon.” James Potter says and Sirius snorts, silver eyes incredibly bright with unshed tears, and Harry wishes he didn’t feel quite so detached so he could actually feel this.
“The couch is to go to Sirius Black and I can only hope he comes to his senses and burns the monstrosity.” Lily Potter adds sternly and Sirius bites back what might be a sob or a laugh or maybe even both. “In the event of our death, a fund should be set up to donate to Hogwarts a total of 22,000 galleons every year. I formally request Minerva McGonagall take charge of how the fund is spent but hope that some is put towards helping students with their school supplies. All of my potions journals and notes should be forced into the hands of Severus Snape under threat from my ghost should he refuse them.”
Harry, very confused over why his deceased mother wanted to leave anything to the dour professor and why she thought threatening him would even work, watches a goblin note it down.
“Finally, we leave all other assets to our son to do with as he chooses. If we haven’t had the chance to magically finalise the adoption then I formally leave the heirship of House Potter to Harry. Upon our death, we ask all active spells be removed.” James Potter picks up and Harry clutches the arm of his chair so tightly his muscles cramp. “Assuming we met death before we could share the truth with our friends, it should be known we happily took in our son and would do so again.”
Distantly, he recognises that Sirius covers his hand with his own larger one. “I suffered a miscarriage midway in my pregnancy and we weren’t able to share news of Charlus’s death before James’s mother, Dorea, asked a favour of us. Her cousin, Alya, had found herself pregnant but unable to continue her courtship while visiting the country and, for reasons she would not share, she feared the father finding out. Initially we planned on just looking after them until it was safe for her to return to India, however she asked us to formally take Harry in for his own safety. We agreed to her requests to hide the truth until the war was over and insisted on spells that would stop the father from finding him.” Lily Potter explains with a voice far too light to carry news that makes his stomach churn in dull horror.
“In the event of our death, our plan to choose a less obvious secret keeper failed and Peter has either betrayed us or been tortured into giving up our location. Harry should go to his godfather, Sirius Black, his godmother Alice and the Longbottoms, or our dear friend Remus Lupin. Should none of them be able to take him in, Alya would happily care for him. But under no circumstances should he live with my sister Petunia.”
The voices stop, will evidently read, and Harry finds himself doubled over with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. “Sirius,” He begins though he doesn’t try to move. “Did I imagine it, or did it sound like…like my birth father was a death eater?” He whispers the question because he’s not actually sure he wants an answer. No, he definitely doesn’t want Sirius to agree with his fears and help him imagine a man who contributed to his DNA cheering on his death in the graveyard. Why else, he considers, would Alya Black have gone to such lengths to hide her son during the war.
Sirius rubs his back until Harry can stomach sitting up again.
The goblins look neither patient nor amused.
His godfather settles in his chair, readjusting it to better look at Harry. “It’s time for some family history, pup.” Sirius sighs and Harry looks at him blankly because if this is a distraction tactic a lesson wasn’t going to help much. “Alya is my little cousin, though really distant. Us Blacks have branches around the world, see, we sent the extra kids to different countries to set up deals. The Blacks in Britain may be few and far between, but we grow like weeds in the rest of the world. Dorea, James’s mother, was a Black and she was born outta a match the Patils set up with their business partners for Cygnus after he was widowed. And Dorea used her mother’s connections to set up one of her nephews with a partner of the Puthers, the cousins of the Potters, but she got smart and made sure that branch of the family remained in the South Asian Empire. His son broke the naming conventions to honour Dorea in Alya’s name – that happened when I was about two and the family talked about it for years – so Alya was really close with Dorea.”
Harry attempts to ask what any of this has to do with his question, but Sirius hushes him dramatically before carrying on. “Alya even owled with me and James and few times. She’s a fiery woman, absolutely terrifying, so she probably got on great with Lily. The only time she came here though…Dorea was getting on a bit and the war didn’t help so Alya insisted on coming to see her before it was too late. She stayed for a while, but I never realised she was courting anyone, I didn’t even realise she was staying with them while she was…but what you need to know, Harry, is that Alya and Dorea? They’re good Blacks. Asia’s less backwards with blood purity and magic so even if my mother, the right harpy that she was, tried to match Alya with a death eater, Alya doesn’t believe in any of that. She never would have agreed. I got a terrible letter from her, y’know, in Azkaban. She was spitting mad that she thought I was a death eater…she was probably worried about you, looking back on it, but Alya is so good Harry.”
The family tree proves a little confusing and he wants to ask for a physical diagram to even try to understand but he nods anyway. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t.” Harry also wants to tear his own hair out because he wonders if many death eaters shared Voldemort’s middle name. He promptly shuts down that train of thought and places it in a box alongside the many sources of trauma in the wizarding world he refused to think about, sitting it right between Quirrell dying in front of him and spending most of third year in a state of depression because of dementors.
“If you’re done,” Ironclaw says pointedly, “We should remove these spells on Mr Potter. This is healer Vrikt, we’ve already removed the necessary galleons from your vault.”
The third goblin steps forward and Harry looks between goblin and Sirius in a panic. “Why? Why do I need them removed?” He blurts out and Ironclaw seems to have run out of any patience for the wixen taking up his time.
“Your parents requested them removed because spells like these are dangerous, Mr Potter.” Vrikt explains with far more patience. “No one has maintained them for years and they’re surely poisoning you. But for five galleons we can copy the glamour to a ring. The magic will only last for one year however when you wear it, you will look as you do now.”
Harry eagerly agrees.
“Lord Black, you will need to wait here. While we wait you can always fetch Mr Lupin to go over your inheritance.” The Potter accountant says when Sirius tries to stand, and Harry isn’t sure how he feels at having to do this alone. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to face his own nightmare alone, but he really would have preferred the company.
Sirius grabs him in a tight hug that practically swallows him up. “It’s okay, pup. This doesn’t change who you are, yeah, you raise just as much hell as James ever did. You’re still their boy, you’re still my godson, this changes none of it.” Harry nods into Sirius’s chest even if he’s not completely sure he agrees but the goblins impatience causes it to end sooner than he’d like.
Harry follows Vrikt through an absolute labyrinth until he is led into a room completely empty apart from a bench and a plain looking door. “You will need to remove your clothes in here. Beyond that door is a waterfall charmed to remove all spells on anyone who enters.” Vrikt tells him and Harry hesitates before he starts to remove Dudley’s hand-me-downs.
If nothing else, a goblin wouldn’t care about the scars hidden by the too big clothes.
Beyond the door his skin tingles with the magic in the air, so much so that he almost feels drunk on it, but just like the goblin said the cavern holds a waterfall and small lake. Harry is slow to enter because his entire life will fall apart when he does.
The water is strangely lukewarm but even stranger is how it drags him under and keeps dragging him down and sets his skin aflame.
The world is dark and directionless, and he almost wonders if this might have all been an elaborate trick to kill him. Most things, in his experience, tried to kill him.
“I was wondering if I would ever see you.” A warm voice says behind him, or at least he thinks that’s behind, and Harry can suddenly find ground under his feet to turn.
A figure stands there with features that constantly change. “Who are you?” Harry asks and feels stupid for even needing to ask because Hermione would probably know.
The stranger chuckles at him. “A friend. That is all you need to know for now. The water can give a glimpse beyond, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity.”
Harry doesn’t think they’re lying, but Harry has also been deceived by Tom Riddle and his followers for three of his four years in the wizarding world, so he’s not sure if he trusts his own instincts anymore.
“You shouldn’t be so apprehensive about this Hydrus,” The figure tuts and is suddenly so close that Harry almost stumbles back. The shock distracts him for only a few seconds before he actually processes the words and scowls. “My names Harry.”
The stranger looks at him like he’s a particularly interesting specimen to pull apart. “Is it? Out of habit, maybe, but who is Harry? Are you Harry Potter or is Harry Potter a creation of the wizarding world they all feel entitled to?”
For a minute Harry almost finds himself nodding but instead narrows his eyes at the being. “You’re looking inside my head!” He accuses because he’s spent so many nights thinking just that while wallowing in his own bitterness.
There is no shame on the stranger’s face, instead they smile wide at him with too many teeth. “Maybe. Or maybe I know you. Maybe I know you better than you know yourself. What you see, Hydrus, is your world being torn apart. But you’re missing the opportunity this is. Hydrus Black is whoever you want to be. Hydrus Black doesn’t need to live with the Dursleys because there are no blood wards. And Hydrus Black wouldn’t be recognised if he slipped out of Surrey.”
Harry bites his tongue because it’s true. The magical world barely even recognised him by scar most days because, around the time wizards started making money by creating false stories about him, some asshole had claimed his scar was more like a cartoon lightning bolt rather than the sharp thin branches of lightning that take up the left side of his face. No one would recognise him, not if they hadn’t met him yet, and maybe even not then.
“How do you know I’ll look all that different?” Harry counters instead because he is feeling a little spiteful and doesn’t want to agree with someone that won’t even use his name.
The stranger tilts their head. “Think about what I’ve said, Hydrus. I hope it’s some time until we speak again but I look forward to it.”
Bright light assaults his eyes when he opens them, but he prefers it to the white noise in his ears. The magic he had gotten so used to feels like it’s buzzing through him like a giant warm of bees. He feels sick with it and yet he feels better than he has in his entire life. His clothes sit next to him and he’s slow to put them on because his head feels too light.
Still his hands, he thinks, but his skin seems a little darker when he looks closely. The cuts and scars are the same, unchanged, though the clothes don’t feel quite as loose on him now, but he realises why when he finds a waiting mirror.
Harry is small because of the Dursley’s and years of cupboards and only eating scraps, but rather than being scrawny his build is lither now. Shoulders a little broader, natural muscle boosting what he earned through quidditch and manual labour around Privet Drive.
His hairs the same inky black most of the way though it lightens to a dark brown at the ends, it’s even still curly but it’s far from the untameable mess it had been that morning. The curls are closer to the waves of Sirius’s hair than the wild mess in photos of James Potter.
The real change is his face, so dramatic that he pokes himself just to make sure it’s really him. Harry’s really glad Ron wasn’t here to watch him hiss as he pokes himself in the cheek, but he’s also rather sure Ron might have joined in with the poking. His face is sharp with pronounced cheekbones and an even sharper jaw where his face had been rounder before. The same scar cuts down, but it doesn’t seem to take away from his face anymore, adding to the sharpness of his appearance, and he’s thankful he has the same broad nose Petunia hated so much. Harry realises, belatedly, that his glasses aren’t on his face and yet his eyesight is fine.
Had it been the spells? Was that what the goblins meant when they called them poisonous?
The slow realisation might have been because Harry doesn’t want to take in the change of his eyes. He starts slow in taking in the change there, knowing if he rushes in he might be sick, so he takes in how they’re narrower now and angular in a way he assumes must have come from his birth father because he’s reminded of Cho and the Greengrass’s. Definitely the Greengrass’s, he reflects, because he’s sure he heard someone talk about their mother being from Korea while their father was a British pureblood.
Most of all, his eyes are no longer green. That was expected, he knew he probably wouldn’t share Lily Potter’s eyes, but it still startles him most. His right eye is silver, the same kind of silver as Sirius, but lighter in the same way as when the light caught a brand-new sickle. On the left the iris is dark, so dark he’s scared to look closer, and for a moment he thinks it’s as black as a pupil. But no, he couldn’t get that lucky, instead his left eye is burgundy and Harry refuses to think of red eyes looking down on him in the dim light of the graveyard.
Harry refuses to think about it much at all.
The door opens to show an expectant Vrikt and Harry nods, assuming the goblin was just impatient and checking if he was ready. He follows the goblin out. “You were unconscious for rather longer than usual. Did you see anything?” The goblin questions as they walk and Harry coughs in surprise. “You did then. Strange but not surprising considering who you are,” Vrikt considers.
He feels terribly slow but would like to think it’s been because the year has kicked his ass so many times over it was more trouble than it was worth to keep up. “How did you know?” Harry decides to ask.
Vrikt looks at him like they’re not sure he’s worth the time. “The waters properties allow higher beings to connect with us mortals, Mr Potter. There are all manner of higher beings; gods, the pillars of magic, they can all reach out if they choose. It is simply rare they decide anyone is worth their attention. Do you know who you connected with?”
Harry thinks it over but really doesn’t have a clue. “No, but they said we would see each other again.” He doesn’t mention that the being called themselves a friend and claimed to know him, he thinks that should probably stay between them.
A shiver runs through him, goosebumps rising at the back of his neck, when it feels like someone was breathing right behind him. Like someone had chuckled and their cold breath had washed over his skin.
“Strange, but you are far from usual Mr Potter.”
Harry, in a moment of childish spite, pulls a face at the goblins back.
The sound of Remus and Sirius arguing inside drifts into the hallway and they’re so locked into it that they don’t notice the door open. “– Will you two stop arguing if you kiss already?” Harry asks earnestly and Sirius snaps his mouth shut while Remus, ears bright red, genuinely seems to consider the suggestion. Their surprise only lasts a minute because both men stare at him blankly. “Do I have something on my face?” He jokes weakly.
It must snap Sirius out of his daze because his godfather lunges forward to hug him again. “Oh, Harry, you look like a right Black, you know.” Sirius tells him when he finally releases him, though his hands remain on his shoulders, and Harry tries for a grin.
“Heterochromia is even rarer in wizards than it is in muggles.” Remus says with a note of curiosity which makes Harry wonder if his eyes were as striking as his scar.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s trying to insist he can’t take the flat.”
That is exactly the kind of distraction Harry needs so he raises an eyebrow. “So, we’re definitely gonna find a way to make him, right? If we decorate it then he’ll have to accept it so our hard work doesn’t go to waste.” Sirius laughs so hard he throws his head back.
Remus is far less amused, huffing and crossing his arms. “You’re a terrible influence on him.”
Harry considers telling Remus that he gets it. He hates accepting anything after so many years of being denied everything by the Dursleys, if he can’t get it himself it feels awkward to accept and some days he doubts he deserves anything at all, but he doesn’t think it would help if he admitted that.
“Seeing as we are going to be dealing with the glamour ring today, it would be a suitable time to deal with Mr Potter’s heirship rings.” Ironclaw says though he verges on murderous and Harry feels a wave of sympathy for the goblin if he’d had to sit through Sirius and Remus bickering the entire time.
Keeping in mind the goblin seemed ready to face the consequences of killing his clients, Harry shrugs and quickly finds a seat. Three ring boxes sit on the table. “This is the Potter heir ring; I assume that will be your primacy preference. This will go on your right index finger. The next is the Black heir ring now that Lord Black has formalised his request. That will go on your right middle finger. The glamour ring, finally, will go on your left index finger and will be invisible whilst you wear it.”
Harry admires both heirship rings before slipping them on, the metal heating up before shrinking to fit, and hurries to slip on the glamour ring. When it slides on his finger, he feels the magic wash over him, the image of the ring seeming to ripple before vanishing from sight despite still feeling heavy on his hand.
“Will you still be going ahead with the blood adoption today or shall we conclude our business?”
“As long as you want to, Harry. I told you, this doesn’t change anything. You’re my family, still my pup.” Sirius encourages him, not even pausing in his offer, and Harry’s eyes sting a little.
“He’s right, you’re still our pup.” Remus adds pointedly, making Sirius stick out his tongue childishly in response, and Harry’s smile feels real for the first time all day at the glimpse of how carefree the two friends used to be. If they could still be here, able to joke and smile, then there was hope for him too despite everything going on.