"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry Potter whispered to the only 'star' that he could see, a glow-in-the-dark star sticker that his second grade teacher had given him on the last day of school.
He'd learned the anonymous poem from Mrs. Adams, who was the kindest person that Harry had ever met. She never made fun of his lisp, and didn't think he was stupid, like Miss Henry, his first grade teacher, had.
Harry had loved Mrs. Adams, and now she was gone. After the summer, he'd move up to the third grade, and his new teacher would be, Mrs. Mullins, who was known to dislike children, especially dark-haired little boys who wore glasses. At least that's what Dudley had told him, and so far Dudley had been right about everything else related to school.
Harry didn't have any friends, because he was a freak, and the boys and girls at school didn't like freaks. Harry, because of his freak status, was not allowed to play with any of the equipment on the playground, and he could never have seconds at lunch or snack time. Dudley had told Harry all of this before school had even started, just so that Harry wouldn't be disappointed when he went to school, and so he wouldn’t make any mistakes and get into any extra trouble. Harry was grateful for his cousin's foresight. It was a lot easier knowing what to expect ahead of time, so that Harry didn't draw attention to himself in a way that would embarrass the Dursleys.
But Mrs. Adams had been his friend, and hadn't treated him like a freak. Once, she had even shared her milk with Harry, and she always smiled at him, even when he did something wrong, like write the letter ‘d’ backwards, or color the sky green instead of blue.
Harry's eyes blinked back tears as he looked at the star that he'd placed in a dark corner of his cupboard, where no Dursley would ever find it. It was the first present he could remember getting, and he didn't want to give it up. Ever. It reminded him of Mrs. Adams. She was like a star, all nice and shiny. Perfect.
What do you wish for, Harry?
The voice came to him in a soft, musical tone, and, startled, Harry sat up on his thin mat and squinted in the darkness of his cupboard. His heart pounded like mad in his chest, and he held his breath. Surely no one else could be in his cupboard with him. No one else would fit. It was much too small a place.
"Who said that?" Harry whispered, not wanting to disturb his relatives who were watching television in the living room.
He could hear an occasional rumble of voices as Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia made a comment about something that had happened, and laughter, but couldn't really follow whatever television program they were watching tonight, because it wasn't on loud enough, which was unusual, but Harry had learned, long ago, not to question these breaks from the usual.
Asking would only get him into trouble, and he really didn’t want to have a fresh set of bruises to go along with the ones that he’d earned the first day of summer vacation by accidentally oversleeping, even though, as he had foolishly tried to point out, Aunt Petunia hadn’t come to get him earlier, and everyone else had slept in as well.
When Harry received no answer to his question, he lay back down on his mat, and sighed. There'd been no voice. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Mrs. Adams had explained to him what an imagination was, and told him that he had a very big one. It wasn’t a bad thing, she’d said, but Harry didn’t think his relatives would agree with that. They did not like anything that was not normal, and Harry had a suspicion that a big imagination was not normal.
You should make a wish, Harry.
This time Harry knew that the voice had come from inside his own head -- his imagination -- and he settled down onto his mat; it was the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation that wasn't scary. It sounded like Mrs. Adams' voice, cheerful and light, like the sun or a full moon in an inky, black sky.
Harry looked at the glowing star thoughtfully, and played with the edge of his ratty blanket -- the blanket that had been with him when he’d been left on the Dursleys’ front porch as a baby, the only thing that he had from his deadbeat parents.
He turned the thought around in his head, wondering what to wish for.
A wish was a pretty big thing, and, from what he understood of them in the stories that he'd heard at school, most of the time you only got one of them, so you had to make it really good. And you had to be very careful with your wishes; you couldn't tell anyone else about them, or make them without thinking them through really carefully first. Making a wish was very serious business.
Harry had never gotten to make birthday wishes, like Dudley did every year, and Harry doubted that he'd find a genie's bottle (Three wishes would be too many, Harry thought), so this was it. His big chance. His only chance to make a wish.
World peace sounded like a good wish, and Harry had heard Mrs. Adams mention it very tearfully one day. It wasn't a selfish wish, which Harry would think would be a good thing in the world of wishes. But Harry doubted that him making a single wish on a fake star, even with the big imagination that he had, would bring peace to the world. It was too big a wish on too tiny a star, and he wasn't anybody important enough to influence the entire world like that.
What about something just for you, Harry? the voice inside his head suggested, and Harry frowned. He was very uncomfortable thinking about himself. He was a freak who would amount to nothing, like his parents had. He'd die an early death, probably from drinking too much alcohol and crashing a car into a tree or something, like his parents had. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't actually said it like that, but they always cautioned him not to be like his parents whenever he did something wrong, or whenever something strange happened around him, so he knew, deep down, what his aunt and uncle really thought about him, and what he'd amount to. Not much.
Sighing, Harry turned on his side, facing away from the door to the cupboard, so that he could have a better view of the star. It seemed to be sparkling, and Harry smiled. He reached toward the star, but, from where he lay, his arm wasn't long enough for him to reach it, and he imagined that it was up in the sky, rather than stuck to the ceiling of his room.
"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry sang quietly, and he pondered wishing that his parents hadn't been the terrible, irresponsible drunks that his relatives had told him they were. If that wish was granted, though, would it make any difference? Harry would still be a freak, right? He couldn't bring people back from the dead by wishing on a sticker, could he?
Just wish from your heart, sweetie, the voice whispered in his head, and Harry felt a strange warmth, like Mrs. Adams' kindness, and his love for her, spread through him. For some strange reason, Harry felt like crying, but he bit his lip and clenched his hands into tight fists.
Crying was for babies, and he was too old to cry like a baby. He'd been too old to cry since he could remember. It was something that his uncle told him time and time again when he was punishing Harry for something that had gone wonky, or when he'd accidentally burnt the bacon, or made the eggs too runny or too hard, or when he wasn't quick enough, or didn't do one of his chores well enough.
Dudley wasn't too old to cry, though, Harry thought, and for the first time, he wondered why Dudley was allowed to cry, when he wasn't. Dudley was allowed to do a lot of things that Harry wasn't, though, and Harry suspected that it was because of his parents, and because of the fact that he was a freak, and Dudley wasn’t.
Dudley was normal. Normal boys could cry whenever they wanted to, and wish on birthday candles.
Freaks, though, weren't allowed to cry when they hit their heads on the inside of their cupboards when being pulled out by their elbow to dust the living room. Freaks weren't allowed to have birthdays, or get presents, or eat cake. Freaks weren't human. Freaks shouldn't even consider making wishes, even on fake stars.
The light of the star seemed to dim as Harry's thoughts grew darker. Yes, he had a very big imagination, but it could, and often did, run away with him, as Mrs. Adams had cautioned, and now Harry couldn't seem to stop thinking of all of the bad things that he had done since he’d been sent to live with the Dursleys. He couldn’t remember his life before the Dursleys. He’d been too little, just one when he’d been dumped on them.
There were always bad things happening around him that he couldn't explain. Things that he hadn't meant to happen, and didn't even know how they had happened, but they did, and his relatives told him that these things were his fault, because he was a freak, and he needed to stop being a freak, stop making these things happen.
Harry didn’t know how to make these bad things -- his hair growing out overnight after his aunt had cut it, the teacher’s hair turning blue, Aunt Petunia’s flowers turning into a rainbow of colors -- happen. If he knew how to make them stop happening, he would, but it seemed to Harry like those things had been caused by magic, and not him.
Harry shuddered as he thought the word, magic, and he quickly craned his neck, wincing at the ache that it had caused as he looked toward the cupboard door. His heart thundered as he waited for the telltale sound of his uncle's feet stomping toward the door of his cupboard, to yank him out by his hair and punish him for thinking the ‘m’ work. Harry hoped against hope that his thoughts hadn't caused something freaky to happen, drawing unwanted attention from his relatives.
Magic was a forbidden word, and Harry feared even thinking it, let alone speaking it. The one time that he'd said the word, magic, aloud, Uncle Vernon had taken a belt to him and Harry hadn't been able to sit for over a week. He'd been locked in his closet, only allowed to use the bathroom once a day, and hadn't been fed at all for a solid week. Harry did not want to repeat that experience ever again, and tried hard not to even think the ‘m’ word, but he had slipped up tonight.
The sound of barking laughter reached his ears, and Harry let out the breath that he'd been holding. He turned back toward his star, which seemed to be winking at him.
"That was close," Harry whispered the words aloud. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and he felt a little shaky, like the time he'd somehow ended up on the roof of the school when he hadn't climbed up there.
Trust your heart, Harry, the voice murmured, and the star grew brighter, making Harry squint. You already know what you want, don't be afraid to wish for it.
Biting his lip, and twisting the fabric of his blanket in his fingers -- gaining comfort from it -- Harry took a shuddering breath, and let his heart rule his mind.
"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry whispered. He felt the words tugging at his heart, and the wish bubbled forth from his lips as though someone else was trying to push it out of him, "I wish that..."
Harry's breath hitched, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his tongue. He couldn't wish for what his heart was telling him to. It was too selfish. It wasn't right. Not after all that his relatives had done for him in taking him in and putting a roof over his head, teaching him right from wrong, punishing him when he needed it, protecting him from a world that hated freaks like him.
Harry, it's alright, the voice promised. It's okay to wish for what your heart wants. You've got a good, kind heart, and it will never steer you wrong, sweetie. Wish.
Harry's eyes popped open, and his breath whooshed out of him. The star's light surged, like a light bulb does before it burns out, only, instead of going out, the light seemed to reach out to Harry and touch him. It didn't burn, but reminded Harry of the way that Mrs. Adams' hand had felt when she'd brushed the hair out of his eyes while checking him for a fever one day, or when she rested her hand on his back when he'd stood in front of the class to deliver a speech about bugs. He'd been nervous, and her light touch had taken the butterflies away from his stomach, and had made him feel better.
Throwing caution to the wind, Harry took a deep breath and made his wish, "I wish that I was loveable. That someone would love me and take care of me. That I wasn't a freak. That my mom and dad didn't die in a car crash because they were no good drunks. That, if I can't not be a freak, I could live with a family of people like me, so that I wouldn't have to be alone." The words left Harry's mouth in a rush, and he was breathless when he'd finished making his wish, and he worried that, because he'd crammed so much into the wish, that he'd ruined it. To him, everything that he'd said was linked together, and it all came down to one thing -- and he added the words, "I just want a family who loves me."
The star's light grew so bright that Harry had to place a hand in front of his eyes to keep from going blind. He thought he could hear his uncle's voice bellowing from the other side of the door, and thought, Oh, no, I'm really going to get it this time, and summer's only just begun, before the star's light swallowed him up, and Harry felt the floor drop away, and he fell, and just kept falling.
The End.
"Do you think he hit his head, Severus?" asked someone Harry didn't recognize.
Harry decided to keep his eyes shut, just in case he had hit his head, and one of the neighbors had found him. His aunt and uncle would not be happy if he made a scene, or did something to get himself hurt. He really didn't want another punishment so early in the summer. If he was good, he might get to go play in the park when Dudley and his gang wasn't around, and after he got his chores done. If he earned another punishment now, though, he might not get to go to the park for several weeks.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Remus, he just fell out of bed," said the voice belonging to Severus.
"But, he might have hit his head." Remus sounded worried, and Harry almost opened his eyes at the absurdity of someone worrying about him, and the thought that he had fallen out of bed. His mat wasn’t something that he could fall off of, it was almost flat against the floor. A niggling memory of falling tugged at Harry’s mind, and he tried to follow that thought to its beginning, but couldn’t.
"Stop fretting, and help me lift him up," Severus said in a voice that sounded a little like Harry’s uncle's did when he was irritated with Harry. "He's not as light as he used to be."
"He has grown a lot over the past couple of months." Remus' voice had lost the worried tone, and took on one of fondness that Harry found difficult to reconcile with regard to himself.
Harry felt himself lifted, and almost opened his eyes at the shock of it, because it wasn't done roughly, but gently. Instead, he bit his bottom lip, hoping that if he kept his eyes closed, it would prolong this dream. It had to be a dream, because nothing else made any sense.
"I'm surprised that Harry didn't wake when he fell." Remus' voice was right next to Harry's ear, and the man's warm breath tickled it. It was a strange feeling, one that Harry was unused to, but oddly, it wasn’t scary.
"I'm not," Severus said with a snort. "He sleeps like a rock."
"Yes, well, rock or not, I still think that we should examine his head --”
Severus snorted again, and Harry got the impression that the man was trying not to laugh.
Remus cleared his throat, and finished his thought, “To make sure that he doesn't have a lump on it.”
Harry nearly laughed aloud at the thought of his head being examined for a lump from falling out of a bed (as if he could fall off of his mat!), and not being whacked with the flat side of his aunt's cast iron skillet. This was a strange, funny dream, but Harry really didn't want it to end, so he stayed as still as he could when he felt himself being lowered onto a soft surface, and blankets being tucked under his chin, and then something, not unlike Mrs. Adams' hand, brushed over his forehead, except it stayed longer than Mrs. Adams' hand had, and felt different, softer somehow.
Harry couldn't help but smile and turn onto his side when he felt Severus' and Remus' hands move away from him. It felt so good, being in a real bed, everything, and more, than he thought it would be like whenever he made up his aunt and uncle's bed, and Dudley's. It was...heaven, Harry decided.
A hand ruffled his hair, and something brushed his cheek, and then Severus whispered, "Goodnight, Harry, try not to fall out of bed again, you don't want to send your Uncle Remus to an early grave with worry, or cause your Uncle Sirius to come rushing in here like a madman." Severus ruffled Harry’s hair again, and, comforted by the light, teasing tone of the stranger's words, though he had no idea who or what the man was talking about, and he vaguely thought that he should be a little more afraid than he was, Harry sighed softly and relaxed.
"This is a nice dream," Harry murmured. Unaware that he'd spoken the words aloud, causing both of his guardians to share a smile, Harry fell again, though this time it was into a sound sleep, and not into the special magic of his wish which had tumbled him into, not an alternative universe, but one which had been altered to fix several somethings that had gone wrong in the first place.
As Harry slept, a certain glow-in-the-dark sticker star was twinkling where he’d left it in the dark corner of the cupboard that he’d lived in at his aunt and uncle’s house. His aunt, uncle and cousin were struggling to open the door -- they’d heard what had sounded like a large explosion, and were intent upon investigating it, and making sure that Harry did not disturb any more of their nighttime television viewing with his freaky ways.
The door did not budge, though, and, growing bored, the Dursleys returned to the living room. Canned laughter jarred them from their contemplation of the cupboard beneath the stairs and of who was supposed to be there, and of the irritating fact that the door seemed to be stuck.
Before long, the Dursleys returned to their regularly scheduled programming, and all thoughts of Harry, of the boy and his cupboard, simply faded from their minds as they joined in on the canned laughter. The glow-in-the-dark sticker star seemed to breathe a sigh of relief (inasmuch as stickers can breathe) and then her light winked out, and Harry’s cupboard was plunged into darkness that not even the intermittent light from the television flickering in the living room could penetrate as a magic older than the star herself, older even than the magic that those who wield it are familiar with today, began to work.
It was intricate, and difficult work, and would take time, as it was a magic that had not been called upon in many decades. The magic needed to see, first, that the changes she was making were necessary, that she had not been called upon in vain.
Certain alterations had been easy to contrive -- the Dursleys were not particularly complex -- and others, a little harder to work out, but the magic had been able to alter timelines, and tweak certain events to bring about what Harry wanted, though the magic still needed to sort out the boy, himself.
Harry, unaware of the changes that were occurring, and of those which had already occurred, or of the magic that was beginning to work on his, and others’, behalf, in both the wizarding and muggle world, because of his wish, slept soundly and comfortably, for the first time since he’d lost his parents.
He dreamt about his teacher, about the star that glowed in its dark corner of his cupboard, of breath tickling his ear, and gentle, rumbling voices soothing him back to sleep after he’d fallen. It was a pleasant dream, and Harry’s arm curled around something soft and plush. Drawing it to his chest and hugging it there, Harry turned again in his sleep, sighing deeply in contentment.
The magic continued to do her work, weaving a new tapestry that would, affect, not only Harry’s present, but his future, as well as the pasts and futures of several key players. All of whom, aside from little Harry, had regrets, and had wistfully wished upon a star at least once in their lives, though, unlike Harry, they’d all failed to truly believe that their wish could come true.
She did not hold grudges -- that wasn’t the way of magic -- and though each of the individual’s wishes differed slightly, and she had to take creative license to fashion them together so that they fit into what Harry had asked for, it was not a complete breach of their intents, and, as such, it should work. There were just a few more things that she needed to put together before Harry’s wish, and indeed, those of the original wisher -- Chelsea Adams -- could be completely fulfilled.
The whispered, prayerful wish of a heartsick muggle (Please keep Harry safe and happy.) and an abused, yet wistful wizard child had sparked something that the old magic hadn’t felt in a very long time, and so, as Harry slept, she worked.
The End.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” an unfamiliar voice called to Harry from somewhere that sounded far away, and Harry turned and fumbled for his glasses, which he always kept right beside him when he slept. His hand connected, not with his glasses, but with something large and furry, and he sat up with a startled yelp, and scrambled backwards, away from whatever it was that had crawled into his cupboard with him.
Heart pounding in his chest, Harry regarded what looked like a large, furry beast sitting on its haunches beside him. Its tongue was lolling out of its mouth, and it almost looked like it was smiling. If big, furry beasts could smile, that is.
Harry’s mind was playing tricks on him, he decided. He remembered something about falling last night, and, keeping a wary eye on the beast, Harry tentatively reached to touch the back of his head, feeling for a lump. There was no lump, and the beast tilted its head to the side, as though questioning what Harry was doing.
Someone entered the room, and that’s when Harry realized that he wasn’t in his cupboard, and he wasn’t on his mat, but on a soft, cushy bed. He had no idea where he was, let alone where his glasses were.
The man sighed, and frowned at the beast. “Get off Harry’s bed, you big oaf.”
Severus, the name came to Harry, and he felt a little less afraid, though he had no idea who Severus was, or how he knew the man’s name.
Instead of getting off the bed, the beast turned to growl at Severus and sank down onto the bed, as though daring Severus to make it move. In spite of his initial fear, Harry almost laughed at the beast’s antics, and at the disgusted look that Severus gave it.
“Breakfast is ready whenever you are, Harry,” Severus said in a gentle voice. He turned his gaze toward the beast, and sneered. “See if you can coax your Uncle Sirius, here, into behaving like a normal wizard, would you?” After making that astounding announcement, Severus turned on his heel and left. It was only in that moment that Harry realized the man was wearing something that looked an awful lot like the robes that Aunt Petunia wore for choir. She had never made them swirl like Severus had as he’d exited the room, though.
Harry felt the back and top and sides of his head, thinking that he must’ve missed a lump somewhere, because if he hadn’t, then he was as crazy as the Dursleys said that Mrs. Figg, with her gagillion cats, was. The thought didn’t scare him as much as he should, which, to Harry, was proof enough of his craziness.
The beast whined, and nudged Harry’s foot with its nose. Its eyes were begging Harry for something, and it nudged Harry again, its eyes glancing at Harry’s hands, which were currently tangled in his hair as he frantically searched for a lump that wasn’t there.
Blinking at the beast, and reluctantly removing his hands from his hair, Harry sighed, and, decided that if he really was crazy, petting the beast wouldn’t be the worst thing that he could do. The beast made a happy sighing sound when Harry ran his fingers through its wild fur, and Harry grinned. He’d never felt anything like the beast’s fur, and the sounds that the beast was making as he petted it, tugged at Harry’s heart.
“Your fur’s soft and silky,” Harry whispered, and laughed when the beast licked the palm of his hand and scrambled over so that his head was resting in Harry’s lap, giving Harry’s fingers better access to his ears.
“Uncle Sirius is an odd name,” Harry said, and he looked around the room for his glasses as he continued to pet the beast. His glasses were on a table on the right side of his bed, and, reaching over the beast, Harry plucked them off the nightstand and placed them on his face.
He pulled them off immediately, blinking in wonderment as he put them on again, and looked around the room, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. He couldn’t ever remember seeing things this clearly before, and, when he pulled his glasses off again, he realized that they looked nothing like the ones that Aunt Petunia had picked out for him at the thrift shop. For one thing, there was no masking tape around the bridge of them, holding them together after Dudley had broken them on accident when he’d shoved Harry into the wall, and for another, these glasses fit him perfectly, as though they’d been made, just for him.
Uncle Sirius nudged Harry’s hand with his nose, and Harry slipped the glasses back onto his face, and resumed petting the beast who sighed in contentment. Harry glanced around the room, trying to take everything in, but failing. There was so much stuff in the room. There were posters of people flying on broomsticks, and Harry blinked as he caught one of the people waving at him. He rubbed at his eyes, and sunk his fingers into the beast’s fur when the person winked at him, and then took off, flying on the broomstick. Harry goggled at the blank poster, and then let out a shocked squeak when the man reappeared in the poster.
“I’m crazy, aren’t I?” Harry said, and the beast tilted its head and gave him a look that seemed to say, So what else is new?
“I’m crazy, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have placed me in an institution, haven’t they?” Harry asked.
He continued to pet the beast, and watch the people fly around on their broomsticks and chase after a golden, winged ball that flitted from poster to poster almost faster than the eye could see, as he pondered what had happened to him. His aunt and uncle had threatened to place him in an institution, more than once, and it looked like they had finally done it.
For an institution, Harry thought that this wasn’t so bad. The walls of his room were a nice shade of blue, and were covered with posters that probably weren’t moving outside of the craziness of his mind. It was nice, cozy even. And the beast that was giving him a puzzled look as Harry continued to pet it, was nice, even if it did have a very strange name, and that Severus person had told Harry that it was up to him to coax the beast into behaving like a normal person. Could a beast behave like a person?
“Can you behave like a person?” Harry decided to ask the beast itself, and he peered at it closely. Its eyes were a deep brown in color, and had a spark of intelligence in them.
The beast groaned and rolled its eyes, and Harry giggled. “I didn’t think so,” he said, and the beast seemed to narrow its eyes at him and sigh heavily. Much to Harry’s disappointment, the beast, after one last sigh, shook itself from Harry’s grip and backed away from him and onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, scrambling to reach out to the beast so that it wouldn’t leave him alone in his room. As nice as the room was, he was terrified of being alone in it, which was kind of funny, because he was used to being left alone in his cupboard for days at a time, and this room was much bigger and much less dark than his cupboard had been.
“I didn’t mean it,” Harry whispered when the beast moved to a spot just beyond his reach.
A loud, resounding pop rent the air, and Harry felt his hair whipped by an impossible wind as the beast suddenly, inexplicably became a man. Harry scooted away from the shape shifter and fell off on the other side of the bed, landing hard on his backside.
Terror blinding him, Harry scrambled to free himself from the bed sheets which had tangled around him as he fell, and trapped him. He could hear the man-beast rounding the bed, but couldn’t hear whatever it was saying over the sound of his own heart beating. The bedsheets were strangling him, and Harry screamed when the man-beast picked him up.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” the man-beast asked, and Harry kicked at it in an attempt to free himself from its arms. It only held him tighter, and started shushing him, running its fingers through Harry’s hair as Harry had done seconds ago when the man-beast had been more like a dog than a man.
“Let me go, please, let me go,” Harry begged. He was crying, and didn’t care if his uncle beat him for it.
“Harry?” the man-beast sounded upset, and footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Sirius, what happened. Why’s Harry crying?” a voice asked, and Harry’s mind supplied the name, Remus for the voice.
“I don’t know,” Sirius said, and Harry felt himself being switched from the man-beast’s arms, to someone else’s. “I switched from my animagus form, and he acted like he’d never seen me before. Like he was terrified of me. I don’t understand what happened.”
“Sh, Harry, it’s okay, can you tell us what happened?” Remus was rubbing Harry’s back and holding him, and Harry couldn’t stop crying. He removed Harry’s glasses and motioned for someone that Harry couldn’t see to take them.
The man sat down on the bed, and just held Harry as he wept. He didn’t call him a baby, or threaten to give him something to cry about. He just held and rocked him, and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, and kept rubbing his back. He whispered things to Harry that Harry couldn’t understand, telling him that he was safe, and that it was okay, and that nothing would hurt him, that his uncles were there.
When Harry’s tears finally subsided, Remus pressed a handkerchief to Harry’s hand and directed him to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. He was gentle and didn’t rush Harry, and continued to hold him long after Harry’s tears had dried, and he’d stopped sniffling.
Harry’s head felt stuffy, and his eyes felt dry. He was tired, but not tired at the same time. He was embarrassed to be held like he’d sometimes seen Dudley being held by Aunt Petunia, but he felt comfortable and safe, and he never wanted to leave Remus’ arms, but didn’t want to be a baby either. Mostly, though, he was scared and confused, and wondered when things would return to normal, though part of him didn’t want things to return to normal.
“What happened, Harry?” Remus asked, pulling back a little so that he could look Harry in the eye. He didn’t look angry, but Harry didn’t know this man well. “Sirius said that you mentioned an Aunt Petunia and an Uncle Vernon, and that you were afraid when he transformed from his animagus form?”
“Those would be Lily’s cow of a sister, and her whale of a husband,” Severus said. The man was leaning against the doorjamb, and he had a scowl on his face.
“They’re the worst sort of Muggles.” Severus was shaking his head, and there was a look of fury on his face that made Harry shiver.
“When would Harry have met them?” Remus asked. “Did Lily and James bring Harry over before...before they died?”
Sirius, the man-beast, was sitting on the floor beside Harry’s bed, almost at Remus’ feet, he looked lost and sad, and Harry felt bad, but he was afraid of the man-beast, and he snuggled closer to Remus, feeling ridiculous and like a baby, but safe. Sirius was shaking his head, and he shared a look with Severus who pushed off the doorjamb and ran a hand through his hair.
Severus shook his head. “No, Petunia made it very clear that she didn’t want James and Lily, or their spawn, anywhere near her and her family. She was hated anything to do with magic, her sister included.”
Harry shrank when he heard the word, magic, and Remus frowned down at him. “Harry, what’s wrong?”
Harry shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. Whatever he said would only sound crazy, and if he said the words aloud then there was no going back.
“It’s okay, sir,” Harry said, trying to push away from Remus who didn’t budge at all. “You can lock me in my room now. I’ll behave. I won’t cause any trouble.”
“What are you talking about, Harry?” Remus asked, and he actually sounded as confused as Harry felt. The man looked over at Severus who walked over to them, and sat down on the bed beside them and rested a hand on Harry’s back.
“Harry, can you tell us what’s going on?” Severus asked. His voice was soft and silky, and Harry found himself wanting to answer truthfully, though he was afraid.
Harry bit his bottom lip, and shook his head. He shrugged when Remus placed a finger under his chin and raised his face.
“Harry, you know that we love you, and we’d never do anything to hurt you, don’t you?” Sirius asked, and Harry felt the man-beast’s hand on his back, just below Severus’. It was oddly comforting, in spite of his fear.
Right now Harry’s emotions and thoughts were at war with each other. He didn’t remember these men, though he had known Severus’ and Remus’ names when he’d woken that morning, but he couldn’t remember how he’d known their names. He looked from one man to the next, and tried to conjure up memories of them, but couldn’t.
“I don’t know who you are,” Harry finally admitted. “Last night, I went to sleep in my cupboard, or at least I think I went to sleep, I don’t remember falling asleep...” Harry trailed off as he remembered the star that Mrs. Adams had given him, the one that he’d hidden in the far corner of his cupboard so that none of the Dursleys would find it.
Understanding flooded Harry like the light from the star had, and everything came together for him like pieces of a particularly difficult puzzle. Heart thundering in his chest, Harry swallowed the sudden panic, and excitement that welled up inside of him as he remembered his wish. He looked from one man’s face to the next, taking each of their features in. They weren’t rushing him to explain, or pushing him for answers, but were waiting patiently for him to speak, and it was almost too much for Harry to comprehend.
“I made a wish,” Harry said in a whisper, his voice filled with awe. “My teacher, Mrs. Adams, gave me a glow-in-the-dark star, and I put it in my cupboard where Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon couldn’t reach it, and I made a wish.”
“What did you wish for, Harry?” Severus asked, and he didn’t sound like he was babying Harry, or didn’t believe what Harry was saying, he sounded interested, and like maybe he believed what Harry was saying.
“I wished for a family who loves me, to be with people like me, freaks,” Harry said. “I didn’t think it would come true. I’m only a little kid, and it was only a sticker, not a real star.”
“What happened when you made your wish, Harry? What did the star do?” Remus asked, and he exchanged a look with Severus, who shook his head.
“I...it got really bright, and I had to...I put my hand over my eyes, and, and I fell,” Harry finished his retelling in a whisper. “I fell, and then...”
“And then your Uncle Severus and I came into your room and put you back into bed,” Remus said, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.
“You don’t believe me,” Harry said, twisting away from Remus, who pulled him back so that they were facing each other.
“I do believe, you, Harry,” Remus said. “I don’t know what happened, or how it happened, or why it is that we can remember raising you, but you can’t remember us, but I do believe you, Harry.”
“Does that mean that you’re freaks, too?” Harry asked, eyeing each of them warily.
“Explain what you mean by, freaks,” Severus said, giving Harry a hard, but not unkind, look.
Harry shrugged and swiped a hand under his nose. Severus pursed his lips and handed Harry a handkerchief. Blushing, Harry wiped at his nose, and handed the cloth back. Much to his surprise, and great shock, Severus pulled a long, thin stick from his robes and pointed it at the soiled handkerchief, and said something that sounded like nonsense to Harry, before examining the handkerchief, folding it up, and placing it back within the folds of his choir robes. He replaced his stick as well, and smirked at the gobsmacked look on Harry’s face.
“What did you do?” Harry asked, feeling more curious than afraid.
“Magic,” Severus said, and Harry could almost see the thoughts passing through the man’s eyes before they brightened, and the man smiled at him and nodded. “Let me guess, your aunt and uncle did not approve of magic, and when anything happened that they couldn’t explain by normal means, they --”
“Said that I’d done something freaky, and punished me for it,” Harry interrupted, and slapped a hand over his mouth when he realized what he’d done, that he interrupted an adult, one that was apparently just one of three uncles that he had after the wish that he’d made.
“Harry, no one here, is going to hit you,” Sirius said, and he scooted closer to the bed, so that he could reach up and hold Harry’s ankle.
“Harry, you’re not a freak,” Severus said. “You’re a wizard. Your aunt and uncle only said and did those things to you, because they were afraid, but fear is not an excuse to hurt someone like they hurt you. Do you understand that?”
Harry nodded, though he didn’t really understand, but he didn’t want Severus to be mad at him for not understanding, so he pretended to, and just hoped that Severus wouldn’t see through his lie. He snuggled closer to Remus, thinking that, if his wish was revoked, because he’d told these three men -- his wish uncles -- about it, he had better soak up as much of this as he could while he still could. If he was sent back to his aunt and uncle, then he wanted to bring this memory back with him -- the memory of being loved, not by just one someone, but by three.
Severus gave him a searching look, and brushed a hand through Harry’s hair, and said, “Harry, it’s okay if you don’t understand. I’m not going to punish you for being honest with me.”
“I...I’ve always been a freak,” Harry admitted. “And my relatives, they only tried to make me better and protect me.”
“Oh, Harry.” Remus pressed Harry’s face to his chest, and rocked him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how any of that...this, happened, but you’re safe now, and I promise you that we’ll keep you safe.”
“But...” Harry couldn’t voice his biggest worry, and it made his heart ache in his chest.
“But, what, Harry?” Severus asked. “We’re not like your Aunt Petunia and your Uncle Vernon. We will not punish you for speaking your mind.”
“Promise, cub,” Sirius said, and he patted Harry’s leg.
“It’s just, I...you aren’t supposed to tell anyone your wish, it was in all of the stories...” Harry’s eyes filled with tears.
“And you’re afraid that now that you’ve told us what your wish was, it won’t come true?” Severus asked.
Harry sniffed and nodded. Severus smiled and pulled Harry into a one-armed hug that encompassed both Harry and Remus. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Severus pulled away, though he kept an arm around Harry.
“Harry,” Severus waited until Harry was looking him in the eye. He kissed Harry on the nose, making it tickle. “Do you remember what those stories said about what happened after wishes came true?”
Harry frowned in thought, running the stories through his head, and then smiling when the answer came to him. “Everyone lived happily ever after,” he whispered, not daring to hope that something like that could really happen for him -- a freak -- Harry.
Severus grinned and rested his forehead against Harry’s. “Yes, they did. And, do you know what, Harry?”
Harry shook his head. “No, what?”
“Your wish has already come true,” Severus said, eyes boring into Harry’s, shining with something that made Harry squirm, but he didn’t look away from Severus. “And that means that it doesn’t matter who you tell about it, because, once a wish has been granted, it can’t be broken or taken back.”
Harry gasped, and searched Severus’ eyes for a lie, but, finding none, he allowed himself to believe that what the man had said was true -- not just the part about the wish, but about magic and him being, not a freak, but a wizard (whatever that meant, maybe his uncles would teach him, provided that his Uncle Severus was right and the wish couldn’t be taken away after it had already been granted).
“Harry, we’re a family. You, your Uncle Sirius, Uncle Severus, and I. Your mother, and father...” Remus stopped speaking and it looked to Harry like he was trying not to cry, but he took a deep breath and continued, “Before they died, they asked us to set aside our differences and raise you, if anything happened to them.”
“That was harder for some of us to do than others,” Sirius muttered, and Severus said something that Harry didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound very nice, and he had a suspicion that the two men didn’t get along all that well, but had an odd desire to laugh.
“Well, yes,” Remus said, and he glanced over at Sirius and Severus and rolled his eyes. “But, for the most part, that’s what we’ve done, and, I think I can speak for all of us when I say that, no matter how any of us feels about each other, we each love you very, very much.”
“That, we do,” Sirius said. “Right, Severus?” He craned his neck to look at Severus, who gave the man a bland look, but when his face softened when he looked in Harry’s direction.
“I love you very much, Harry James Potter,” Severus said in a very serious, comical tone that made Harry giggle, and Harry’s stomach took that moment to rumble.
Severus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about you, but I think that it’s time we feed that monster of yours that you call a stomach.” Severus tickled Harry’s stomach, making him giggle even harder, and easing some of the butterflies that had settled into his stomach when he’d first woken up and found himself in a strange place.
Nodding, Harry let Remus lift him and carry him out of the room, even though, at seven years old, he was too big to be carried around like a little kid. It felt nice, for a change, to be the one fawned over like his aunt and uncle had fawned over Dudley. Harry wondered if the feeling would wear off over time, and hoped that it wouldn’t. Remus let him down at the head of the stairs, so that Harry could walk on his own, for which he was grateful. A little babying was nice, but he didn’t want to be babied too much.
“You’d better eat a big breakfast,” Severus said. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you. That Weasley boy is coming over this afternoon.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about it, though Harry got the impression that there wasn’t much that did thrill the...wizard.
“Yes, Molly’s dropping Ron and the twins off this afternoon,” Remus said, and he placed a hand on Harry’s head, and waggled his eyebrows when Severus groaned.
“In that case, I’ll be down in the basement, getting a headstart on the potions that will be needed for the coming school year,” Severus said, veering away from the kitchen and down another hall. Harry frowned as he walked away, but Remus steered him into the kitchen where Sirius was already sitting in front of a plate of steaming food.
“Severus doesn’t do well when there are a lot of children underfoot,” Remus said with a wink, and he ushered Harry toward an empty chair that had a plate piled with more food than Harry had eaten in an entire week let alone one sitting.
“Go ahead, Harry,” Remus said, and Harry got the impression that he was trying not to cry.
“Thank you,” Harry said, before turning to the food and trying to figure out what to eat first. In the end, he decided on trying one of the sausages and then starting in on a pancake. It was all very good, but it was too much, and he could only eat half of what was on his plate, but neither man would hear his apologies and they made it clear that, under no circumstances, was Harry to save the food to eat later in the day. If he couldn’t eat all of his food, that was okay, he wouldn’t have to face it again, and would never be forced to clean his plate.
Harry spent the rest of the morning exploring the house with Sirius while Remus worked in the library. It was a large house, and Harry wondered who cleaned it all and was very surprised when he was introduced to Dobby and Winky, two House-elves that kept the house clean and managed the kitchens. They were odd looking creatures, but Harry found them to be very friendly and kind, if a little overenthusiastic.
They visited Severus in the basement, and Harry was intrigued by all of the cauldrons that the man was working with, and his explanations, and how he answered every one of Harry’s questions, even though it was clear that Harry was testing his patience. Everything was amazing, and Sirius showed him all kinds of magic, making Harry’s head spin, and his mind reel. His aunt and uncle had told him that magic wasn’t real, and had forbidden him to even say the word with dire consequences, but here, magic was being used freely, and there wasn’t anything bad about it.
Lunch was simple. Fruit, sandwich and soup, and Harry was able to eat almost all of it, in spite of the fact that he was very nervous about meeting Ron, who, according to Sirius, was his best friend, and the twins, who were Ron’s older brothers. They would be spending the afternoon with Harry and his uncles so that their mother could do some shopping, without having her more rambunctious boys along. She would be hosting a slumber party at her house for Harry, and a couple of other friends, next week. It sounded like this kind of thing happened often, and Harry wished that he had memories of it all, but maybe they’d come to him over time, or maybe he’d wake up and find himself in his cupboard, and this all a dream.
When the time for Ron and his brothers to arrive came, Harry felt like his heart was going to explode, it was beating so hard. He had never had a friend before, other than Mrs. Adams. What if Ron didn’t like him? Or what if Ron and his brothers ganged up on him like Dudley and his friends did?
“Relax, kiddo,” Sirius said. “Ron’s a good kid. It’s going to be alright.”
“It’s just, I’ve never had a friend before,” Harry said.
Sirius frowned and blinked at him, his face darkened, and he clenched his fists before forcing a smile on his face and Harry thought that maybe the man was counting to ten, like Aunt Petunia sometimes did when she was especially angry about something that had happened around Harry. His uncles had called it ‘accidental magic’ and had told him it was common. He didn’t think his aunt and uncle had been told about it at all, because they didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t control it, especially if he was hurt or upset.
“Harry.” Sirius closed his eyes, and opened them. “Ron’s your friend, and so are Fred and George. You’ve got another friend named Neville, and you’ll be seeing him next week at your slumber party. Harry, you’ve got friends, and they’re all like you.”
“They’ve got magic?” Harry asked.
Sirius nodded, and squeezed him tight before releasing him. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, or why, or how, but I’m so glad that your wish came true.”
Feeling awkward, Harry shrugged. “Me, too.”
The fireplace in the kitchen -- Sirius had told Harry that they’d be waiting for the Weasleys there, and though he was curious, Harry hadn’t questioned it -- suddenly flared to life and a boy a little taller than him came stumbling out of green flames. He quickly moved to the side of the fireplace and two boys, both taller than the first boy came tumbling out of the fireplace, and finally a woman, holding the hand of a little girl, came in through the fireplace, and Harry stood watching it with his mouth hanging open.
“Hiya, Harry,” the first boy who’d come out of the fireplace approached him and greeted him with a hug.
Numb, Harry watched as Sirius quickly explained everything to Mrs. Weasley, Molly, she’d told Harry to call her, and the others. All of them, from the youngest to the oldest, had the brightest red hair that Harry had ever seen, and they never seemed to stop moving. And though Ron had been told that Harry didn’t remember him because he’d hit his bed when he fell out of it last night (it was a lie that all three of his uncles had agreed upon telling to the Weasleys), he didn’t seem put off by it, and, at the soonest opportunity, he dragged Harry out of the kitchen and into what Sirius had called his playroom.
The afternoon passed by in a blur for Harry, and by the end of the visit from the Weasleys, Harry was exhausted, but happy for the first time in his life -- that he could remember. Ron hadn’t made fun of him when Harry said he didn’t know how to play wizard’s chess. He’d shrugged and taught him how to play the game, and then kicked his butt at it, because he was a really good player, but Ron didn’t rub it in. He taught him how to play Exploding Snap, and then they’d all gone outside and flew on broomsticks; Harry had something called a Nimbus. Fred and George had been funny and had played tricks on him and Ron throughout the day, but they were patient with Harry when they coached him in how to fly and then play Quidditch.
They’d had teatime and Ron and his brothers had told Harry all sorts of stories about wizards and witches. They were having so much fun that Harry had forgotten that he’d never had friends before, and that he had been afraid of meeting Ron and his brothers.
When Molly came back to retrieve them, it was with a heavy heart that Ron and Harry said goodbye, but Molly reminded them of their slumber party next week, and that Harry and Ron were just a Floo call away.
Harry nearly fell asleep in his dinner, and was carried up to his room by Severus. All three of his uncles tucked him in, and Harry knew, in his heart, that the entire day had been a dream. A long, elaborate dream, but a dream nonetheless. He even pinched himself. It had hurt, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Goodnight, Harry,” Severus said, and he kissed him on the forehead.
Remus ruffled his hair and placed a kiss on his cheek, and Sirius winked at Harry, and spun around. In mid-turn, he’d transfigured into the beast that Harry had met in the morning, and jumped up onto the bed, in spite of the scowl that Severus gave him.
“I don’t think it’ll cause any harm for one night,” Remus said, and he laid a hand on Severus’ arm. Severus sighed and nodded, but he turned to glare at the beast.
“Be careful of our boy, mutt,” Severus said, though Harry detected a teasing note underlying the words, despite the man’s stern tone.
The beast huffed at Severus, and then nudged Harry’s foot with his nose, before he started turning around one way and then the next, and pawing at the blankets.
“If you do not settle down on that bed, I am going to transfigure you back,” Severus said. The beast glowered at Severus, but settled, curled up on Harry’s feet.
“Sleep well, Harry,” Remus said, and he whispered a spell that turned the lights in Harry’s room down so that he could sleep.
“See you in the morning,” Severus said on his way out the door after Remus.
“Goodnight,” Harry said. “Thank you, for everything,” he whispered as he listened to their footsteps fade away.
It was an odd sort of feeling that settled in his chest, then, a kind of heat in his heart, and Harry felt like crying again, but he didn’t. Instead, he thought back through his day, and smiled at each memory. Sirius moved up so that he was sprawled across Harry’s stomach and legs, and Harry ran his fingers through the beast’s hair. He didn’t want to go to sleep, because he knew that, the next morning everything would disappear, because good things did not happen to Harry Potter, no matter how much he wished that they would.
Today had been the best day of his life, and he would never forget it for as long as he lived.
Sighing, Harry rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes, not ready for everything to end, but it was becoming impossible for him to keep his eyes open. He kept the fingers of his left hand entwined in Sirius’ fur, and was lulled into a peaceful sleep by the soft breaths of the snoring beast, and the warmth of his very own room.
The End.
The End.
Summary: Harry makes a wish on a glow-in-the-dark star sticker that his teacher gave him on his last day of school before summer break.