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Patria Potestas: Blood Ties	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Sirius Views: 17596 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

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A/N: I know my usual posting day is tomorrow, but I was so excited about this chapter that I caved and decided to post early. Whoops?
Chapter Three – Nostalgia

3^rd September, 2004

COURTSHIP MYSTERY REVEALED!
HARRY POTTER TO WED GODFATHER SIRIUS BLACK

In a shocking turn of events, the ongoing courtship that has been on every witch and wizard's lips for the last fortnight has been revealed to be a match far more shocking than anyone could have expected. It would appear that our own Saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, has accepted the suit of a man twenty years his senior. In addition to the sizable age gap, the man in question is ex-Azkaban inmate and godfather to Harry Potter, Sirius Black.

In the summer of 1992, Sirius Black, imprisoned on the murder charges of a dozen muggles and one wizard escaped Azkaban—the first person ever to manage such a thing—and went on the run. Black eluded capture for five years, and then following the war he was not only exonerated, but awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his position in the Order of the Phoenix, and as a partial recompense for his twelve-year false imprisonment.

Not all believe that Black was as innocent as we have all been told, nor did he act the part of an innocent man during his first year on the run. Theft, breaking and entering, child endangerment—these are but a few of the charges that never made it to trial, and it would not be too much of a stretch of the imagination to assume that gold likely exchanged hands in an effort to keep himself from returning to the famed prison. The House of Black, among other things, was well-known for being a family of Voldemort supporters as well as being incredibly wealthy. Sirius Black's departure from his family's twisted values was well-documented during the First Wizarding War (the most significant evidence being his sorting into Gryffindor), but how reformed is he, really?

Why Mr Potter has chosen to accept Mr Black's suit is stranger still. Following the war, seemed to have what appeared to be a normal, healthy, and platonic relationship. It was not unlike a familial father-son relationship according to those close to them, but in light of recent events, one has to wonder just how healthy their relationship truly was. How was Mr Potter, an impressionable survivor of war and so much loss so early in his life coerced into accepting a suit from a man that for all intents and purposes is his father? While it is not technically illegal, from a moral standpoint it is deeply troubling, and lends this reporter to the belief that Mr Black may not be the innocent, wrongly-accused man that we have all been led to believe that he is.

“Black was always extremely irresponsible,” says an old schoolmate, who wished to remain anonymous. “He and Potter liked to think that they ran to school, and they were well-known for pulling all manner of pranks on their classmates, especially those in Slytherin House. Had it not been for their inclusion of Lupin in their little gang, who seemed to reign in those two when they went too far, I am certain that their behaviour would be even more extreme—even dangerous.”

If Sirius Black is such a loose cannon, so to speak, why would Mr Potter choose to accept a suit from the man? The most likely reason could be out of a perverse sense of loyalty. Black is, after all, the only true family Mr Potter has ever known, and it is entirely possible that he convinced Mr Potter that this was the only way to continue their relationship—as a married couple.

Despite attempts to speak to Mr Potter's chaperone for the suit, Hermione Granger, on the topic of his impending nuptials, Miss Granger was unwilling to comment. One must hope that in the coming weeks of the courtship and all the demands it will put upon young Mr Potter, he will see the deeply misguided morals of his so-called godfather, and put an end to this 'relationship' before it is too late. There is still six weeks remaining, dear readers, and ample time for Mr Potter to back out. I do hope the rest of the wizarding world will join me in hoping that Mr Potter will come to his senses before it is too late.

Rita Skeeter
Special Correspondent

Harry looked from the paper, over the sea of unopened letters that littered his kitchen table, and to Hermione.

“Is murder always a crime?” he asked miserably, and tossed the paper on top of the mess, while Hermione laughed.

“You knew this was coming Harry,” Hermione replied with an apologetic smile, “it wasn't going to be kept quiet forever.”

“I know, but why did it have to be Rita effing Skeeter who found out?” Harry groused as he glared at the table, “she made Sirius sound like...like...some sort of child molester or something. Has the world forgotten that I'm twenty-five, not fifteen?”

“You know it has less to do with your age and the fact that Sirius is...well...your godfather.” Hermione's voice dropped to a mumble. “It's honestly not that surprising that people would think that you've been pushed into this, sometimes relationships involving large age gaps can get a little...twisted.”

“Yeah, except Sirius isn't like that and you know it,” Harry muttered while he crossed his arms.

“I know, Harry,” she said quickly, “I just mean, that's probably what some people will think. Not us, just...some people.”

“I guess these letters are from well meaning...Prophet readers?” Harry asked while he motioned to the pile of envelopes on the tabletop. Hermione smiled apologetically when he glanced up at her.

“Er, yeah. I went through them for you to check for curses and the like, but they're all just pretty nasty or misguided sympathy for your situation...except this one.” She pulled out a yellow parchment envelope from the mess and passed it to him, holding it gingerly as though it had been soaked in undiluted bubotuber pus. Nonplussed, Harry accepted the envelope and slit it open.

Potter,

If you wanted to fuck a Black so badly, all you had to do was ask.

D. L. Malfoy

Harry let out a noise of disgust and crumpled up the short letter, then pitched it into the bin.

“Now I just feel dirty,” he said with a shudder, and Hermione giggled a little.

“I suppose it's safe to say he doesn't hate you as much as he used to,” she mused, but Harry did not find that exactly reassuring.

“The last thing I need is that prat following me around like a lost ferret or something,” he grumbled, and Hermione laughed again.

“I doubt it'll come to that,” Hermione said while she smiled at him reassuringly. “Malfoy will know about this courtship ritual, I'm certain, and until you formally accept or reject Sirius's suit, he can't approach you like that.”

“Small comfort,” Harry muttered, and drew his wand to banish the letters and newspaper to the rubbish bin. The action wasn't nearly as relaxing as he had hoped, and flicked his wand again to ignite the letters. When they had all curled into ash, he felt much better. “So, are we gonna do the 'ignore her and maybe she'll shut up' strategy, or do you have something more straightforward planned?” Hermione smirked.

“Well, do you remember at the end of fourth year how I threatened to not let her secret slip if she stopped writing horrible things about people?” She asked, and Harry nodded. “Well, let's just say that Magical Law Enforcement received an anonymous tip this morning about a certain unregistered Animagi...Considering the invasion of privacy charges that could be put against her, it's very likely that she'll only be able to report on the life of an Azkaban Inmate for the next few years, at least.”

Harry snorted, and Hermione's smirk widened. “You're a little bit evil, you know that, Hermione?”

“Well I did warn her...” she replied with a shrug, and this time Harry really did laugh out loud. Hermione joined in, and when they'd both sobered up a little, she pressed on to the next issue.

“I actually came over for another reason besides being the bearer of bad news,” Hermione continued, while Harry summoned a fresh pot of tea, and topped up Hermione's cup.

“Yeah? What's the other reason?” Harry asked as he picked up his own teacup and brought it to his mouth.

“Isn't it obvious?” she asked with an arched brow, and when Harry didn't respond she rolled her eyes. “Today you're supposed to get the second gift from Sirius, I want to see what it is. It's supposed to be something more personal this time, and I'm curious to see what he decided on, since he didn't ask for my help at all on this one.”

“If it's so personal, you didn't think I might want to get it when I'm alone?” Harry asked with an arched brow, “what if it's something naughty?”

“You and I both know he's not allowed to do, talk about, or allude to anything sexual for a while yet,” Hermione replied, her lips pressed into a thin line very reminiscent of their old Head of House. “I'm not going to look over your shoulder and insist that you show me, but I thought you might want someone to share it with, that's all.”

Hermione's tone of voice had dropped down in volume, and she sounded rather hurt. Harry wasn't entirely certain what she was so upset about, but she'd helped him so much with this courtship thing, he knew that really, there were no boundaries between them anymore.

“I don't not want to share whatever it is with you,” Harry amended, grimacing a little as he spoke, “I'm just...I don't know what to expect, y'know?”

“Afraid you're gonna cry?” She asked with a grin that was very close to Ron's. The sight of it brought a pang of longing to his chest; he hadn't seen his best mate in ages. Not for the first time, he found himself mentally cursing the stupid rules that this courtship demanded.

“Very funny,” Harry replied at last, “I'm not the crier—you are. Should I have a hanky handy for you, so they you don't cry all over...whatever it is?”

“Ha, ha,” she replied, though there was a strange smile on her face. Harry blinked in confusion, but she continued before he could ask. “It looks like you're getting more comfortable with the idea of this courtship at least.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He asked, and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. As far as Harry was concerned, he was still caught between abject horror at the idea of what he would have to eventually do with Sirius, and varied attempts at forcing himself to just accept it—it wasn't like there would be a way out, anyway. So far, he'd been entirely unsuccessful at making himself accept it.

“Well, you're not flinching every time it comes up anymore, so I'd call that progress.”

“Hooray for me,” Harry muttered sarcastically as he dropped his gaze to his teacup, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione frown at him. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

~*~

Hermione appeared determined to see her earlier sentiment through, and as evening began to set in, she still hadn't left. Harry didn't mind that Hermione was hanging around—not really, but he had to admit that he was surprised that she hadn't gotten bored of waiting and headed home.

“Are you sure it's today, Hermione?” Harry asked as he stood from his armchair near the fire and stretched his arms high above his head. The motion caused his shoulders and elbows to crack loudly, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing from the way Hermione winced at the sound.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Hermione replied in an offhanded sort of way, “maybe Sirius forgot or something.” She shrugged and eased back on the sofa, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Well, since you're here, feel like some takeaway? I think I've still got some of those Floo Takeaway pamphlets around here somewhere—” Harry began as he turned towards the kitchen, but his words were cut off suddenly by a sharp tap, tap, tap, against the sitting room window. He had a feeling that he knew exactly what it was, and was therefore not surprised when he turned around and saw Sirius's owl on the other side of it, sporting a thick, rectangular parcel.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry stepped over to the window, opened the latch, and just like last time the owl flew in, dropped the package on the coffee table and swooped back out without so much as a backward glance.

“Charming owl,” Hermione observed with a giggle, and Harry snorted.

“I'll take his standoffish attitude over him trying to take a chunk out of my finger, so I'm not complaining,” Harry replied as he walked back to his armchair, and plopped down to face the wrapped parcel. He hesitated; this was supposed to be a bit more personal, after all, what could Sirius have sent?

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hermione asked, “open it!”

Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised, then turned back to the package, and started by detaching the envelope from the front of it, and slit it open. Inside, he found a short letter.

Harry,

The Second Gift is supposed to be something more personal, something that speaks of the Suitor's feeling for their Intended.

I know this situation is awkward for both of us, but I meant it in that first letter I sent you when I said that I wanted to make this good for you—to make you happy. I'm fairly certain that you will get much enjoyment from this gift, and I'm sorry that it took a little longer to get it to you, it took longer than I expected to put together.

Sirius

Feeling strangely warm, Harry set aside the letter (which Hermione promptly picked up) and moved on to the gift itself.

Despite the ease in which the owl carried it inside, Harry found it to be rather heavy. He pulled it into his lap, his curiosity piqued, and loosed the spellotape.

Harry tore the paper off to reveal a thick scrapbook bound with a thick black leather cover. It looked quite expensive, and he opened it, expecting photographs of his parents, but what he found instead caused him to gasp sharply in surprise.

Letters.

Short letters, long letters, letters with photographs or drawings affixed to the yellowed parchment—small windows into the souls of his long lost parents. Carefully, as though he was handling a priceless artifact, Harry began to leaf through the pages, stopping at random intervals to read some of the included letters.

Pads,

It's OK—Mum didn't kill me over the Quidditch Pitch Incident. She was a bit peeved about the fact that ickle firsties can't try out for House teams anymore, but hey, that's no great loss if you're asking me!

You need to come over soon, none of us want you spending more time with your parents than you have to.

I'll write soon,
Prongs

Sirius,

Would you please stop trying to set me up with that so-called best friend of yours? James is an obnoxious git, and I don't appreciate you 'conveniently' getting us alone together. I can find my own dates, thank you.

Lily

Dear Mr Black,

You are hereby ordered to get your arse over to my parents' house pronto. LILY SAID YES. Wormtail and Moony are on their way and we need to celebrate properly, and we can only do that when the most brilliant wingman ever presents himself at the house. Also Mum has enough wrapped dinners set aside for you to feed you through the next thirty years, I'm sure. I swear, she's certain you're going to die of starvation living on your own.

Prongs

Padfoot,

Please come over as soon as you get this and get your boyfriend out of here before I murder him. He's a worse mother hen than his own mother, and a little heartburn does not mean that there's something wrong with the baby. Five more minutes and I might actually kill him.

Please, I'm begging you. Go on a pub crawl, go flying, something, I don't care. Just get him out of here.

Lily

As Harry looked through them, he paused on one in which his mother was tearing Sirius a new one for some sort of prank he and his father had apparently pulled on Snape, and rubbed his eyes roughly. Of all the things he'd expected, this had been lowest on the list. Harry had no idea that Sirius would have even kept them all. He had been rendered completely speechless, overwhelmed with emotion as he stared down at the yellowed, slightly warped parchment.

“Harry, can I see?”

Hermione's small, uncertain voice snapped him out of his dazed shock, and he looked up at her. He'd forgotten that she was even there.

“Oh, um, sure...” He reluctantly handed the album over, and her reaction was similar to his, and Harry saw tears spring to her eyes.

“Oh Harry...” she said softly, sniffling a little as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, and handed it back to him. He accepted it gladly, and his gaze dropped down to the leather cover, and brushed his fingers over it. This wasn't just a gift; it was a treasure.

“I...” Harry paused, but didn't look up. He could feel his eyes growing damp again. “I mean, I never expected something like this...it's like...a piece of them.”

“I know Harry,” she said gently, “it's...precious. It's so thoughtful.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice still a little hoarse as his fingers closed around the edge of the book. Thank you, Sirius, Harry thought silently, and swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat.

Harry and Hermione spent the next hour alternating between big bites of heartburn-inducing Mexican takeaway and reading the letters together. Some were funny, some were sad, and some were somewhere between annoyed and genuinely angry. Each and every one pulled at Harry's heart.

His parents; he'd seen photographs of them, he'd heard all about them, but here was genuine proof that they'd actually lived. They had had lives, they sat down and wrote these words, drew these little doodles (most of James's being highly detailed penises in bright orange ink), and Harry longed to sink into the aged parchment and talk to them. It both filled Harry with joy and an aching sense of longing.

After Hermione left, Harry brewed himself a cup of tea and continued to read over the letters, determined to absorb every printed word his parents had written.

Padfoot,

So, Mum heard about our 'Let's feed Dr Filibuster's No-Heat Wet-Start Fireworks to the new Caretaker's cat and see what happens' experiment. I probably won't be able to sit on a broom properly for the next week (no remarks, you prat) so our plan to fly to Spinner's End and drop Dungbombs on Snivellus is out (though in retrospect this is probably a good thing, as Lily gets a little tetchy when I pester her oddball Slytherin bestie). Have any more ideas for good, harmless fun that might make my mum go prematurely grey?

Prongs

Padfoot,

Apparently making 'are you fucking Sirius' puns at one's marginally conservative parents is not the brilliant idea that I thought it was, so I can't double with you two and my precious, delightful girlfriend. For some reason when I explained to Lily why I couldn't go out, she wasn't impressed with the pun, either. I've no idea why, it makes you look like a stud when one says “are you fucking Sirius” nigh constantly.

Maybe next time I guess I'll just avoid saying that in front of mum—dad made this weird sort of snort when I said it that makes me think that he was trying to not laugh.

Anyway, give everyone big, wet, sloppy kisses from me until I can figure out how to get mum to let me go out again.

Prongs

The letter gave him pause, wondering what his dad had meant by, you two. Did he mean Sirius and Remus, or had Sirius been dating someone? The wording threw Harry off more than a little, and with a small shake of his head, he moved on to the next letter.

Sirius,

Please, please, please tell me that that picture James showed us last night is you in your own pair of ladies' knickers that you bought on your own, and not the exact same pair of mine that mysteriously disappeared three months ago. I don't care about your weird panties kink, but for the love of all that is holy, buy your own, stop stealing mine.

Love,
Lily

Padfoot,

For a big mutt, you really do have a way with cats. Lily loved the kitten, and I don't think the thing has touched the floor all day—it's been sitting on her shoulder like a fluffy parrot or something. She named it Bricks—due to the fact that (according to her) it looks like it's run headlong into a brick wall.

I don't want her hexing me again for teasing her about her impeccable pet-naming skills (remember when she told Hagrid to call that enormous, three-headed dog of his Fluffy?) so if she's happy, then it's fine.

Come visit soon, the wacky pregnancy hormones are actually a little bit hilarious—I don't think I've ever seen anyone cry to Babbity Rabbity before, but Lily positively bawled when I brought it home.

Prongs

As Harry approached the end of the album, he came upon a surprise. The last ten pages were not, as he had expected, more letters to Sirius from his mother or father, but to Sirius from a woman Harry had never known, and had never even heard spoken of before—his grandmother.

Dear Sirius,

WAS IT YOUR BRILLIANT IDEA TO DRAG A BUCK ALL THE WAY BACK TO GRYFFINDOR TOWER LAST NIGHT?

I received the most charming owl from your Head of House this morning informing us that you, along with Remus and Peter, apparently dragged a fully grown deer back to you common room for some strange reason.

I really don't want to know, I don't understand why you boys pull the stunts you pull, just don't do it again.

Love,
Dorea

Dear Sirius,

Happy Christmas!

We're all missing you this morning, I hope you have enough food at that little flat of yours, if not please enjoy the enclosed meals. We're still expecting you for Christmas Dinner, so don't be late!

Love,
Dorea

Dear Sirius,

Why on earth did you and my darling, idiotic son decide to try and teach the giant squid sign language? If you wanted to drown yourselves, surely there are less roundabout ways of getting the job done.

Be a dear and don't do it again.

Love,
Dorea

Dear Sirius,

Congratulations on finishing Hogwarts! Charlus and I are so proud of you!

Please enjoy the enclosed cakes, I know that they're your favourite. Do remember to pop by for Sunday dinner, I believe James wants to invite at least half your year for the evening, but please try and talk him down to just you four—and my future daughter-in-law, of course.

Love,
Dorea

Harry fell asleep curled up on the sofa, his glasses askew and his cheek pressed against the fine script of his late grandmother's handwriting. His hands were clamped over the book like a child might hold on to a treasured teddy bear, and for the first time in weeks, Harry was at peace.

6^th September, 2004

Harry's joy over Sirius's gift lasted exactly three days before Hermione returned to his flat looking rather grim.

“We need to talk,” she said without preamble as she stepped out of his fireplace and brushed herself off. Harry swallowed nervously; all their talks recently had been about the courtship, and her expression was far from reassuring that whatever she needed to discuss with him was anywhere in the realm of good.

“Do come in,” Harry replied sarcastically, and she glared at him, which he ignored. “Tea?”

“I could do a glass of wine if you have some, actually,” she replied, and Harry stared at her in surprise. He checked the clock on his wall to be sure he had the time right, then shifted his gaze back to her.

“At ten o'clock in the morning?”

“It's five o'clock somewhere,” she replied, and Harry snorted.

“All right then,” he said, and wandered into his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of his preferred Australian red, and after uncorking it with a quick tap of his wand, he set it aside to breathe while he fished out a glass for her.

“So what's this all about?” Harry asked as she sat herself down at his kitchen table, and much to Harry's displeasure, her expression did not change.

Hermione didn't answer, but continued to look unnervingly grim as Harry poured her a glass of wine and set it in front of her, then made himself a tea. Only when he'd settled down across from Hermione did she begin to speak.

“I've been going over the customs for the Second Meeting, and um...there was a custom that Ron mentioned that I thought you should know about, so that it doesn't come as too much of a shock on Friday, and it seemed to be a bit of a departure from everything I've read about these rituals, so I hadn't expected it so soon,” she said nervously, very fast, then took a sip of her wine. Her attitude was making Harry even more anxious than usual when it came to details of this courtship; what could possibly be so bad that she'd be acting this way?

“Spit it out Hermione,” Harry said at last, “you're making me nervous.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushing a faint pink, “I mean, it's not bad but...I thought it might come as a shock if it was sprung on you so I thought I should give you some forewarning, and it's pretty commonplace, so naturally I expect—”

“—Hermione,” Harry cut across her, and repeated his earlier statement in a deadpan tone of voice. “Spit. It. Out.”

Hermione's flush deepened to a scarlet that was nearly the same shade as the contents of her glass, and she took another sip before she finally explained herself.

“Well, the thing is...” she began, not meeting Harry's eye, “at the end of the Second Meeting, it's fairly commonplace for the Suitor and Intended to share their first kiss.”
A/N: I know the name of Harry's grandmother was supposedly Euphemia or something ridiculous like that, but I like the idea of Harry being descended from the Blacks, however distantly, and considering that this is/was a popular headcanon, I didn't feel obligated to use the “canon” grandparents.

Some of the events described in the letters from James & Dorea are ideas pulled from random headcanon or chat posts from Tumblr. I couldn't find them again when I was writing this, so I wasn't able to give credit to those people who originally came up with them. That said, if I happen to find them again I'll add the credit to this note. (or if you guys happen to know the OP for those headcanons, just let me know!)
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Patria Potestas: Blood Ties