Act of Trust

Title: Act of Trust
Author: Claire Watson
Series: Create Your Own Bingo stage one, Secret Reveal
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Secret reveal, Canon divergence
Relationship(s): Harry Potter & Sirius Black
Content Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Author Notes: I can never get enough of Harry and Sirius running away from the shit-show in magical Britain and just enjoying their lives elsewhere.
Beta: Grammarly
Word Count: 2,607
Summary: Harry had gone through life knowing that he had to deal with everything on his own. He’d deliberately been dumbing himself down to seem like less of a threat For the first time, he felt ready to tell someone about it.

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“I deliberately do badly in class,” Harry said, cradling his hot chocolate in his hands. “I’ve been dumbing myself down for so long they think I’m stupid.”

Upon his entry to 12 Grimmauld Place, it had become clear that the blanket of information censorship that he’d been left under at 4 Privet Drive was still in effect. None of these adults wanted him to know anything, despite everything that had happened to him in the last four years.

Except for Sirius. Sirius had tried to talk to him, had made it clear that he intended to share information with Harry.

Not that there was much information to be had.

Still, the prospect of Harry knowing what little there was, was enough to anger, infuriate, or worry, every other adult in the house. Even Professor Lupin had scolded Sirius, as though hearing the truth would somehow affect Harry worse than seeing Cedric murdered in front of him or being forced to help Voldemort rebirth himself.

It was soon apparent that Sirius was as much a prisoner in this house as Harry had been in Privet Drive, and hated it for much the same reasons. Also, both the adults and Harry’s so-called friends were conspiring to keep him and Sirius apart.

Not that Harry let that stop him.

Sirius snorted. “They’re the stupid ones if they fall for it. Some of them knew your parents, and you’ve spent the better part of the last four years in the same building as most of the rest. You managed a corporeal patronus in third year! If they think you’re stupid, it’s because that’s what they want to think.”

“I did it on purpose so that I seem like less of a threat,” Harry confided. “It can be a bit wearing, though.”

Harry Potter might not be at the top of his class, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intelligent. He had learned young that the only thing academic achievement was likely to get him was a clip around the ear and a week in his cupboard for ‘cheating.’

Something he was particularly good at was reading body language. Knowing what kind of mood Vernon and Petunia were in often meant the difference between eating or not eating that day, so there was a lot of incentive to learn. While the knowledge didn’t transfer seamlessly to other adults, it gave him enough of a head start that he could make some good educated guesses.

Magical adults were different from muggle ones, though, and in Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, he’d made a lot of mistakes. The problem was that so many of the adults thought they already knew him, thought he’d be just like his father, which meant they were reacting to things that had happened long before he was born, done by someone he’d never had the chance to study.

As a result, that first year was mostly guesswork.

By the second year, he was starting to get a handle on it. Snape would always hate him, would take any and every opportunity to hurt or belittle him. McGonagall expected every word out of his mouth—that wasn’t purely school work—to be a lie, an exaggeration, or a boast. She expected him to seek out trouble and start fights.

Flitwick and Sprout only ever saw him in class, and it wasn’t until fourth year—when he was entered into the tournament—that he confirmed that they saw him the same way McGonagall did.

Dumbledore was the one that initially gave Harry the most trouble. His words didn’t match his actions, but that was hardly new. The difference with Dumbledore was that he pretended to like Harry, which wasn’t something Harry had much experience with.

It took until the end of his second year for Harry to conclude that Dumbledore was using him for his own ends.

The icing on the cake was on the train ride back to London, when Ron revealed that Dumbledore had told Mrs Weasley that Harry had to go back to the Dursleys.

He hadn’t given Harry a choice in the matter, and he very much doubted he’d asked the Dursleys for one either. That meant that, for whatever reason, Dumbledore wanted Harry miserable. Perhaps he wanted the Dursleys miserable, too.

While this explanation helped Harry make sense of the world, it didn’t help him much on a personal level. If Snape had too much power in Hogwarts for Harry to ever win against, then Dumbledore was exponentially worse. Snape only had power inside Hogwarts, whereas Dumbledore had three very important titles and was, therefore, figuratively on top of three important heaps.

And what was Harry? An underage wizard who didn’t have even one adult in his life that he trusted to advocate for him.

No, he was going to have to do what he’d always planned, just wait things out until he was a legal adult that no one could boss around, and then get the hell out of there.

Then there were his friends.

Third year was the first time Hermione directly betrayed him. The matter of the broom might seem like a small matter, in the scheme of things, but it told Harry that he couldn’t trust Hermione to treat him as an equal. It also exposed her over-reliance on the authority figures that Harry had already determined he couldn’t trust.

There was also the secret that she’d been keeping all year, but that was a lesser concern. That whole business only proved that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was, and once again, the adults proved their negligence.

He forgave the broom thing, but didn’t forget. It was Ron’s turn the next year, and in truth, Harry only resumed that friendship because he felt Ron was allowed a second chance since he’d already given Hermione one.

However, by deliberately leaving him in the dark and taunting him with it as they had done that summer, they’d killed what little trust he’d managed to rebuild with them. He wasn’t interested in giving them a third chance, not when his life had become so very dangerous.

He obviously couldn’t rely on Hermione and Ron. He could only rely on the adults to treat him as they’d always treated him, except for Snape and Dumbledore, who could be relied upon, but only in a wholly negative fashion.

Sirius, though.

So far, Sirius appeared to be an exception.

An adult who wanted him, who listened to him, whose claims of love were backed up by verifiable actions. Sirius had spent years wishing vengeance on Peter Pettigrew, yet he’d stopped at just a word from Harry. Sure, he wasn’t perfect. His mental stability wasn’t what it could be, and his emotional stability was almost non-existent. But he did his best to put Harry first, which, compared to everyone else in Harry’s life, was close enough to perfect that it didn’t matter.

That short amount of time where he’d believed that Sirius would be exonerated and that Harry would be able to live with him was the happiest Harry could ever remember being.  It hadn’t escaped his notice that the only reason Sirius was stuck here in this personal hell was so that he could see Harry, could help him in some way.

It was because of this that Harry decided to take the risk of being more open. He’d slipped Sirius a note asking to meet him at midnight in the attic. He also stressed that it was important that Sirius didn’t tell anyone else, not even Lupin.

It was a test, of sorts. It wasn’t like Harry wanted to do anything dangerous, so Sirius should have no objection and no reason to share their plans with anyone else.

That first test had been passed. Now to see if he’d pass the next one.

Sirius nodded. “Understandably.” He smiled wryly, eyes unfocusing. “You’re a lot more like Lily than James, you know. He was never content to stay in the background, not if he could help it. Lily was the one who would let herself be underestimated. She was quiet in class, never pushed herself forward. But when the class rankings came out, she was always in the top three of our year. Aside from transfiguration, that is. Never could seem to get her head around that.”

Harry listened with interest. It was nice to hear this stuff about his parents, that they sometimes failed and struggled like normal people. With practically everyone else, their deaths had either made them into martyrs, or—in the case of Snape, Malfoy etc—they were subjects of derision.

Sirius sighed, and his eyes focused on Harry again. “But that wasn’t what you got me alone to talk about.”

Harry shrugged. “No, but if you want to reminisce, I’m happy to listen.”

“When we’ve taken care of whatever it is that’s on your mind,” Sirius insisted.

Harry swirled his cooling hot chocolate around in his mug. “I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys,” he said softly. “I want to use the money my parents left me and find somewhere else to live. Maybe even somewhere else to go to school.”

Sirius’ eyebrows lifted. “I thought you loved Hogwarts.”

“I love the building,” Harry corrected. “Despite what most people think, I like learning. I like flying around on my broom. I like being able to eat proper food every day. But I don’t like how I’m constantly being watched, how almost everyone thinks it’s okay to insult me whenever something happens that doesn’t fit with their view of the world, or the Prophet writes another article about me.”

“It might be too late to escape that kind of scrutiny,” Sirius pointed out. “Maybe if you’d switched schools before the Tri-Wizard…” He shook his head. “Although it might be better elsewhere. Somewhere insular, who doesn’t go in for the political side of things. There are several that I can think of.”

Harry frowned. “How do you mean, political? You mean they don’t care about class rankings? Or do you mean like purebloods and stuff?”

“Partly. They also don’t curate their students, which puts off a lot of old families.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Hogwarts, as the premier learning institution in Great Britain, has strict entry criteria. Well, theoretically.” Sirius snorted. “The prospective student’s magical output has to be above a certain threshold. In reality, purebloods—or connected halfbloods who fall short—get around this by giving quiet ‘donations’ to the scholarship fund.”

“What about muggleborns?” Harry asked. “What happens to the ones who fall short?”

“They likely don’t even know they have magic. Any child who hasn’t had any measurable accidental magic before eleven years of age—and who doesn’t use an attuned focus and doesn’t train their magic—is unlikely to ever manifest magic outside their body. They’re likely somewhat luckier and seem healthier than the muggles around them, but nothing so extraordinary as to be noticed.”

“You mean they’re squibs.”

Sirius shook his head. “The Ministry would classify them as squibs, but that’s not really true. I’m sure you can think of schoolmates who struggle a lot with their magic, who are constantly on the edge of failing all their classes.”

Harry thought of Crabbe and Goyle, and even Neville, whose stories of how his family had nearly killed him trying to get him to display accidental magic now had more context. Although Neville was always top of Herbology and seemed to grasp the theory of magic well enough. Crabbe and Goyle both struggled with everything. “Right. Yes.”

“If they had been born to muggles, they would be the ones who never received a letter. More than squibs, who will never be able to cast magic no matter the focus or training, but never able to manifest external magic on their own.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “So, you’re saying that these other schools are, what, less exclusive?”

“Yes. That’s where the politics come in. Hogwarts is not just a school; it’s also where the elite magicborn of Great Britain sends their children to network and find marriage partners. The house system further refines choices—a great proportion of marriages happen between members of the same house. Another aspect is that those that desire to add new blood to old, stagnant lines, have a variety of powerful muggleborns to consider.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Are you serious? That seems incredibly cold-blooded.”

Sirius laughed, a short, barking sound. “I’m always Sirius. And yes, it is. As I said, it’s all political. The  need to have new blood available is the true reason that muggleborn tuition is heavily subsidised for those who can’t afford the yearly fees.”

Harry thought of Colin and Dennis Creevey, whose father was a milkman. It was unlikely they’d have the same financial resources as Hermione, whose parents were dentists, or Justin Fitch-Fletchley, who was minor nobility. He wondered if anyone had explained to them that they were being looked over like they were at a cattle yard.

He wondered if Hermione knew.

“My parents…”Harry said, not sure he wanted to know the answer. “Was that political too?”

“Not as far as James was concerned,” Sirius assured him. “Charlus and Dorea…no doubt Lily’s strong, fresh magic made them more inclined to approve of her, but they would have accepted anyone James chose.” Sirius grimaced. “Anyone not a raging bitch, that is. They might have objected if he’d tried to bring Bella home.”

“Bella?”

“My cousin.” Sirius waved a hand. “Horrific death eater, psycho bitch. My mother’s favourite niece. But we’ve strayed from the topic.”

“So these other schools, you’re saying that they don’t have the same entry requirements?”

Sirius nodded. “Right. Wanded subjects generally aren’t mandatory. In fact, often there aren’t any mandatory subjects. You pay to learn the subjects you want.”

Harry imagined how much better school would have been if he’d been able to drop potions after first year. “Wow.” He took a deep breath. “What are my chances of being able to transfer?”

Sirius sighed. “To be honest, pup, I don’t know. Theoretically, it should be fine. Your parents named me your guardian, and my approval should be all you need. Unfortunately…”

Harry grimaced. “Dumbledore.”

“Yes.” Sirius steepled his fingers, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Although…since his dismissal from the ICW and as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot…” He lapsed into silence, tapping the tips of his fingers together. When he looked up, his eyes were alight with mischief. “Do you know what, pup, this just might work.”

Harry leaned forward, hope rising despite his efforts to quell it. “You really think so?”

“It might mean burning some bridges,” Sirius warned him. “In order to be safe, you’d have to abandon your name, probably forever. You wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where you were going.”

“What about you?” Harry asked. “Would you come with me?”

The light in Sirius’ eyes dimmed. “It would be safer for you if I didn’t.”

“Safety isn’t everything,” Harry said. “I don’t want you stuck here any more than you want me stuck here.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a kiss-on-sight order out on your head.”

“Not yet.” Harry snorted. “Didn’t stop someone from sending dementors after me.”

“Point.” Sirius pursed his lips, studying Harry’s face, searching it for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it. He barked a laugh. “You know what, you’re absolutely right. Okay, I’m in. Let’s change our names, run away to the other side of the world, and live in happy obscurity.”

For the first time since Pettigrew escaped from them, Harry felt like the future was looking better.