"Mama! I think it would be cool to have a serial killer uncle! Can't we keep him?"
"No!"
"I think," Lily said sagely. "That if our deaths were avenged - if you did something about Peter, if we knew Harry was being taken care of by two loving parents, then your father and I would be able to fully pass on." James turned to her and gave a much less endearing version of Harry's puppy dog eyes.
"Please," Harry begged. "It's been such a dull summer, and he's family. Let's at least help him get back on his feet, I think he was eating out of garbage bins as a dog."
"He's Harry's godfather, you can trust him," James said. "And we just haunted most of the Death Eaters in Azkaban for you. At least help him clear his name."
Family and blood ties meant little to Alabasandria. She didn't understand how Sirius Black being his godfather meant much of anything in terms of trust, he hadn't seen Harry since he was an infant. There was simply no guarantee he'd be able to handle the Dark magic he was bound to be exposed to living in their house. He'd fainted at the mere sight of ghosts, after all. But she could always obliviate, she reminded herself.
And anyway, she knew when she had been outvoted, and it was the right thing to do, to allow Harry's birth parents to rest. It was one of those nebulous necromancy things. Sometimes lost spirits found them and asked for help moving on. Certainly, after all they'd done to assist (and had been pulled from the beyond against their will in the first place) it was the least they could do. Even if it made her house smell of wet dog.
"He's not living here. But he can stay until the Weasleys are back in the country. Not a second more."
...
Sirius woke slowly. He was rested. Peaceful. He felt the sun against his face and he was warm. When he breathed, his lungs did not rattle in his chest. He'd had the strangest dream. Sirius realized he'd woken with tears in his eyes to the fading image of James and Lily helping him lay down, tucking him in under a soft blanket. James' ghostlike kiss lingered on his forehead. When was the last time he'd had a dream that wasn't a nightmare? Even after his escape, they haunted him. Wiping away his tears, he finally opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar living room, tucked into soft afghans. Blearily, he noticed a sharp-faced woman across from him, the woman from his dream. She looked up from her book and regarded him with a cross expression.
"I'm not pleased you lied to my son and played at being an innocent dog, that was weird. But Harry is interested in getting to know you, so you may stay until you get back on your feet. We'll alert the Weasleys as soon as they return to handle the Pettigrew business, and then you will leave. For now, I highly recommend you take a shower. You still look rather homeless." Sirius frowned, unable to speak in his confusion. How much had been a dream and how much reality? Had he gone mad and hallucinated his dead brother or had he simply passed out from hunger and sickness and imagined the whole thing in his mind?
"Right," he finally said. "Thanks." He definitely wanted to get up and shower, but the warmth was hard to leave. "Who are you? I mean no disrespect, but you're not who I was expecting to be Harry's new mum."
"Alabasandria Adams. I did not originally have custody of the boy, but he did not like his old home so he came to live with me."
"Who did he live with before?"
"I believe it was his relatives from his mother's side. Muggles."
Sirius winced. That had to mean Petunia Evans. He'd only had the displeasure of meeting Petunia once, at Lily's wedding. He hoped the boy hadn't been stuck with her long.
"Well, thank you for taking him in."
"Mhm. He's an easy child to care for, although he has a big heart for stray animals."
"I apologize for that. Being a wanted criminal and all, I didn't want to frighten him."
"We'll say the malnourishment and prison time clouded your judgment. Now, you seriously need a shower. Harry has replaced all the chickens you've eaten, so when you are done we'll have lunch. First door on the left. Feel free to shave that beard." She returned to her book. Sirius could take a hint and very begrudgingly began to unwrap himself from the couch. It was easier than he'd expected. Clearly in the time between him falling unconscious and now, he'd been healed. Although it would take more than a few potions to fix the damage a decade in Azkaban had done to his body. When he arrived at the bathroom, he did not want to look in the mirror. Instead, he focused on preparing the shower and laughing at the empty bottle of shampoo Harry had wasted trying to get the mats out of his fur. But he wanted to see the damage.
Huh. Weird.
Sirius did not recognize the man in front of him. On one hand, he looked normal. His muscles had recovered from atrophy, his stomach wasn't sunken in, and his eyes weren't bulging from chronic dark circles. He looked perfectly healthy, hell he looked and felt like he hadn't gone to Azkaban at all. The constant stabbing hunger he'd long since grown accustomed to was gone. All signs of his imprisonment were gone except for the untrimmed beard, matted long hair, and faded prisoner's uniform.
He was wearing an odd, antique-looking amulet around his neck that he had not been wearing before he passed out. He took a look at the runes and the hints of blood around their edges and decided to ignore it all.
Sirius took a very long shower, shaved, and transfigured his rags into something a little more presentable. When he stepped out, Harry was there to lead him into the kitchen, and Sirius refused to let the increasing amount of Very Weird Shit distract him from his godson.
Sirius took a seat at the table and admired the gnome-themed tablecloth for a moment before his gaze returned to Harry. He really didn't want to be weird, but it hadn't fully kicked in yet that his godson was right here. All the trouble, pain, and hardship was worth even a single moment in his presence. Harry offered him a massive chicken sandwich and they tucked in to eat without haste.
"Obviously you noticed," Alabasandria said once they'd finished, "that your physical wounds have healed. It's very difficult to account for the long-lasting effects of dementor exposure so you'll have to take a potion at least once a day until you regain some of your sanity." She handed him a bottle he recognized as a type of calming draught.
"Are you a healer? I feel good as new." That sounded, he hoped, appropriately not suspicious of the obviously illegal magic used to heal him.
"No, I'm just a Potion's Master. I've studied some unique healing techniques however." He nodded. Alright, he wasn't in a position to ask too many questions, just roll with it, Sirius.
"Do you like potions, Mr. Black? I really like potions and defense. And Quidditch - do you like Quidditch?" Harry asked. It was hard for Sirius to remain on guard when his happy, eager godson seemed perfectly fine and normal.
"Well, I'm alright with potions, though it never interested me much. Defense is fun and useful too but transfiguration was always my favorite subject. I used to play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with your dad. And please don't call me Mr. Black. We don't need to be formal, we're family. Sirius is fine."
"We should play some Quidditch! This summer has been so boring -"
"It has been boring because you're grounded, young man!" Alabasandria said. "No fun until your birthday."
"We'll play after she hides away in her office to work," Harry whispered loudly.
....
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