Harry Potter is not, by any stretch of the imagination, mine.


They're all treating me like I'm about to break, and have been ever since they brought me back to Grimmauld. Even Snape's been slightly less of a vicious bastard than usual.

I wonder, sometimes, how they'd treat me if they knew what really happened.

I'm playing chess with Ron, and he's letting me win for once, and I wonder what he'd say if he knew Sirius buggered me on the couch just seven feet away.

I'm talking with Lupin at the kitchen table, both of us carefully avoiding any mentions of Sirius, veils, Occlumency, and Lestrange. I wonder what he'd do if he knew Sirius fucked me on the table, panting in my ear, saying I was a good boy, just like my father.

I'm apologizing to Dumbledore, all the while wondering whether he'd cry if he knew that Sirius hurt me and used me and whispered "James" when he was done.

I'm glaring at Snape, and that's my mistake, because I should have remembered he can see a person's mind through their eyes. Whatever he sees makes him go paler than normal and leave the room.

Ron's horrified. "He- he didn't, you know, make you, did he?"

Lupin's angry. I sneak out of my room that night and find him getting smashed in the kitchen, drinking firewhiskey straight from the bottle. "Sirius, you sick fuck," I hear him mutter. "You bloody broken bastard."

Dumbledore doesn't cry. He's angrier than Lupin, he's as horrified as Ron, and as tired as me- too tired for crying, I suppose. He pats my shoulder and tells me he's there if I need him, and we both know that I don't believe him.

Snape won't look at me at all. I don't think he can see me as my father anymore. I'm not surprised.

He and Sirius never did agree on anything, after all.