Chapter 2: The Black’s

August 1, 2003

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Hermione asked for the millionth damn time.

Harry spun around and looked at his new place.

His. House.

A house with new paint, new furniture, in a new location, and carried no memories of Harry’s past at all.

A house that Hermione and Ron helped him almost legally purchase.

He paid for it, cash in full. But no muggle realtor would sell a house to a seventeen year old, and that’s where Hermione came to his rescue.

And now he would pay for that rescue by hosting her and Ron for a few days while they ‘helped him settle in’.

Aka: Harry babysitting. Because they were ‘concerned’.

“Where d’you want Sir- er… that bike?” Ron asked, his ears turning red as he had nearly brought up a ‘Harry taboo’.

“Garage,” Harry felt his excitement at being in a new place dim as he considered how much Sirius would love to be here with him. Living near the last of the Black’s (aside from Narcissa who Harry didn’t count), the branch of his family that Sirius never spoke about. The family that maybe he didn’t even know about.

Harry had been organizing paperwork from Sirius’ vault back in June after Gringotts ‘banned him’. Okay, technically Hermione had been organizing paperwork and Harry had watched her and offered rude comments as he drank.

Regardless.

Hermione found the letter in a box of personal mementos and forced Harry to read it.

Dear Alphard,
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Ephraim Black and Martha Young. Their vows will be taken on April 15th at 3 o’clock on La Push Beach, WA.
Please write to let us know if you can make it.
-The Future Mr & Mrs Black
Ps: come be my best man brother.

“Cool,” Harry slurred in annoyance. “‘M sooo happy for Ephraim and Martha. Just… just lovely to be in love, innit?”

“You idiot,” Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry’s obviously jealous pout. “I wasn’t rubbing their wedding in your face, I’m saying that there’s more Black’s in the States! You could take a trip there and meet them!”

“Why would he wanna do that?” Ron asked from his spot on the chair beside Harry’s.

“Why would Harry want to go visit his extended family?” Hermione repeated incredulously. “You are not that dim Ronald.”

Harry listened as his friends bickered back and forth for a few minutes, his thoughts focused on the yellow faded card stock in his hands.

“‘S it warm in the States?” he abruptly asked Hermione.

“I believe Washington is rather north in the United States,” Hermione crinkled her nose up as she thought about it. “So I imagine it would be much warmer down south, like in Florida, but Washington shouldn’t be any colder than London.”

“‘M goin’,” Harry stated resolutely. “Always cold here, innit?”

“No,” Hermione and Ron said simultaneously.

“Perhaps if you would eat instead of drinking all your calories you wouldn’t be so cold.” Hermione sent a nasty look at the bottle beside Harry’s chair.

“I ate today,” Harry said. “Ask Kreacher.”

“Master ate a slice of treacle tart then cried because he says he is not deserving to have tasty treats,” Kreacher murmured absently as he eagerly dug through the crates of Black history.

“Ta, Kreacher,” Harry scowled. “Traitor.”

“Kreacher is not going to be dragging Master off the roof anymore,” Kreacher said. “Masters Weasley and Mione will be keeping him safe while Kreacher cannot.”

“The roof?!” Hermione hissed.

Which is how Harry wound up here. Buying a house twenty minutes from where Sirius’ relatives lived and being stuck with babysitters to ‘keep him off the roof’.

As if a single jump from a roof would kill him.

He wished it could be that simple.

Harry longed for the peaceful slumber of death. He dreamed of it during the day; the resurrection stone showed him what he was missing and he craved it like any addict would their drug. His hands shook when he thought about it, and his mind circled around and around the idea constantly.

But he suspected it was another thing that was meant for other people, never himself.

“How long are you planning on staying?” Hermione asked, her eyes shrewd as Harry put away his clothes with a careless wave of his hand.

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. He didn’t really have a plan, he just wanted a break from everything. Grimmauld. London. Everything. And this seemed like as good of a place to take one as any.

And apparently ‘renting is a barbaric concept that perpetuates a cycle of poverty’, according to Percy Weasley, so Harry just bought the house in Washington. When, if, Harry decided to go back to England then he’d just keep this place as a vacation house or something.

Not that the little town he’d chosen it in was really much of a traditional vacation town. But Harry liked it. ‘Forks’ (a name that Ron found hilarious) was a small town, surrounded by a green forest, trees filling it that were so different than the ones Harry was used to-

stumbling through the Forbidden Forest.

I open at the close.

‘You’re almost done Harry’.

-that they hardly drug up any miserable memories. And Harry liked the smell of rain, it was soothing.

It made flying a bitch, but he would figure that out when/if he ever decided to fly again.

Malfoy clinging to him. The smell of ashes, heat on his skin. Dead. Crabbe’s dead. He deserved it though.

Didn’t he?

“When do we get to go see the Indians?” Ron asked, trying to snap Harry out of the ‘episode’ it looked like he was having. Which worked, because Hermione immediately began scolding Ron and Harry could hardly have a panic attack during a Hermione lecture.

“Ronald Bilius!” Hermione smacked Ron’s arm sharply. “You can’t just call them ‘Indians’! Good Lord, do you have any idea how terrible that sounds?”

Ron sent a panicked look of confusion at Harry, but Harry, safely hidden behind Hermione’s back, mouthed at him, ‘your girlfriend mate’.

“But… but you said they’re Indians?” Ron said. “Didn’t she Harry? She said they’re Native Americans, Indians! How’s that terrible?”

Harry did not back up his friend, even though he was absolutely correct as Hermione did call this line of Black’s that. Harry was a Gryffindor, but he wasn’t brave enough to get between Hermione and a soapbox. Not when she had her hands on her hips like she does now.

“Because you can’t just refer to a group of people by their heritage,” Hermione said huffily. “It’s like ‘muggleborn’ and ‘pureblood’ all over.”

“Oh.” Ron and Harry both nodded, nobody understanding why those terms could spark problems more than they did. “Yeah alright then,” Ron said, “sorry.”

“They’re expecting me at five,” Harry said, double checking the letter he got from Billy Black. “Suppose it would give away the whole magic thing if we apparated in their front yard?”

Hermione said that Billy descended from a squib branch of the Black family, which is why he wasn’t present on the tapestry in Grimmauld Place, and none of them had any idea if he knew about magic or not.

“Well we can’t all fit on your bike,” Ron laughed. “How do you reckon we get there then? Walk?”

“Oh my God.” Harry and Ron gave Hermione a curious look as a manic sort of energy lit up her face.

“I’ve got a great idea!”

And it was a great idea.

It was a bloody brilliant idea.

Hermione apparated them to Seattle, a huge noisy city with more shopping options than tiny little Forks offered, and led them straight to…

A car dealership.

“Pick a car, any car,” Hermione had laughed.

And Harry had what was probably the most fun he’d had in the last year as he picked out a car with his best friends. Ron, who had never really known all the differences that muggle cars had, was an extremely eager partner in comparing them all.

“This one says 35 miles per gallon, is that really fast?” he asked Hermione as he ran his hands lovingly over a small silver car.

The muggle sales people had been giving them dirty looks at their childish enthusiasm, but Hermione saw how much fun Harry was having so she subtly waved her wand and sent them in a different direction.

If Harry was having fun, then Hermione was willing to break the rules just a bit to encourage it. She’d done much worse than that for Harry before after all.

“This is the one,” Harry had said decisively as he all but drooled over the car he chose. “Mione, can I afford it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she considered Harry’s vault contents and the stack of cash they had exchanged gold for at the American Bank for Wixen.

“Yes Harry,” she said patiently. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

Which is how Harry became the indecently proud owner of a brand new 2003 Dodge Charger.

Which he had no idea how to drive.

“Slow down!” Ron screamed as Hermione drove them to La Push, the town where Billy lived and where he had invited them over for dinner at. “Merlin’s teeth Mione, are you trying to kill us??”

Harry ignored Ron and let a loud whoop of happiness out his passenger window, loving the speed of which Hermione took the twisted turns and curves at.

“Go faster!” he egged her on. Harry looked at the dash and saw the big needle was pointing at 60 (‘miles per hour Harry,’ Hermione explained). “Can you make it go faster?”

“Only if you want me to wrap your new car around a tree,” Hermione said drily. Though she glanced over at Harry and saw his flush of pleasure at finding a new source of the adrenaline he loved, one without any previous trauma attached to it, and pressed her foot down on the gas just a bit more.

“I don’t think I want a car anymore,” Ron groaned when they pulled up to the small house and he climbed out of the backseat on shaky legs. “That was terrifying.”

Harry was going to remind Ron that he had once flew a car across the United Kingdom when he was only 12, but before he had the chance a boy came bursting out of Billy’s house.

“Daaaamn,” the boy whistled as he eyed Harry’s car appreciatively. “If you’re lost feel free to leave this baby here while you get directions, I probably won’t steal it.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged confused looks as they studied the boy, who ignored the three magical teenagers in favor of practically drooling on Harry’s new car.

The boy was tall, Ron’s height at least, and carried himself with the awkwardness that implied his height was recently obtained. He had smooth russet skin and long black hair that was pulled back with a leather band in to a low ponytail. His face had a youthful roundness, but Harry could see the beginnings of a man’s sharp cheekbones beginning to take over his face.

“Er, you’re not Billy, are you?” Harry asked haltingly. He didn’t think that Billy Black, the grandson of Sirius’ estranged great-uncle Ephraim, was this young, but…

But Harry had learned not to assume anything when it came to magic and magical families.

“Me?” The boy looked up, finally taking notice of the three of them. “Oh! You must be Harry, I’m Jacob, Billy’s my Dad.” He offered a hand to Harry, who grasped it just once-

were all muggles that warm to the touch? He didn’t think so, his relatives hadn’t been, but he hadn’t had to feel their hands in over a year.

-and quickly let go.

“This is Ron, and Hermione,” Harry pointed out his friends as they all blinked at one another. Jacob gave Hermione a frank look of appreciation that caused Ron to bristle immediately and wrap an arm around her waist.

Hermione had rolled her eyes, but Harry thought she looked pleased too.

“Dad’s inside,” Jacob held a welcoming arm out and smiled at them.

Sirius’ smile. Straight white teeth. Eyes sparkling with joy.

“C’mon in.”

Ron pat Harry on the arm consolingly, having recognized Jacob’s easily given smile just as abruptly as Harry had.

“If it’s bad we’ll just leave,” Ron whispered as they followed Jacob up the wooden ramp and in to the red paneled house.

“It’s fine.”

Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes at each other. If they never heard Harry say the word ‘fine’ again, it would be too soon.

Harry gazed around Billy’s house, immediately comparing it to the Burrow and finding it to be an apt comparison. It was small, a bit cramped feeling with all of them in it, but it had a warmth and charm that made it feel cozy, like a home.

Harry would give his life just to have a real home like this.

Of course, Harry would give his life for just about anything nowadays.

“You must be Harry!” Billy Black wheeled himself out of the kitchen, and Hermione hastily stepped on Ron’s foot to keep him from commenting on the odd metal chair with wheels that Billy sat on. “Welcome!”

Harry decided that despite how Billy resembled Sirius- straight strong nose, dark eyes with a sparkle of joy, an even white smile- that he was someone Harry thought he would like.

Billy, despite the chair he relied on for movement, just looked powerful. He had the kind of confidence in himself that Harry envied. He looked much like Jacob, same skin tone and silky black hair, but his face was more weathered with a life experience that Jacob lacked.

“Thank you,” Harry said politely. “This is Ron Weasley-“

“Harry’s brother,” Ron said, offering Billy a hand. A hand that appeared almost comically pale as compared to Billy’s evenly toned brown one.

“Er, and Hermione Granger,” Harry said, his neck hot as Ron claimed him as his brother.

Harry had always wanted brothers.

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Billy said, looking as if he actually meant it, after he shook Hermione’s hand. “Come sit down, let me get to know my…” Billy rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered Harry. “My nephew,” he finally said decisively.

Apparently Harry had a brother and an uncle now.

“Does that make us cousins?” Jacob asked eagerly.

And a cousin.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the Black’s out to their back yard where they had a table set up.

“Sit, sit,” Billy waved them all to the wooden chairs as he wheeled himself to an open spot at the head of the table. “Tell me all about yourself Harry.”

Harry hesitated, unsure where to begin or what to share. Luckily, Hermione knew just what to say.

“Harry just moved in to a house in Forks,” she said. “Up until now he was living in London.”

“London?” Jacob furrowed his thick black eyebrows down at that, their odd accents finally making sense. “Dang. What brought you to the US?”

“Er…” Harry looked pleadingly at Hermione, not wanting to admit that he was all but fleeing from the United Kingdom.

“He’s always been curious about American culture,” Hermione said so quickly that Harry wondered if she had already made up excuses on his behalf.

She probably had.

“Well we’re happy to meet you,” Billy beamed across the table at Harry. “Did you guys come here alone? It’s a long journey for three teenagers.”

“We’re all eighteen, Harry just had his birthday yesterday,” Hermione said truthfully. “And my and Ron’s parents were quite pleased with our opportunity to see the States.”

Which was a bloody lie.

Molly had exploded in to a fit of worry and panic when Hermione and Ron said they would be traveling with Harry to the United States. Hermione’s parents hadn’t been thrilled either, as the last time their daughter disappeared she altered their memories and nearly died in a war.

Multiple times.

Harry’s fault.

Always Harry’s fault.

“And your parents Harry? Did they come with you?”

“They’re dead,” Harry said bluntly. “Sirius was the last of my family.”

Harry had written to Billy, technically he wrote to Billy’s grandfather Ephraim but apparently the much older man had been dead for years, and told him about Sirius dying and how they were the last bit of people that carried on the Black name. He told him that he was Sirius’ godson, and his grandmother had been a Black before she was a Potter. His letter sparked the correspondence that led Harry to Washington.

Billy’s eyes softened as he considered Harry’s orphaned state, it didn’t take a genius to realize the red-headed boy wasn’t his true brother, but he didn’t think he’d ever met a kid who looked like they needed a family as much as Harry did.

“Well we’re family,” Billy said gruffly. “And I’d like to hear more about London. Never made it out of Washington myself.”

Harry picked at the meal Jacob offered them all, fried fish and ‘french fries’ (which made Jacob laugh when Ron called them chips), as Hermione basically described London to Billy, as Harry hadn’t ever seen much of it himself.

“And you’re all seniors?” Billy asked them.

“Yes sir,” Hermione smiled politely. “We’re going back to our boarding school on September first.”

Harry scoffed lightly, he certainly wasn’t returning to their boarding school. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, as did Billy, though Billy’s looked more thoughtful than irritated.

“Forks has a decent school,” he said. “Or you’d be more than welcome to graduate over at La Push High. It’s usually just for La Push kids, but the council would make an exception for family. Jake’s gonna be a freshman there this year.”

“Yes!” Jacob turned a bright smile on Harry, reluctantly drawing one from Harry as well. It was hard not to smile around Jacob, he just put out so much happy and bright energy.

Like Sirius.

Sirius laughing one last time before he fell through the veil.

Fell away from life. Away from Harry.

In a place he couldn’t chase him to.

“You should come to La Push! You can pick me up and we’ll take your car.”

Harry laughed at Jacob’s enthusiasm for his car and shrugged sheepishly.

“You’d have to drive,” he said, having no idea that Jacob wasn’t old enough to legally do so. “I don’t know how.”

“You…” Jacob looked choked up at Harry’s admission. “You bought that car and don’t know how to drive it?!”

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione left a couple hours later it was with a firm promise from Jacob that he would teach Harry to drive.

Apparently, ‘no cousin of his was going to own a hemi engine RT special and not know how to drive it’.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Harry spent the next couple of weeks having what Ron called ‘a bloody well earned vacation’. Hermione bought maps of the United States and apparated them to the various apparition points that American witches and wizards had set up.

They visited a beach in Florida, where Harry adamantly refused to swim as he knew his silver scars would disgust any muggle who saw them.

Especially the lightning bolt one that spread across the center of his chest. Proof that he had been sentenced to death twice and still walked the Earth.

They went to ‘Las Vegas’, but left quickly once Hermione saw that Harry only got paler and paler at the constant abrupt loud noises.

Ron wanted to visit ‘Disneyland’, so they’d went to California and suffered through the heat and the crowds to do so.

Which was almost worth it when Harry got to ride his first ever rollercoaster.

Ron puked.

They spent most of their days traveling, fitting what should have been a life time of normal adventures in to two weeks. But they also drove over to visit the Black’s at least twice a week for dinner, and once Harry had invited them to his house since Hermione said it was just polite to do so.

Jacob did his best to teach Harry to drive, though he hadn’t expected his ‘cousin’ to be so reckless behind a wheel.

“You live a block away from a cop, try and follow the speed limit,” he’d said.

Harry wasn’t worried about ‘Chief Swan’ though, he just loved the feeling of rolling the windows down and flying recklessly through the paved streets.

And at night, as Hermione studied frantically, panicked about her upcoming NEWT year (‘we missed so much this past year!’) and Ron became attached to muggle TV, his interest rivaling his dads as he flicked through the colorful channels quickly, Harry drank. Harry drank until he could sleep (black out) and tried to evade the nightmares that would rouse Hermione and Ron from their own sleep.

Not that it worked. All it did was prevent Harry from waking himself up in these nightmares and drive his friends mad with concern.

But as mid-August rolled around, Hermione decided Harry needed to ‘make a plan’. Which was stupid really, because Hermione knew that Harry had always done his best work without a plan.

“You can’t just sit inside your house alone Harry,” Hermione said gently over breakfast one morning. Harry sipped his coffee and shrugged.

He could too.

“It’s not healthy mate,” Ron said. “Talk to Kingsley, I’m sure he’d get you a place in the DMLE without your NEWTS. Or he could even talk to the MACUSA and get you a spot here I bet.”

“No,” Harry crossed his arms stubbornly. “I’m not joining the Ministry.”

“Then come back to school with us,” Hermione pleaded gently. “Please Harry, I don’t like you being alone with nothing to do all day.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m not ready to go back yet,” Harry said evasively, trying to come up with a reason Hermione would accept. “I’ll find something to do here I’m sure.”

He wouldn’t. He would drink and spiral. But he would do that in London too.

“You could go to high school,” Ron snickered. “Around all those no-maj’s.” He wiggled his eyebrows mockingly at the term the American’s used for muggles.

Harry chuckled too, though not with any real amusement at Ron’s suggestion.

“That’s brilliant Ron!” Hermione smiled at Ron, whose ears turned red as they always did at her praise. “You should go to school Harry! Experience the culture, make new friends!”

“What’s he need new friends for?” Ron demanded. “He’s got us!”

“Because Harry isn’t coming home with us,” Hermione explained patiently. “So he needs friends here and something to fill up his time. It’s perfect!”

“Er…” Harry raised his brows at Hermione in surprise. “I don’t think I want to go to high school…”

Harry wasn’t even sure if he could use a muggle pencil with any real skill as he’d gotten used to quills the last seven years.

“Either you go enroll in school or I’m dropping out of Hogwarts and staying here.” Harry spotted the determined glint in Hermione’s eyes, and the implied guilt trip that would come along with being the reason she didn’t obtain her NEWTS, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Yay,” he said flatly. “High school here I come.”

And in the end, after thinking it over carefully, Harry decided that as much as he reluctantly liked Jacob, he didn’t want to spend all his time around someone so dedicated to forcing Harry to smile.

Definitely not around someone whose personality burst from him as brightly as Sirius’ once had.

Which is how Harry found himself grimacing on August 20th as he stared up at the blue and yellow sign that proudly stated:

FORKS HIGH SCHOOL.