Hazard: Confidence & Anger Issues

by blckcherrybrooke (apolloissobbing)

Summary:

Harry Potter is given to a Catholic Orphanage at seven years old, leading to Dumbledore not being able to find him until what would have been his third year. Remus Lupin takes him in, and now Harry must attend Hogwarts to learn to control his magic, which had a worse temper than him, while struggling with anger issues, trauma of multiple subcategories, and a homoerotic friendship(?) with Theodore Nott.

Did he mention his godfather, technically blood-adopted father, has broken out of Azkaban to kill him?

Notes:

HI!!! I should probably be writing my other fic but I have Harry Potter brainrot so here this is!

The first chapter contains mentions and a short scene of child abuse, child sexual abuse, and dissociation. All chapters will have content warnings in the begining notes and if any warnings need to be added please tell me in the comments!

Chapter 1: Talking to Snakes Results in Religious Trauma

For as long as Harry Potter could remember, his Aunt and Uncle drilled into him that one sign of ‘freakish’ behavior would land him in an orphanage. He had been so careful, so good, yet it wasn’t enough. He had an uncanny memory, even if some memories didn’t make sense to him. If he read something once, he would remember it forever. As such, he still remembers the night he was sent off to St. Lucy’s Orphanage. 

He was seven years old, with wide green eyes and wild black hair that had a shocking streak of white sprouting from his hairline, just above his scar. Aunt Petunia had him doing yardwork outside, and the summer heat made his glasses slip off his nose now and again as he worked. A garter snake had come up to him, with wide black eyes. 

“What’s such a little human doing such laborious work?” The snake hissed at him. Harry gaped in shock.

“Did you just speak?!” He asked in a half-whisper. 

The snake’s eyes widened. “ You can understand me?!” 

“What in God’s name are you doing?!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice startled him. She grabbed him by the wrist with her bony fingers, hard enough to bruise. “I should’ve known you would turn out to be a freak like your mother!” She seemed almost frantic as she dragged him inside. She threw him on the kitchen floor as she pulled out their phone book.

“I won’t stand for it! Not in my house!” She barked out, dialing a number into the rotary phone. Harry couldn’t hear much after that. He had drifted away from his body in fear of Aunt Petunia giving him a whipping. It was her preferred form of punishment, though he’d take it any day over Uncle Vernon’s beatings or being locked in the cupboard.

The next thing he knew, he was in his cupboard, and Aunt Petunia shouted through the door. “Pack your things, boy! Vernon will drive you to the orphanage when he gets back from work!”

He should have panicked. The Dursleys were the only family he had. Yet he felt oddly numb as he realized he didn’t have much to pack at all. All he had was a few hand-me-downs from Dudley, his shoes (which were on his feet already), a leather-bound sketchbook and matching journal, a necklace with a pendant and two wedding rings on it that had been left with him as a baby, and his Walkman with his single The Cure mixtape. (Dudley had gotten a new one recently, so it was going to be thrown in the trash. Harry had fished it out when no one was looking. The mixtape was from a garage sale, and he had happened to know that Aunt Petunia hated The Cure.)

Thinking about it, Harry was almost excited to be leaving the Dursleys. At least he wouldn’t have to clean up after them anymore. 

True to his Aunt’s words, the door to his cupboard opened shortly after he heard the front door open and the sounds of Uncle Vernon’s thunderous footsteps. Vernon smirked, satisfied and cruel, “It’s a right relief to be getting rid of a freak like you!” He grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him out of the cupboard and to the car. 

“You’ll be going to a respectable Catholic Orphanage. Maybe there they can get the Devil out of you!” Vernon sneered from the rearview mirror. 

Harry had been told things like that in the past. 

Petunia would sneer at him and force him into the Confessional booth every Sunday, claiming that he no doubt had sins to confess. He would go with the Dursleys every Sunday, praying that Petunia would let him eat dinner throughout the week, or that Dudley wouldn’t try to shove him around with his friends. His prayers were never answered, so he must have been doing something wrong. Every Sunday, he would beg God to forgive his sins; he would do anything to have his prayers answered. Maybe this was his chance? Were his prayers finally answered?

After a while of driving—the exact amount Harry was unsure of —he had let himself detach again. —They reached a building that was built like a church, but the sign out front read: “St. Lucy’s Orphanage.” 

Vernon dragged him inside, where an older-looking priest was waiting for them.

“His parents were devil worshippers. We tried to raise him properly, but the devil has a deep root within him, Father. I leave him in your capable hands,” Vernon spat. Harry felt numb. He had been told his parents had been devil worshippers his whole life. 

Father…Michael, his name tag read, gave a slightly off-kilter smile that showed a few too many of her teeth. “I understand. We’ll take him off your hands and set him straight, Mr. Dursley.” Vernon nodded and walked out. Father Michael turned to him. “Come along, boy. We need to go over the rules.”

He followed him through the empty corridors. The atmosphere was chill and tense. They came to a dark wooden door, and Father Michael gestured to a plastic chair as he settled behind his desk. 

“I understand, Mr. Potter, that this must be jarring to you, but do try and pay attention. Rule number one: You will pray every day, before every meal. Confession is every Sunday, and I suspect you’ll need it. Rule number two: Sin will not be tolerated in these halls. Rule number three: Respect your elders. Attitude will not be tolerated, nor will back-talk. Rule number four: Fighting with your fellow peers will not be tolerated under any circumstances. Finally, Rule five: Your punishment is your punishment. It will not be changed or lessened. Any attempt at fighting your punishment will only worsen it.” Father Michael’s tone was tight and cold. Harry nodded along as he spoke. It seemed fairly basic. Adhering to the rules shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?

Father Michael led him to a large room where bunk beds lined the walls. Other boys were already sound asleep in them, and Father Michael showed him to an empty bunk, of which he was told to take the top one. 

Harry didn’t bother with changing or brushing his teeth that night, instead letting himself drift to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

How wrong he had been about the orphanage. The first week or so was fine. He didn’t talk to anyone. He instead spent his time doing his assigned chores, drawing, or journaling. It started when he had broken a plate while washing dishes. One of the nuns had dragged him from the kitchen and into an empty room. 

“Take off your shirt, you sinful boy,” She sneered. “Your punishment will be five lashes to the back. That should teach you to be more careful!” Harry hadn’t had any time to truly process what she had said before his punishment had started. It burned. God, it burned. He cried out in pain. 

“There is no crying in the house of God!” She spat, her voice joining the sickening snap of the whip against his back. 

From then on, he learned to be good. He would always mess up, though. His peers didn’t make it any easier, either. A boy his age, Marcus, had a particularly bad temper, and he had a tendency to take it out on the younger children. Harry had been so angry, he threw a rock at him. Not only did this get him ten lashes, but it also turned Marcus and his friend’s ire onto him. Soon enough, an older boy, Connor, had pulled him aside. 

“I’ve seen what you’ve been doing for the younger kids, pissing off Marcus so he doesn’t fuck with them,” Conner spoke in a low tone. “It’s admirable, but stupid. At least, if you’re just his punching bag.” With a smirk, the soon to be seventeen year old pulled out a pocket knife. On it, multiple names were carved in, including Connor’s. “You’re not the first person to want to protect the younger kids. It’s something of a tradition to pass this on before you age out. I have a year left before I’m out of here. In the meantime, I’ll teach you how to survive this place while keeping the pricks that live here. It doesn’t matter that they’re older. All that matters is if they’re scared of you.” 

And through those months, Harry was taught exactly that. Connor drilled into him that his survival was above all else. He had to get out and go on to better things. He learned to fight, and just the right words to get the others off his back. He wasn’t much of a barker, but his peers soon learned that he would bite. Hard. He seemed to have a natural affinity for fighting. The nuns and priests did not like this, naturally, but Harry had grown a bit of a temper. He yelled back. This, of course, got him more lashes and the occasional beating. It was worth it, though, to see their faces heat up with indignation. 

(“You’re a right hazard, is what you are,” Connor barked out a laugh. He was teaching him to fight, and Harry had already beaten Becca, a girl two years younger than him, who had been learning for a bit longer than him.

“Hey! We can shorten his name to Haz!” Becca piped up brightly.)

Somewhere along the way, he had begun to resent God and Catholicism as a whole. How could God’s representatives abuse children? How could God himself not listen to the children in his own home begging to be saved? 

He was brought out of his reminiscing when Marcus, who unfortunately hadn’t aged out yet, yanked his headphones off his head. He didn’t dare try and break his Walkman, not after the last time when Haz had shoved him against the wall and held his knife to his throat. He was sitting in the courtyard, now, enjoying the shade that the willow tree provided him.

“I hear it’s your birthday, Potter.” Marcus sneered. He was turning 13, and yet he still had to deal with Marcus’ shit. “What do you reckon he’ll wish for?” He looked back at the groupies he called friends as they snickered. “Not that it matters, of course. Hey! I got an idea! Why don’t you jump off the roof and relieve us of another year with your idiotic self!” The groupies burst out in laughter. 

Haz glared, looking up at the boy through grown-out, wild black hair with its shocks of white streaks. “It’d be better than spending another year with you. Then again, I don’t think I can escape the stench of you even in the afterlife.” 

Marcus turned red, his face twisting in anger. He went to throw a punch, but Haz dodged out of the way before jumping on top of him and shoving his fist into Marcus’ pudgy face. He got off him as Marcus regained his bearings. The groupies had crowded around him, yelling at Haz in anger. Haz didn’t listen; instead, he grabbed his ratty bookbag that he took with him everywhere. 

Marcus growled in anger, shoving him against the wall despite Haz’s taller stature. “You shut your mouth, Potter !” 

Haz smirked, “I’m starting to wish you would make me.” Before Marcus could get another word out, Haz kneed him in the nuts, causing the boy to fall to the ground with a groan. 

“I really don’t know why you keep doing this, Marky-boy,” Haz sighs mockingly, peering down at him through half-lidded green eyes. “It never ends well for you.” He didn’t wait around for the groupies to try their hand at jumping him or for Marcus’ retaliation. He went inside instead, curling up in the corner of the library while he listened to The Cure on his Walkman and sketched his hand. It made a pretty good reference, with the bandages around his perpetually scabbed knuckles. 

Father Michael walked in after about an hour, beckoning Haz to his office. He was expecting it to be about his fight with Marcus, but was shocked to find an older woman in a dress shirt and slacks waiting for him inside.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” She greeted nueturally. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope you understand why Father Michael is not in the room with us,” She said, her face scrunching as if she’d tasted something sour. He understands the sentiment. Father Michael would’ve started shouting about ‘devil worshippers.’

“Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Haz repeated back skeptically.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I understand you never knew your parents. Is that correct?” She asks. A flash of something crosses her face. Pity, maybe?

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Wixen Society, Wixen being the gender-neutral word for magical folk, is a very carefully kept secret. Magic is very real, Mr. Potter, and your parents had a great deal of it.” She informs carefully. “They were killed when you were a baby, by an extremely dark Wizard who feared their power. He tried to kill you as well.” The reveal forces him to sit down in the plastic chair. Professor McGonagall gives him a sympathetic look. “This did not work out very well, as you can guess. You, Mr. Potter, are the first person in Wixen history to survive what we call the Killing Curse. It is where I presume you get the scar on your forehead, as well as the white strands of hair.” 

Haz breathes in and out deeply. He had always assumed he was a freak, or the product of sin, like the nuns and priests suggested. He carded a hand through his hair. He looked up at McGonagall with wide green eyes. “What does this mean for me?”

“Well, Mr. Potter, you also have magic within you. This means you must learn how to control and wield it. Hogwarts can teach you this. It’s a boarding school in the Scottish Highlands for young wixens such as yourself. Truthfully, you should have joined in your first year, rather than your third, but we couldn’t find you due to your relatives…relinquishing custody of you.” Giving him away, Haz thought with a sneer. “It’s also important to note that you will be tutored on the past two years of classwork you missed.”

Haz was excited at the thought of being away from St. Lucy’s, but another thought dampened his mood. “What about tuition?” He frowned. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t exactly have any funds to my name.” 

McGonagall gave him a look. “While I could argue that you most certainly do, left by your parents, Hogwarts also offers a scholarship to Muggle-born— Muggles are non-magical folk, that is, —or in your case, Muggle- raised wixens.”

Haz let out a shuddering breath, his throat tightening and his eyes stinging suddenly with tears. “My parents left things for me?” 

McGonagall’s face flashed with something warmer. “Of course, Mr. Potter. I could take you as soon as you pack your things to Gringotts to learn more about them, should you wish.” 

Haz choked back the tears threatening to spill over and nodded furiously. “I have all of my things with me in my bookbag already.” He pauses, though. “Can I say goodbye to someone first?” 

McGonagall’s features softened. “Of course, Mr. Potter. I’ll have Father Michael summon them if you give me a name.”

“Rebecca Arncliffe,” Haz muttered. Moments later, a small girl with dark curly hair and big blue eyes ran in. She didn't spare a moment to talk; she immediately crashed into Haz with a bone-crushing hug. Her tears were spilling onto a spot on his shirt, on his stomach. 

Haz kneeled and enveloped the smaller girl in a hug. “Hey, Becca.” Becca was eleven, and she had grown up in the orphanage. Connor had been teaching her to defend herself before he left, and Haz continued it. 

Becca looked up at him through spiky, wet lashes. “I’m going to miss you. Go show those boarding school bastards how much of a hazard you are, Haz.” He let out a wet laugh. 

Haz didn’t want to leave her here, where the priests had wandering hands and the nuns were willfully ignorant, where children acted out in pain. St. Lucy’s Orphanage was not a place where you were raised. It was a place you survived. 

Haz handed her the pocket knife. The same one Connor had given him; he had already carved his name into it. Becca took it with a choked sob. 

“Your survival comes first. Don’t provoke anyone, run away if you’re smart about it.” Haz reminded her. Becca nodded and went in for one final hug before scurrying out of the room.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask about the knife, nor his words.

She flexed her hands around… bloody hell, was that a fucking wand ?! “Well then, Mr. Potter, hold onto my arm and I will apparate us there.”

Haz’s brows scrunched with confusion, though he grabbed onto her anyway. “What’s apparate?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, nearly imperceptible. “ Apparating is a means of magical transportation. It’s quite difficult, and something we don’t teach until the sixth year, but it’s essentially teleporting, as the Muggles call it.” She turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “Hold on tight, lest you want to be ripped apart.”

Chapter 2: A Constant State of What The Fuck and Who The Fuck

Notes:

brief mention of child abuse and neglect, and Harry cuts open his hand for a test

 

Haz didn’t have time to process that warning before the world around him started spinning and his stomach churned painfully. It was over as soon as it started, but he still had to take a moment to catch his breath. 

“Come along, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall beckoned, her dark red robes swooping behind her as she walked. Haz caught up quickly and tried not to gape like an idiot at the sights around him. They were in some sort of alley, and all around him were shops that seemed distinctly magical. Especially with things floating about to and fro, and the people, Wixens, wearing odd clothing and impossibly colored hair. Then again, part of his hair was white. 

Just ahead was a rather large building, made of a beautiful white stone with elegant green accents. It reminded him a bit sorely of the Catholic Cathedrals that St. Lucy’s had required he and his peers visit once a month. At the entrance, McGonagall paused and turned to Haz, who was marveling at the poem carved into the wall and the sign reading: Gringotts: Goblin Bank of Magical Britain. 

“This is Gringotts, Mr. Potter. Nearly all of Magical Britain uses this bank, as the Goblins are not only extremely powerful but also extremely fair and sworn to their ways of maintaining privacy and order.” She explained. “It would do well for you to greet them properly, with a nod of the head, and a ‘Well met. ’” Haz nodded once, and she started her way inside. He copied her slight head bow to the guards— Bloody goblins . They were half his size, yet fucking terrifying— and they returned in kind. 

The building inside was somehow larger than it looked, with beautiful marble floors and the same green accenting. Though this time, he spotted gold just about everywhere. Towards the back of the room was a multitude of desks, each occupied by a Goblin that seemed busy at work. McGongall led him to the closest desk. On it, there was a shiny gold plate engraved with the name “Whippingsnap.” 

The goblin looked up and raised his eyebrow just barely. “How may I help you, Ms…?” He drawled. 

“Minerva McGonagall. Well met. I’m here to escort Heir Potter in accessing his vault and partaking in an inheritance test.” Haz graciously did not freak out upon hearing ‘Heir Potter’ and instead nodded to Whippingsnap with a mumbled ‘well met.’

The Goblin’s eyes narrowed before grumbling, “Very well, I shall escort you to the Potter Account Manager’s office.” He stood from his desk and led them through the vast corridors, up five flights of stairs, and to the very end of a hallway. 

“He’ll be with you shortly,” Whippingsnap said with something between a sneer and a grin on his face before leaving with a resounding pop. 

The door in front of them was an expensive-looking oak, with gold detailing worked into it and a name and title engraved.

High Prince Ironblood of Goblin Nation

Potter & Peverell Family Accounts Manager

Haz studied the door with a carefully crafted mask of boredom. Internally? He was freaking the fuck out. His family’s bank account, which in itself was a surprise; he had never had money; he was an orphan for fuck’s sake, was managed by the supposed ‘High Prince’ of such a terrifying group of beings? 

Just before Haz could properly spiral, the door creaked open and a gravelly voice muttered, “Come in.”

McGonagall led the pair in and sat in one of the chairs, motioning for Haz to take the other. On the desk, a golden name plate read: ‘Ironblood.’

“Heir Potter, well met.” Ironblood’s face was split between smiling and baring teeth. 

“Well met, High Prince Ironblood.” Haz internally let out a sigh of relief when Ironblood seemed satisfied at the way he had addressed him. 

“Are you aware we have been trying to contact you for many years? Had we not checked and found that there was a mail ward placed on you, I’d think you were ignoring me.” Ironblood informed seriously. 

McGonagall seemed to find this extremely strange. “Mail wards?” 

“Yes, all his mail was redirected to a private vault under a seemingly false name. We’ve been investigating for a very long time, and we hope we’re close to the truth.” The Goblin sighed and pulled out two pieces of parchment, a dagger, a small glass bowl, and a glass pipette. “Now, we must verify your identity, and I recommend undergoing an inheritance test to evaluate your assets.” 

Haz thought that seemed beneficial and nodded. 

“Slice your palm with the dagger and pour your blood into the bowl,” Ironblood instructed. Haz did as he said. McGonagall seemed faintly queasy at the sight of blood, but Haz had gotten used to seeing it while at St. Lucy’s. 

“That’s enough,” Ironblood muttered and took Haz’s hand into his own. His wrinkled and clawed hand hovered over Haz’s still-gushing cut, and with a rush of warmth, the cut sealed with not so much of a scar. Ironblood used the glass pipette and filled it with Haz’s blood before dropping exactly three drops onto each sheet of parchment. His identity test formed first, his blood bled into the page and spread out into ink, and Ironblood handed it to Haz wordlessly once he read it over. 

Name: Harry Hyacinth Potter-Black

 

• Significant Emotional Tie to the name “Haz.”

 

Date of Birth: July 31st, 1980

Parents: 

 

• James Fleamont Potter (Father - deceased)

• Lily Rowena Evans (Mother - deceased)

• Sirius Orion Black Ⅲ (Blood-adopted Father - incarcerated in Azkaban)

• Alice Illiana Longbottom, nee Biswick (Blood-adopted Mother - deceased)

 

Godparents: 

 

• Alice Illiana Longbotto, nee Biswick (Godmother - unfit)

• Francis Arcus Longbottom (Godfather via bond with S.O. Biswick - unfit)

• Sirius Orion Black Ⅲ (Godfather - incarcerated in Azkaban)

• Remus John Lupin (Godfather via Bond with S.O. Black - living)

 

Current Magical Guardian: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Magic & Familial Lines:

 

• Potter (by J.F. Potter)

• Peverell (by J.F. Potter via descent)

• Ravenclaw (by L.R. Evans via Squib Line Inheritance)

• Black (by S.O. Black Ⅲ)

• Longbottom (by A.I. Longbottom)

• Gaunt (by Rite of Conquest)

• Slytherin (by Rite of Conquest)

• Monroe (willed by Lady Maia Monroe via Rite of Avengance)

 

Haz’s knuckles whiten in his grip of the parchment. He had known his parents' names, though only because of their wedding bands, which hung heavier from his neck now. He had an alive godfather. (step-godfather? The concept of two men marrying was not news to him, but he hadn’t expected it to be legal in Wixen Society.)

“Who’s– I am not reading that entire name. Who’s Dumbledore?” Haz’s face scrunches.

McGonagall’s eyebrows raised, and her eyes widened behind her square-shaped glasses. “Surely you met him before you were sent to St. Lucy’s Orphanage?” At Haz’s insistence that he hadn’t, Ironblood interrupts. 

“Grand Sorcerer Dumbledore is listed as your Magical Guardian, meaning he should’ve met with you at least once a month. I shall contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and your rightful guardian, Mister Lupin.” He turned his focus to Haz’s Inheritance Test. “In the meantime, I would recommend you read over the results of your Inheritance Test before we talk over any further steps.” Haz nodded and grabbed hold of the parchment. 

Name: Harry Hyacinth Potter-Black

 

• Significant Emotional Tie to the name “Haz.”

 

Inherited Magical Abilities: 

 

• Metamorphagus Magic (through Black Line)[100% block placed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore]

• Parslemagic (through Slytherin & Peverell Lines)[70% block placed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Only Parseltongue ability available.]

• Fire Magic Control and Invulnerability (through Lily Rowena Evans’ individual talent)[ 5% block placed by Lily Rowena Evans]

• Animagus Form (through James Fleamont Potter & Sirius Orion Black Ⅲ)[specific form unknown]

• Poison Resistance, especially from snakes and Magical Creatures (through Slytherin & Peverell Lines)

• Magical Connection to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (through Slytherin & Ravenclaw Lines) [70% block placed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore]

• Clairvoyance & Clairaudience (through Maia Monroe)[70% block placed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore]

 

See Attached Parchment for Inherited Property.

Inherited Vaults: 

 

• Potter

• Peverell

• Ravenclaw

• Black

• Slytherin

• Gaunt

• Monroe

 

Haz wanted to fucking scream. 

Ironblood turned to McGonagall with an impassive stare. “As you are in no way related to Heir Potter, please exit the room while we discuss private matters.”

McGonagall wanted to protest, but as she saw Haz run a hand through his hair, she wisely chose to exit. 

“None of this makes sense. I don’t even know what half of these words mean. ” Haz let out a hysterical laugh after a moment of silence. “I found out magic was real an hour ago.” His eyes burn, and his face feels flush and hot. “Who the fuck does this Dumbledore guy think he is, blocking my magic almost completely!?” 

Ironblood had a firm grimace on his face. “My worry, little Heir, is that he’s placed other blocks and enchantments.” Haz almost pales at the thought. “If you’d consent, I can use the remaining blood to perform a Diagnostic spell to find other blocks, enchantments, and ailments.” 

Haz nodded, and when he saw the result, all the glass in the office shattered as his magic prickled on his skin violently. Ironblood barely blinked and waved a hand to fix the damage. Among the known blocks, there were:

 

• Horcrux attached to Soul (placed by Tom Malvaro Riddle a.k.a. Voldemort)

• 30% block on Magical Core (self-placed to compensate for Horcrux)

• 20% block on Magical Core (5% placed by birth parents, 15% placed by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

• 70% block on learning Potions (placed by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

• 55% block on learning History of Magic (placed by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

• 15% block on learning Charms (placed by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

• 10% block on learning Transfiguration (placed by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

• Protective Blood Magic (placed by Lily Rowena Evans)

• Anti-Allergy Potion to Pumpkin (administered by A.P.L.B. Dumbledore)

 

“So, what does this mean? For me,” Haz asked with wide eyes. 

“Blocks placed by parents are fairly common, and they will fade as you learn magic. They’re mainly for safety purposes.” Ironblood explained with impassive patience. “The blocks against learning placed by Grand Sorcerer Dumbledore, however, are extremely irregular and considered Line Theft. Furthermore, I am most concerned with the Horcrux attached to your Soul.” 

“Right, what the fuck is that?” Haz quite liked that Ironblood didn’t so much as blink at his admittedly crude language. 

“A Horcrux is a piece of another’s soul. It’s an extremely dark branch of magic and does not come without consequences.” The room seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature with the information. 

“Riddle was the man who killed my parents.” It wasn’t a question. Haz knew. Something in him screamed in acknowledgement. Ironblood only nodded.

“We can perform a Cleansing Ritual to remove the Horcrux and the blocks put upon you.”

Haz raised an eyebrow skeptically, “For a price, I assume?” 

Ironblood’s face stretched into a satisfied grin with far too many teeth, “Obviously.” 

“Right then,” Haz sighed, “How long will it take? Should I tell McGonagall?” 

“Yours will take an irregularly long amount of time, a few hours at best.” Ironblood started writing on a piece of parchment and slid it into a box on top of his desk. “I shall tell Ms. McGonagall that we have private matters to address, and that she can meet back with you here at about 5 o’clock.” Haz nodded, and Ironblood stood and walked out, leaving him to stew in his thoughts.

He wanted to learn everything. He wanted to learn about his parents and meet his godfather. He wanted to punch Dumbledore in the nose. He wanted , and the concept felt foreign to him. At the Dursleys, he had been raised to be grateful for the bare minimum. At St. Lucy’s, he learned to be content with what he could get; to keep his head down and never shoot for more. Now? Now he had options, he had funds, he had things to do and learn. The yearning inside him was barely constrained. He felt the seams of his carefully crafted mask tearing. 

Ironblood came back through the door and beckoned him, “Come along, little Heir, the Healers are expecting us.” Haz nodded and followed, bringing his bookbag along with him out of habit. 

Ironblood led him down the corridor and into a lift where he turned a dial to the ‘Sublevel 6: Healing and Cleansing Springs.’ Haz was prepared for an awkward, silent ride. He was not prepared for the lift to move at neck-breaking speeds downwards. Haz grabbed onto the nearest railing on instinct. They met the level with a thud and the stirring of dust. 

Another Goblin greeted them softly, dressed in white and blue cloth with a golden symbol of a serpent entwined staff stitched on the chest. “High Prince Ironblood, Heir Peverell, well met. I am Head Healer Bloodconquest.” 

The acknowledgment towards him as a Peverell shook Haz, though he managed a meek, “Well met.” Ironblood said the same, and Bloodconquest (seriously, what were these names?) led them into a room with a medical bed and candles decorating the walls. 

“You’ll be put to sleep for convenience's sake during the Cleansing,” Bloodconquest informed rather softly. Haz tensed at the prospect of being asleep and vulnerable near two strangers, but Ironblood had proven himself trustworthy, if a bit money-motivated.

 

—

 

Remus Lupin was having a fairly exhausting day, with the full moon being just two days prior. He was nursing a mug of hot chocolate when two letters were delivered. One was from Minerva, and the other from Gringotts. Minerva sending a letter didn’t seem very odd; he was going to work with her at Hogwarts for the next year, but the Gringotts letter was a bit peculiar. 

Dear Remus,

We’ve found Harry. Dumbledore sent me to explain everything to him and bring him to Hogwarts, but I found he thought he had no funds whatsoever. He was in an orphanage in Muggle London. The state of the place seemed fine from the outside, but he displayed rather concerning behaviour, along with giving a young girl a knife of all things, with multiple names carved into it to ‘protect herself’ in his words. 

I took him to Gringotts, and there I learned even more. Dumbledore hadn’t checked in on Harry not once. There was also a Mail Ward placed on him and multiple magical blocks. I was led out of the room for legal reasons, but I trust the Goblins to take care of him until I pick him back up at five, upon his request. 

I’m terrified, Remus. He was sporting bandages on his hands, a split lip, and many bruises. He reminds me of Sirius painfully so. Though I must admit he has Lily’s temper, and her eyes. 

It was revealed that you are his Godfather through your relationship with Sirius. I refuse to send him back to that decrepit place, and I don’t like the thought of giving him over to Dumbledore after what he’s done, or rather what he hasn’t. 

He’s yours, Remus. By law and Magic. Please respond as soon as possible. 

Minerva McGonagall.

 

Remus’s throat tightened painfully, his eyes flashing a dangerous amber. Moony hovered close to the surface, howling and clawing inside. His nephew (his cub ) abused, escaping, and passing protection onto someone younger. It really was painfully like Sirius. And Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore, who had assured him Harry would be safe while he grieved. Dumbledore, who told him that Harry wanted nothing to do with him. Dumbledore, who had sent him on missions that tore him away from James, Lily, and Sirius. Dumbledore, whom he trusted. Dumbledore had hurt his cub through his inaction. 

His. Harry was his through Law and Magic.

He tore open the letter from Gringotts at the reminder.

 

Remus J. Lupin,

We’ve been trying to contact you since the death of James F. Potter and Lily R. Potter, nee Evans, as well as the incarceration of Sirius O. Black Ⅲ. We were intercepted by what we now understand as Mail Wards. We at Gringotts will be investigating who placed them and will take action. 

In light of the Potters’ deaths, not only were you granted custody of their son, Harry H. Potter, but also of multiple properties. See attached parchment for clarification.

Furthermore, by the will of Sirius O. Black Ⅲ, you are the Lord of the Noble & Most Ancient House of Black upon his incarceration. 

Attached to this parchment are all of Gringotts’ records on your ward, Harry J. Potter.

Please arrange a meeting with High Prince Ironblood (The Potter’s Account Manager) and Bonecrusher (The Black’s Account Manager) at your earliest convenience.

– Gringotts: Goblin Bank of Magical Britain 

 

What. The fuck. Remus fell back and gripped onto his kitchen counter, cracking it under his strength. ‘ I wonder who could’ve placed the Mail Wards,’ he thought vindictively. Dumbledore had likely been behind it. 

And Sirius. Remus tried to avoid thinking of him most days. It hurt too much to think about the man who may as well have had part of his very soul, and probably always would. The man who had gotten the Potters killed and orphaned his own nephew. (A part of him whispered in his mind: If Dumbledore had already lied about so much, could he have been lying about Sirius?)

Remus needed to get up and get his shit together. If he was reading between the lines correctly, he’d have an abused thirteen-year-old boy with Lily Evans’ temper. (And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?)

His magic moved about his apartment on instinct, cleaning his space as he went to his room to clean himself up. He had so much to do and so little preparation time. 

Notes:

hello >:) I don't have much to say other than I already have the next chapter written and it'll be released in two days!

Chapter 3: Sadness, Boredom, New Things, and Implied Homosexuality

Notes:

references/implications to past child abuse

When Haz woke, he found that his joints no longer ached, and neither did the bruises that covered his skin.

“Take it slowly, little Heir.” Bloodconquest scolded him softly from her post by the side of the bed. “Your Cleansing took almost five hours; that’s a record!” Bloodconquest handed him a vial of orange liquid, a mirror, and a piece of chocolate. “You’re lucky it was performed by Goblin magic, weak Wixen magic would never be able to take care of it all!” 

Haz downed the orange liquid without question and nibbled on the chocolate to soothe the burning in his throat afterwards. He lifted the mirror and stared in awe. 

The cuts and bruises on his face had been healed, and his scar was no longer an angry red but a faint white line. He was also fairly pale. He still had his white streaks, but the texture of his hair had softened out, less coarse and frizzy and more smooth and wavy. His face had also changed, though not by much. His features had sharpened, making him look a bit like a fox. He had a birthmark under his left eye, and freckles lightly dusted his nose bridge and cheekbones. His eyes were still the pale green they’d always been, much to his satisfaction.

“You’ve gained some height and weight, as well.” Bloodconquest intoned, “You’ve shot up to 175 cm, and you can expect to grow more as you get older.” She gestured to a full-length mirror on the other side of the room, and sure enough, he had grown a bit taller. He was on the leaner side, now, opposed to his usual skinny frame. 

“You best be on your way, Heir Peverell, High Prince Ironblood still has a bit to discuss with you!” She told him, shooing him out the door. 

 

—

 

“The final matters we shall discuss are your heir status, the status of your vaults, and your volatile new magic,” Ironblood tells him dryly. 

“Volatile new magic?” Haz’s nose scrunches at the thought. 

“Fire magic, which you’ve inherited through your mother, is volatile, yes.” Ironblood sighs. “I will send you some books on the subject. You must learn to control it lest you put fire to someone while arguing.” Haz winces. That would be…bad. He already had enough trouble with his temper. “I shall also send you information on your Metamorphagus Magic and Anamagi. As for the matter of your heir status, you are now the sole heir to many powerful, ancient lineages.” 

“Right,” Haz muttered. “What does that entail, exactly?” 

“Many things, but most of all, Political and Societal standing. You are what the Wixen world calls ‘High Society.’ You’re something of a celebrity, as well. You have multiple seats in the Wizengamot— think of the Muggles’ British Parliament— and also, might I say, extensive wealth. You are Heir to five Ancient and Noble families, as well as heir to two of the Hogwarts founders.” 

Haz…tries to follow along with that. He’s basically Wixen royalty. What the fuck. Him?! Harry “Hazard” Potter?! With his spiky black hair, his temper, and his insistence on carrying a knife with him everywhere? The idea is laughable. He has seats in Wixen Parliament. He might faint. 

Ironblood clears his throat, “Most of the lines you inherited are quite self-explanatory. Potter, Ravenclaw, Black, and Peverell through blood, and Slytherin and Gaunt through the Rite of Conquest. It’s the Monroe line that is the outlier.” The goblin’s tone shifted, more serious as he spoke, “You see, the Monroes were killed off very early on in the war. In the last living Lady’s will, Maia Monroe stated that the Monroe vaults would remain in stasis until they are rightfully avenged. When you, albeit accidentally, defeated Voldemort, you avenged the Monroe Line.” 

“Alright,” Haz resisted a sigh. He could already feel the headache coming on. “I assume I have to do something, then?”

“Very insightful, little Heir.” Ironblood grinned, satisfied. “You will need to take the Monroe line through blood, similarly to how you are a Black.” 

He hesitated slightly, “And how, exactly, would I do that?”

“A blood ritual.” Haz blinked. Once, twice.

“Let’s schedule that for another day,” He trailed off slightly. God knows he had enough going on today.

“Very well, little Heir.” Ironblood nodded, writing on a piece of parchment and putting it into a box that sat on his desk. “Your Heir-ship jewelry shall be brought over now, and then I will escort you to your vaults.”

Haz expected to wait in awkward silence, but thankfully, there was a knock on the door before it could take root. A prim-looking goblin walked in with two silk pillows in his hand. He sat them down and quickly hightailed out of the room. Odd. 

Sat on the pillows were some of the most gorgeous and expensive-looking pieces of jewelry Haz had ever seen, let alone owned. 

Ironblood, either unaware or uncaring of his stunned awe, simply picked up a dark bronze ring. “The Potter Heir ring,” Ironblood handed it to him, and Haz twirled it around his fingers while the goblin explained, “has a plethora of protection charms, as well as an innate sense for danger.” 

The ring fit Haz’s right ring finger perfectly. It was beautifully detailed and carved to look like antlers wrapping around one another. 

The Black Heir ring was next, and Haz settled the dark silver, almost black, band onto his right index finger. A rush of cold went through his body, buzzing on his skin. He fought it slightly, and the feeling ebbed back into the ring. He let out a soft exhale. It was intricately carved with swirling, jagged patterns and a star engraved onto the middle.

The Peverell ring was after that, and upon it sliding onto his left middle finger, a rush of warmth flowed through him. Unlike with the Black ring, the feeling was comforting, welcoming. The ring was a plain silver, with an odd symbol carved into it. A triangle with a circle inside of it, and inside of that, a thin line. 

Lastly was the Monroe ring. Privately, Haz thought it was the prettiest, something Becca would no doubt adore. It was silver with barely noticeable engravings and a light blue jewel laid in the middle. He slid it onto his pinky, and it buzzed with electrifying energy. 

“Unfortunately, the Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gaunt rings have been lost,” Ironblood said with a near sneer. Haz could imagine that would be a bit of a sore spot for the goblins, who prided themselves on privacy and order. “Now, I shall show you to your vaults and you can be on your way.” 

The vaults were plentiful, and Haz, who had grown up pickpocketing people on the streets so he could buy himself and Becca some actual hygiene products, nearly fainted. 

In the Potter Vault, he had found two journals. One belonged to James Fleamont Potter, his father, and the other to Fleamont Henry Potter, his grandfather. He had little shame in admitting that he had nearly cried when he found an entry featuring swirly penmanship belonging to one Lily R. Evans. 

The only thing he had found worth noting in the Black vault was a bloody moving picture of who he assumed to be James, his father, Lily, his mother, Sirius, his godfather, and a boy with brunette hair and scars littering his face planting a kiss on Sirius’ flushed cheek. On the back was a note written by Sirius, presumably. 

 

Ostara 1977! Moony (Rems), Padfoot (yours truly), Prongs (Jamie), and Buds (Lils)

We’re missing Wormtail because he just had to go home this break. 

 

Ironblood mercifully didn’t say anything about his tears falling onto the picture before he gently put it in his back pocket. 

The Peverell Vault was probably the most beneficial to Haz’s current situation. On the side of the vault were shelves filled with wands. 

“The Peverells were wandmakers, and they left them for future generations,” Ironblood explained dutifully. “Perhaps you should acquire one here, rather than buy one at a later date.” 

“How do I choose?” 

“Run your hand across the shelves, you’ll see,” Ironblood instructed wistfully. 

He did as instructed, if a bit skeptically. He really should have expected a wand to fly into his hand halfway through. The first word that came to him when a dark-wooded wand with a purple jewel at the bottom of it fell into his hand was a breathless, “Perfect.” 

Haz twirled it in his hands just as dark black mist shot out of it, swirling around him. From the shade, a dog took form and tackled him, licking at Haz’s face. He couldn’t help the childish giggle that burst from him. When the shade dissipated, he was left slightly breathless on the floor with a grin on his face. 

His wand (His!) really was perfect. It was long and slender, and the nearly black wood wrapped around itself. On the bottom, nearly unnoticeable, was a purple jewel with white specks in the shape of a star. 

Attached to it was a note. 

 

Hello little Peverell!!! I am Atticus Peverell, and I made this wand. It is 11 inches and made with a blend of Alder and Holly wood. The core is the most interesting, though. Grimm hair. It took forever to get my hands on it. There are only about ten of them in existence. Well, as I’m writing this, that is. On the bottom is an Amethyst as a focus jewel. Have fun with your new wand, little one. 

 

Haz wasn’t quite affected by that news. He didn’t know shit about wands. He liked it, though. It was pretty and shiny, and something about it just screamed his. He grabbed a handful of galleons (or at least that’s what Ironblood had called them. They just looked like gold coins to him.) and left the vault. 

“Can I expect you on the 5th of June for your acceptance of the Monroe Line?” Ironblood confirmed as he walked Haz out of the building and to Professor McGonagall.

“Should be fine,” Haz hummed. 

“Shall we go to Ollivander’s for a wand, first, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked softly. 

“No need,” Haz smirked, taking out his wand. 

 

—

 

Theo Nott was having a fairly boring day. Last term, his father had started to imply that if Theo showed no interest in any of the pureblood girls in his year that he would start looking into marriage contracts, so Theo had started to hang around Daphne Greengrass. 

They both knew very well they were only around each other to appease their families, and while Daphne was sly and mildly interesting, she was only a means to an end.

It made their time together almost unbearably boring.

He wanted to claw his skin off when his father suggested the two of them spend time shopping for the new term in Diagon Alley.

They had arrived at Flourish and Blotts when Daphne was swept into a conversation with the notoriously insufferable Pansy Parkinson and the barely tolerable Tracey Davis, and Theo had run. He was not ashamed to admit it.

He was going over to grab his new Potions textbook when he saw him. A boy, around Theo’s age, with black shaggy hair and white streaks running through it.

He was curled up next to a window between two bookshelves. He was reading something, of which the title Theo couldn’t make out. He found himself paying far too much attention to the boy’s hands. They were the same milky pale as the rest of his face, but they had pen drawings all over. Stars and swirls covered every inch. 

Theo couldn’t stop staring. 

And then the boy looked up. His eyes, a bright pale green, visible through his round glasses, met his dark amber. He raised an eyebrow, and the black in his hair turned to a deep, blood red. Theo felt himself flush when the boy smirked. So, of course, right before he worked up the confidence to go up to him, Daphne remembered his presence and swept him away.

Theo didn’t get to see the boy’s calculating gaze before he was dragged out. 

And later, while Parkinson is droning on about something at Fortescue’s, and he eats a Mint ice cream, he’s abruptly reminded of the boy’s eyes. 

 

—

 

Remus is panicking. He’s mature enough to admit that. He can barely take care of himself on a good day. How the hell did he expect to take care of a traumatized thirteen-year-old boy? He tried to make himself look presentable; But now the collared shirt he had put on underneath his navy blue jumper felt suffocating as he walked to meet Minerva and Harry at the restaurant. 

Remus couldn’t help but wonder what Harry would look like. He had remembered the boy to be a little clone of James, with Lily’s eyes and Sirius’ wavy hair from the blood adoption. Did he still look like his father? Did he have freckles like Lily did, or tiny moles like Sirius? 

The excitement mixed with his panic reminded him why he was doing this. For his godson, with mint green eyes that had held mischief and magic burning in them even as a baby. 

For his godson with his mother’s temper and godfather’s childhood of pain and fear. 

Remus paused at the restaurant door, took a deep breath, and walked in. Minerva was sitting at a table facing the door, but he could only see the top of Harry’s head as the boy rested it in his arms. He hadn’t even seen his face yet, but Remus’ eyes zeroed in on shocks of white running through it, which were far too bright to be anything but magical, and on his hands, his knuckles wrapped in bandages and intricate doodles marked in pen on the back of his palms. 

Minerva waved him over and turned to alert Harry. 

Remus felt breathless as he saw his godson’s face. 

He looked like a perfect mix of his parents. He had James’s Spaniard eyes and nose, and Lily’s pale skin and mint green eyes. And yet Remus saw Sirius. He saw it in his sharp features and the fractured look in his eyes. 

“It’s good to see you, Harry. You can call me Remus.” Remus’s voice is tight as he slides into the seat in front of Harry. Harry, here in front of him. The boy is sizing him up with something dangerous in his eyes. 

(“I feel like I’m constantly trying to figure out whether I could take a person in a fight or if I should run from them,” Sirius had whispered to him and James in the low light of their shared dorm as Peter snored away during their third year. “I hate it. That my first instinct is to tear someone apart if I have the chance. It makes me feel like them.” He didn’t need to say who he was talking about for James and Remus to know. “But it’s how I survive.”)

“You were friends with my parents, weren’t you?” Harry spits out abruptly. It seems to shock the boy as well, because he starts scrambling to pull something out of his pocket and hands it to Remus. 

It’s a picture of him, Sirius, Lily, and James from Ostara during their sixth year. 

Harry is looking at him nervously, his leg jogging restlessly under the table, “I found this at Gringotts.” 

Remus chuckles wetly, “Yes, I was friends with your parents. We were only a few years older than you in this picture, actually.” 

“And you and Sirius were…” Harry trails off, looking vaguely sheepish. The name shocks Remus to his core, though he does well not to show it. 

“We were dating, yes. It’s quite normal in the wizarding world.” Remus is waiting for some sort of confusion or disgust, or— hopefully— simple acknowledgment. 

“Good. I didn’t want to deal with any more Catholic bullshit ideas anymore.” Harry says firmly with a glint of burning anger in his eyes. 

Remus can’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “I vividly remember your mother saying the same thing during our time at Hogwarts.” 

The boy looks a bit awed at that, “She wasn’t religious?” 

“Well, she was,” Remus takes a sip of water, “Though that was only later when she converted to Paganism after James’s and Sirius’s influences. It’s a commonly practiced religion in the Wixen world, you’ll really only find Muggle-born Christians and such.” As he explained, Harry’s eyes lit up with something a bit like vicious vindication. It reminded him of Lily when she saw her sister at her and James’ very pagan wedding. 

The rest of dinner carried on mostly the same way, with Harry asking hesitant questions about his parents and immediately waiting for Remus to be upset. He never was. 

“As you were told at Gringotts, you’ll be staying with Remus for the remainder of the summer, and presumably until you come of age.” McGonagall reminded the boy, whose face turned to stony impassiveness and boredom. McGonagall wasn’t offended in the least, however, and her features softened. “I’d best be on my way, but if you need anything at all, I’m only an owl away, Haz.” Harry melted at the nickname, his face morphing into slight awe. McGonagall patted his head softly, fondly, and walked out of the restaurant to apparate out. 

Harry spaced out for a moment, frozen in his spot. 

Remus cleared his throat, shocking the boy out of his stupor. “Do you have anything you want to get before I take you home?” Harry shook his head, and Remus led the boy out of the restaurant and held out his arm. The boy took it nervously, and Remus saw him squeeze his eyes shut a moment before they apparated in front of Gryffin’s Perch. 

Remus almost melted when he heard Harry let out a soft gasp of awe. 

Gryffin’s Perch was as gorgeous as he had remembered. It was a secluded, cottage-like manor deep in the Scotland forests. The architecture was Victorian, built with dark oak and cream brick. 

“I haven’t been here since a bit after we graduated from Hogwarts,” Remus explained wistfully, “We spent the summer after graduation here. Me, your parents, Sirius, and Lily’s friends, Marlene and Dorcas.”

“Will it be fit to live in?” Harry hummed inquisitively before freezing up, preparing for some form of yelling or assault. It was a look Remus had seen so many times on Sirius after long summers at Grimmauld Place. 

“Yes, it’s been placed under a stasis charm,” Remus explained softly as he motioned for them to step through the black gate and to the front porch. “Stasis charms leave things exactly as they were until they’re taken off. You’ll find a lot of Pure-blood properties have some form of them.”

Harry looked at him skeptically, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, but was distracted by the rush of warmth that went over the pair as they stepped through the gates, and subsequently, the wards. 

Remus continued along the stone path slowly, to let Harry breathe in the sight. They stepped onto the front porch, and Remus waved his wand to undo the stasis charm. 

Just then, a gentle pop sounded in front of him, and the door sprang open to reveal a house elf dressed in dark red cloth looking rather shocked.

“Little Mister Lupin!” Elly, Gryffin’s Perch House Elf cried out in shock. “It be’s so very long since Elly has seen Mister Lupin, it be’s so very long since Elly has seen anyone!” 

Remus hummed sympathetically and let Elly hug him tightly. “The house had been placed under stasis. I’m so sorry, Elly.” 

Elly looked up at him with wide, sad, knowing brown eyes, “Little Lord James and Little Lady Lily’s be’s dead, don’t they, Little Mister Lupin.” 

“I’m afraid so, Elly.” Elly’s eyes finally caught to the teenager at his side and she gasped. 

“Little Heir Harry!” Elly cried, hugging Harry. Remus winced at his godson’s tensing. “Oh, Elly be’s so happy that Little Heir Harry is here! Harry must be getting inside, so must Little Mister Lupin. It be’s much too cold outside!” She ushered the two inside, leaving Harry bewildered. 

With a snap of her fingers, the hearth, set in the center of the sitting room, sparked to life, as did many of the candles around the room. 

“Elly,” Remus said softly, “It’s been a very long day, could you show Harry to a room?” 

Elly nodded furiously, “Of course! Follow Elly, Little Heir, Elly be showings you your room!”

 

—

 

Haz was so fucking lost. Utterly confounded. Perpetually flabbergasted. Elly, a small elf(?), had led him to a cozy room, larger than Haz had seen in his entire life, with lavish furnishing and the softest-looking bed he’d ever seen. 

“Does the Little Heir be needing’s Elly to unshrink his things?” Elly asked from the doorway. 

“That– That’d be nice. Thank you, Elly. You can just call me Haz.” Haz felt so out of his fucking depth here. 

Elly giggled as she snapped his things back to their original size. “Little Haz be so sweet! Just like when Little Haz was a babe!” Elly peered up at him with a soft gaze. “Little Haz won’t be’s needing to worry about Little Master Lupin beings mean or cruel. Little Master Lupin be’s the kindest Elly has ever met, right after Little Lady Lily!” 

Haz’s face flushed minutely, tears pricking in his eyes. “Thank you, Elly.” He whispered. 

Elly smiled, satisfied. “Of course, Little Haz. Now Elly insists Little Haz be’s getting to bed! Little Heir’s need proper rest!” 

Haz chuckled softly, reminded of Becca yelling at him to get sleep so he could beat Marcus’s ass. Elly left the room, and Haz changed into pyjamas. 

He spotted himself in the mirror in the corner of the room and faltered. He was barely recognizable, with the way he’d filled out and grown taller. He wasn’t lanky or skeletal. He was actually rather muscular. He always had been, thanks to his time spent fighting other boys at St. Lucy’s, but it’d always been rather hard to see. 

Haz collapsed into the unbelievably soft bed and his head spun with unanswered questions. He tossed and turned in the soft, light blue bedding. He didn’t reckon he’d be getting much sleep that night.

Notes:

hi. im posting early cuz why not. it was so difficult to write haz going home with remus but i think it turned out alright.

there will be never ending harry/sirius parallels. it feeds me.

Chapter 4: Hi- What The Fuck You're Not Going to Abuse Me?

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Loaded chapter yall.
- discussion of child abuse (Haz is so confused.)
- Underage drinking (Not explicit i dont think?) (it's the 80s yall.)
- multiple panic attacks
- mentions of an exorcism and thus whipping and waterboarding, essentially.
- self harm (not explicit and isn't really addressed as self harm but def is a form.)

Remus woke with a start. Truthfully, he barely slept at all. How could he, when his godson (Cub, Pup, His) was sleeping down the hall. Elly had given him a very stern look after she had shown Harry to his room.

“You best be’s taking care of Little Haz,” She told him firmly, “Little Haz be’s much to thin, and he be’s acting just like Little Heir Sirius!” 

Remus’s heart had shattered. The comparisons to Sirius were starting to get excessive. Harry was his own person. He wasn’t Sirius, or Lily, or James. 

He sighed and pulled on a jumper and comfortable pants. Making his way down the stairs and into the dining room he’s greeted by the mouth-watering smell of eggs and fried potatoes. He forgot how nice House Elves were.

He pours himself a rather large cup of coffee, which earned him a side-look from Elly. 

Harry came down a moment later, just as Remus was starting to help Elly set the table. (She did not appreciate this. No respecting House Elf would. But she’d gotten used to Little Mister Remus and Little Lady Lily’s odd demands of helping her.) His far too large, raggedy dark jeans hit against his own feet as he walked down the stairs. They probably wouldn’t fit him at all if not for the black studded belt on his waist. An equally large, red t-shirt hung off his lean frame, as if the fabric was trying to swallow him whole. 

With his messy black and white hair, bruised knuckles, stacks of bracelets and rings, black stud earrings, and painted-black nails, he looked like the type of boy that mothers warned their children about becoming if they so much as blinked at a pack of cigarettes. 

“Good morning, Little Haz!” Elly squealed in delight. “Elly cooked up a healthy breakfast for Little Haz and Little Mister Lupin! They’s be much too skinny, they be needings protein and vitamins!” 

Harry settled into the seat across from Remus with a fond smile on his face from Elly’s antics. When he looked to the plate of food settled in front of him, though, his face paled slightly, twisting as if the sight of it made him queasy. Harry looked up at him skeptically, as if daring him not to eat.

Remus took a few bites of the, as expected, delicious food. He tried not to exaggerate much, as he didn’t want the boy to think he was mocking him. Harry seemed to decide for himself before practically inhaling the food on the plate. 

“Best be slowing down, lest Little Haz wants to fall ill!” Elly scolded gently before popping a glass of water in front of the boy. Harry’s ears flushed slightly, before his shoulders tensed. 

“I wanted to talk about a few things, before I let you explore the house,” Remus said once Harry finished his food and glass of water. Harry tensed even further, if that was possible. Gods, how did Remus even go about this?

 

—

 

Haz didn’t know what to expect from Remus, which made things so much worse. At the Orphanage the rules had been fairly simple, if a bit rough. He’d had the Dursley’s rules his entire life, he always knew what to expect. 

“Before I tell you any rules I want to make one things very, very clear.” Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Did he do something already? Had Remus not want to him to eat? He’d waiting for him to start, and Remus hadn’t said anything after he’d started.

“I will never, ever, use physical punishment, no matter what you do.” …What. “You can scream at me, throw things at the wall, hit me, but I will never hit you, withhold food, or lock you away somewhere.” No. No fucking way. This was absurd. It wasn’t like he liked being hit or starved, but that was normal, that was punishment. The consequences of his actions, and all that jazz. 

Remus sighed, looking at him rather sadly. Pity. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’d like to prove it to you.”

Bullshit. Liar. He just wanted a fucking charity case. To show that he could be fixed. 

“I’d like to say off the bat that I, and I mean this, truly, don’t give a fuck about swearing. I am well aware I am way out of my depth. Also, you’re a thirteen year old boy. Asking you not to curse would be like asking a fish not to swim.” Remus says dryly. Haz snorts with wide eyes. 

“Any other rules are just sort of common sense. Pick up after yourself, don’t listen to Elly when she says that’s her job; keep your room fairly clean; If you’d like to go somewhere, please let me know. I don’t feel very comfortable with you being alone on the streets at thirteen, so I’d like for you to either have me or a friend go with you.” Remus explained softly. Haz listened and nodded along. 

Privately, he already knew he’d end up sneaking out a some point, especially if Remus denied him access to some place. The Orphanage used to never let anyone leave, technically, but no one ever stuck to that rule, at least if they wanted to live a decent life there. He was quite skilled at sneaking out undetected. 

“What’ll be punishment for breaking rules?” Haz asked anxiously, twisting the silver band on his finger. 

“We’ll talk it out.”

…”What.” 

The brunette man’s face turned somber, his wide amber eyes a bit glassy as he explained, “No one breaks rules for no reason, Haz. We can talk about what happens and come up with a fair solution, I’d say.” 

How- How was Haz supposed to respond to that? The thought alone was such a foreign concept. An adult asking him why he did what he did? It had to be a trick. There was just no other explanation. He wanted, oh how he wanted, for Remus to be telling the truth. The man had been so patient and kind so far, and he had known his parents! Haz wasn’t naive, though. 

He knew the second Remus came to the conclusion that Haz was just like what everyone said about him— that he was too much work, much too angry and, well, a hazard— that he would be fed up with him. And whether that meant increasing punishment or sending him back to the Orphanage, Haz wasn’t sure if he’d be able to survive being betrayed like that after letting the man in. 

So he just wouldn’t let him in. 

(He stomped down the warm, fuzzy feeling that gathered in his chest when Remus had noticed that everyone called him Haz, that Remus had paid attention.)

 

—

 

The first week raising a teenager was fairly easygoing, at least in Remus’s opinion. Later, on that first morning, he’d explained as best he could to Haz that he’d be getting a summer crash-course on Wix culture and by extension Pureblood etiquette. 

They’d probably have to take a trip to gringotts to retrieve the family books to learn the specific ways, but a day trip sounded much better than James coming back from the dead and cursing Remus for not at least attempting to raise the boy right. Lily, too, for that matter, Merlin knows how often she’d complained about not understanding Wixen culture when she’d first started Hogwarts. 

The days went by quickly. Haz preferred to stay in his room if it wasn’t meal-time or they weren’t going over anything. Remus would check in every so often, and was relieved to see the boy engorged in the books he’d picked up in Diagon for school, as well as the ones he was recommended for the years he’d have to catch up on. 

It was quite late saturday night, or rather sunday morning, when Remus had been woken up by Elly telling him that she’d just saw Haz walk off the premises and out of the wards, effectively sneaking out. Remus was half-tempted to apparate to him.

He didn’t know if he was more angry or scared as he paced the length of the entrance sitting room. 

“Should Elly go’s to Little Haz? Should she brings him home? Oh, Elly is so sorry Little Mister Lupin! Elly should have stopped him!” The house elf fretted, fanning her tearing eyes.

“No, no this isn’t your fault Elly,” Remus sighed, running a trembling hand through. Should he have Elly go get Haz? He shook his head. “It’s best to let him come home on his own. I promised him I’d talk things out with him if he broke the rules.”

Elly distracted herself by brewing a kettle of tea in the meantime, while Remus sat in the sitting room, reading a book and checking his watch every so often.

Thankfully, Haz had been home by five in the morning, just before the sun came up. He looked rather ridiculous in the far too-large jumper he had put on with the hood tussling his black and white hair. He all but froze at the sight of Elly and Remus waiting for him. 

“Heeeyy,” Haz drawled out awkwardly, his voice cracking slightly. His stance was loose, and he smelt of alcohol. Lady Magic, what made Remus think he was cut out to raise a teenager?

“You scared the hell out of me, kid, and all you have to say is ‘Hey’?” Remus cried. He took a steadying breath when he noticed Harry tense up at his raised voice. 

The boy’s toxic green eyes narrowed, his face twisting into a mean scowl, “Don’t pull that shit,” He hissed venomously, his words slurring together, “Don’t act like–like you fuckin’ care or some shit.” 

“Of course I care, Haz,” Remus said softly, his throat tightening around the words. “You’re my—” Cub! His mind screamed. “You’re my responsibility, but you’re also my family. I love you more than I can put into words,” He pushed on, even as Haz’s face twisted into something angry, “So yeah, it scared the shit out of me when Elly woke me up at three in the bloody morning saying you went missing. I– I already lost you once, Haz, don’t make me lose you again, please.” 

Haz stiffened, fox-like eyes that were so much like Lily’s filling with unshed tears. The sun had started to rise, and the large windows let in the early-morning light, casting the two of them in soft, golden rays. Remus looked at Haz with wide, pleading, warm eyes. 

“I–” Haz choked, averting his eyes to the soles of his muddy shoes, “Sorry.” 

Remus sighed softly and pulled the boy into a hug. “Just don’t do that again, ‘right?” 

Haz positively melted at the contact, even if his reciprocation was slightly awkward. Still, he managed a cheeky, “No promises.” 

Harry ended up testing Remus in other ways as well; ‘Aciddently’ breaking dishes, refusing certain things and starting arguments. Remus held firm, talking things through and accepting the obvious half-truths Harry gave him. 

When the first full-moon since Harry started to live with him came around, Remus was scared shitless. He’d thought about lying, saying he had to go somewhere for work for the night; Haz didn’t deserve that, though, and he most certainly would not appreciate it. When he’d finally worked up the resolve it was mid after-noon, and for the first time that week Harry had vacated his room and decided to draw in the sitting room. 

Remus had, of course, been very awkward as he explained that he was a werewolf of all things, stuttering over his words and falling into his old habit of picking at the cuticles of his nails. 

Haz, who Remus had come to know as blunt and sarcastic and hurting far too much for a boy his age just stared before raising a brow, “You done?” He interrupted as Remus was explaining he’d be going to the forest. 

“I- I understand if you want a different guardian–” The wolf started just as Haz cut him off again. 

“Rems,” The name shattered something in his heart, the words having Haz’s angry, guttural tone and scouser accent, “I don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re a werewolf. Go have your time of the month, I’ll still be here when ‘ya get back,” Haz dismissed him with a lazy wave of his steadily healing hand, turning back to the sketchbook on his lap and sliding his battered walkman headphones onto his head. 

And that was the end of it. 

The next morning Remus stumbled through the front door with new scars and Haz waiting quietly for him with a cup of Jasmine tea in the sitting room, his pale face warmed by the fire of the hearth. 

For the first time since Lily and James died, for the first time since the war, really, Remus felt at ease after a transformation.

 

—

 

Remus had known that Harry was abused. It was rather obvious. It kept him up some nights. If only he had gone to check on him, maybe Harry wouldn’t flinch or have his biting temper or the scars that Remus knew he had from the Healing and Cleansing Ritual sheet from Harry’s account manager. 

With this, Remus knew Harry had nightmares. Some nights, when he was suffering from his own, he’d go downstairs to find Haz with a cup of lavender tea, curled up on the sofa with tear stained cheeks and a puffy face. 

Harry never talked, and Remus never asked. 

It was late at night, just a few days before he was scheduled to inherit the Monroe line that Remus was woken up to the sound of Haz screaming. 

He’d shot up immediately, cursing the house for being so damn large. By the time he reached the door, Haz had stopped screaming, but was still sobbing silently in the corner of his bed. 

The way Haz tensed up when he saw Remus in the doorway was burned into the man’s memory, cursing his nightmares. 

“I’m–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, it won’t happen again, I—” Haz rambled through hiccuping sobs, interrupted by Remus sitting down and scooping him into the warmest hug he could manage with the chill of the night. 

Haz sat there sobbing. “God, I’m so weak, this is so stupid.” He’d choke out every now and then. Remus would only shush him softly.

Once Haz had calmed down a bit, though he still hicced softly, Elly brought them cups of lavender tea, sweetened with honey. It took a few sips before Haz spoke again. 

“The orphanage was catholic,” His voice was small and hoarse, “They used to– when they saw I could do magic they–” Haz let out a shaky exhale, his nails digging into his palms, “They said that I had the Devil in me. That I– that I needed to be cleansed.” He scowled, his tone bitter. 

Remus didn’t say anything. What comfort could he give to such an awful situation? Haz wasn’t one for words, they meant nothing to him. Instead, Remus uncurled the boy’s fist and took his hand in his, squeezing softly. 

“They would tie my hands together and make me kneel in front of the cross while they–” He sniffed, “While they would shove my face into ‘holy water’ and whip me. And if I lost control of my magic during it would get worse, they’d– they’d take it as some kind of fucked up proof it was working.” 

Remus said nothing, only held Haz tighter. Inside? He was fuming. His skin burned and for the first time in a very long time he agreed with the wolf inside him and wanted to let the wolf loose on those who hurt his cub. 

“I hate this, all of these stupid feelings. I hate that even now that I’m gone they still have control over me,” Haz whispered.

“You’re stronger than you know,” Remus said softly, rubbing circles to the back of Haz’s palm. 

“I don’t feel very strong,” He confided with a soft sniffle. 

“I know.”

 

—

 

Taking on the Monroe line was supposed to be quick and easy, according to Ironblood. All Haz would have to do is take the potion and be done.

Instead, he’s being guided through a panic attack like a baby by Remus. Stupid Family Magics. 

“Everything’s so loud and bright,” Haz hissed through a clenched jaw and screwed shut eyes. Apparently, the Monroes were known for their long line of Seers, which would have been great information to have before hand, thanks Ironblood. 

“I know, deep breathes. You just have to adjust is all.” Remus whispered softly. Haz wanted to yell at him that no he didn’t understand but knew that was a load of rubbish considering that werewolves were known for their heightened senses and ability to smell magic. 

It took Haz a whole thirty minutes to calm himself and adjust to his disorienting new senses. Remus, nor the Goblins, begrudged him for it. 

“The Monroe Heir jewels, little Heir,” Ironblood said, uncharacteristically soft, presenting him with a beautiful silver band engraved with intricate swirls and light purple gems, as well as a singular dangling earring with the same style and purple crystal. 

Haz slid on the ring and paused at the earring. 

He looked up with mischief blazing in his green eyes, “Hand me a needle, please?” He asked Ironblood. 

To the Goblin’s credit, he only raised a brow before slipping a silver, very sharp needle from his sleeve and handing it to him. Haz didn’t give Remus time to react before he shoved the needle through his ear, uncaring for the blood, and stuck the drop earring next to the left black stud. 

Remus’s eye twitched before he sighed, rather resigned, and flicked his wand, healing Haz’s impromptu piercing.

“This going to be a regular thing?” Remus asked with a tired look on his scarred face.

Haz shrugged. “Maybe.”

 

—

 

Remus’s blood froze in his veins as he stared at the headline of The Daily Prophet. 

 

Sirius Black Escaped from Azkaban: The Facts

By Amira Amorina, six-time award winning author of The Daily Prophet's award for Most Trustworthy News Writer.

7th of August, 1993

 

Sirius Orion Black, former Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, was arrested on the 1st of November, 1981, for one count of accessory to murder of Lord James Fleamont Potter and Lady Lily Rowena Potter nee Evans, one count of first degree murder of Peter Pettigrew, and twelve counts of manslaughter to unnamed Muggles. 

Upon being arrested, he was immediately sentenced to life in Azkaban.

The Ministry has just publicly announced that for the first time in Wixen History that someone, Sirius Black, has escaped Azkaban.

“Rest assured that we at the Ministry of Magic have our best Aurors on the case,” Said Minister Cornelius Fudge, “We have also sent out Dementors, and we will not rest until Black is back in Azkaban.”

With the escape of Black, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Lady Amelia Bones, came forward with this statement, “We urge anyone who has any information at all, no matter how ridiculous you may think it to be, to come forward, be it anonymously or otherwise. We at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement maintain our vows to continue to protect the Wix of our Society, and to uphold the law as we continue our search for Sirius Black. Rest assured, we will ensure the safety of our citizens, and Sirius Black will be found.”

Lady Bones denies any possibilities of treason, or anyone willing to help Black out of prison.

We at the Daily Prophet will regularly post updates, and implore everyone to stay indoors and be vigilant. 

“Sirius Black is a very dangerous man,” Says famed former Head Auror, Alastor Moody, “He’s smart, cunning, and downright vicious. We must have constant vigilance!” 

For the full transcript of the interview with Lady Amelia Bones, see page 5.

 

—

 

“Haz, I need to speak with you about something rather urgent,” Remus said at the breakfast table, wringing his hands. 

“Wotcher?” Haz said nervously, staring through his currently mint blue fringe. (He hadn’t been able to change it back since Elly had startled him while he had his headphones in.)

“Do you remember how me and your parents had a– had a friend, Sirius Black?”

“Yeah,” he wrinkled his nose, “What ‘bout it?” 

“I– Well, perhaps it’s better if you just read this.” Remus sighed, handing him the copy of The Daily Prophet.

As Haz read, the windows began to rattle and the table shook. The tension was so thick you could feel it, like books stacked on your shoulders. 

The windows shattered as Haz shot up from his chair with an awful screeching sound and ran upstairs into his room. 

Remus was left in an empty dining room with shattered glass as his only company, the food long since cold. 

That…could’ve gone better.

 

—

 

Remus knocked, but Haz probably missed it with how loud his radio was playing his music. He walked in to the boy jabbing at a punching bag with heavy, cruel strikes. His hands were wrapped, but there was blood seeping through the knuckles. 

“Haz,” Remus said softly, turning off the music with a flick of his wrist. Haz responded with harder hits to the bag. 

“Haz, you’re bleeding.” 

He kicked the bag with such a force it split open. He let himself fall limply to his knees, sobs wracking his frame. 

“I though— I thought he was their friend? He was their friend. How could he do that to them?” He sobbed, raking his hands through thick waves with wide eyes. 

“I wish I knew, cub.” Remus sat next to him, pulling him into his side and raking his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “I’ve been trying to figure it out myself for a good twelve years now.” 

“He— He blood adopted me, Rems.” Haz choked, “I’m a metamorphmagus because of him.”  Lady Magic, give him the strength to deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter. None of that matters because so long as you choose differently from him. Being related to him doesn’t make you him, Haz.” Remus soothed.

“I’m already angry and violent. It’s in my blood Remus— I don’t— I can’t end up like him!” Haz was barely breathing with how hard he was sobbing, he was working himself up into a proper panic attack now. 

(“I’m a Black! It’s in my blood, Remus! I don’t— I don’t wanna end up like them. You have to promise me!” Sirius had cried. He had hit Remus on instinct after the werewolf had snuck up on him, and after a weekend visit to his parent’s house, he worked himself up into a panic attack. “You have to promise me that I won’t end up like them.”)

“I promise you, you won’t end up hurting anyone.” Remus said, pressing a gentle kiss onto the crown of Haz’s hair. 

Notes:

Hi was the hurt/comfort good? It's kind of a rushed chapter in my opinion but I worked on it for a while. It took so many rewrites. So many taken out scenes. lord have mercy.

On the topic of haz's exorcism. ouchy. idk can u tell i'm pushing all the catholic guilt i have onto him. cuz you'll be able to in the future.

okay guys brooke out be safe ily.

Notes:

Hi! Come yell at me on Tumblr by the handle of blckcherrybrooke

Kudos and Comments fuel me in the way nothing ever could <3