A Prelude to Valour, for Agatha Partridge 1/4

Title: A Prelude to Valour, for Agatha Partridge
Author: Gertie Broadmoor, aka Nimori
Pairings: Snape/Sirius, Snape/Sirius/Harry, James/Sirius
Warnings: AU, underage (15), voyeurism, rimming, disturbing content, past character deaths
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 18,000
Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JK Rowling, and so does all the money this fic never made.
Summary: Snape saves Harry from the Dursleys. Harry doesn't want saving.
Thanks: Amanuensis1, Maeglin, and the Underground Koala
Notes: Sorry this is so late, Agatha. *grovels*




Privet drive had an overbearing feel of muggle about it, and the house at number four was the worst of the lot. The only hint of magic about the place was the garden gnomes perched on the lawn, and those, Severus noted with a sniff, were made of wood.

Still, he cast a containment spell around the house and yard. He'd been charged with fetching a brat, and so fetch a brat he would. Wand in hand, Severus stepped up to the door, and after a moment of hunting, located the small box with a button on it. He pressed it, and heard a grating jangle from within the house, then boys shouting, then quieter footsteps, and then the door opened on a narrow-faced woman who was more neck then head.

The squib sister. He took no chances and pushed into the house, even as the woman, Dursley, recognized the wand in his hand and tried to close the door.

"Where are they?"

"You can't have him!" she shrilled back at once, removing any doubt of her complicity.

"I can and I shall. Imperio." She slumped slack-faced against the wall, and Severus shut the door behind him. "Now, Mrs Dursley. Tell me where your sister is."

The shrill voice dulled. "Dead in a car crash."

This was news. "And the boy?"

Her jaw muscles worked and spittle collected on her lips, but she was only a squib, after all. "Back... back yard."

"Very good. Stay put, Mrs Dursley. Someone will be along to deal with you."

Severus crossed the house with caution. The uncle ought to be labouring at his incomprehensible job, but one could never be sure with muggles. The shouting he'd heard was coming from outdoors; through the kitchen window he could see two boys running in the yard.

Intent on his quarry, he didn't think to conceal his wand, and one of the boys, the fatter one, stopped dead upon seeing him.

"Harry, it's one of them. Run!"

Potter, glasses askew and that damned scar winking from behind a dishevelled fringe, gaped long enough for Severus to have killed him thrice over, then bolted for the hedges, where he bounced off the containment charm and landed on his arse in the flower bed.

Severus swept up to him, and stopped when the hem of his robe brushed the boy's trainers. "So very pleased to see you again, Mr Potter." He bowed from the waist; he didn't know how much Lily had told the brat before she died, but he would take no chances. "My name, if you don't recall, is Snape. My employer is most eager to renew his acquaintance with you."

"You leave my cousin alone," the fat boy said, in a voice that strained for belligerence, as Potter scrambled out of the hydrangea bushes, "or my father will give you what-for when he gets home."

"Will he." The cousin went even paler at Severus's amusement, but shoved Potter behind his bulky frame and raised his fists in some sort of primitive defense. "I suppose muggles must have their Gryffindors too," Severus said, and sighed when neither boy reacted to the name. "Ignorant little urchin." He almost made the insult plural, but that wouldn't do at all. "I'm afraid I must insist you come along, Mr Potter."

"I won't," Potter said.

"Imperio. You certainly will. Go upstairs and pack your things."

"I won't," the brat said again, after a humiliatingly brief pause, and something clenched in Severus's stomach. He lowered his voice, lengthened his words to temper whatever it was that made his heart race. Not fear. He could put a name to that.

"You will." He didn't dare another Imperius -- another humiliation. "Mobilicorpus."

Potter's outraged shout as his body surged after Severus almost made up for his chagrin at having one of his best curses shrugged off by a fourteen year old with no training. The cousin grabbed Potter's arm and held on until Severus transfigured him into a pig with an annoyed flick of his wand. He marched Potter into the house and slammed the door on the cousin's startled squeals.

Inside, Severus eyed the strange unmoving pictures that marched up the wall in time to the stairs. The Dursleys and their piglet son; the two brats in horrid maroon and orange school uniforms, arms flung about each other, walking sticks crossed in front; Lily and a young Harry, smiling, shadow-eyed. Nothing of James.

He deduced which of the four bedrooms belonged to Potter by eliminating the two with double beds and the one with dirty plates stacked on the desk and empty crisp packets on the floor. He drew an expanding valise from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. "Pack."

He examined Potter's possessions as they flew into the valise, and found them all oddities: silver boxes with no apparent purpose, close-fitting clothes of slick materials, too many things with wheels. Potter had stopped shouting and was watching the process, and looking a tad green for it.

"Remembering anything?" Severus asked.

The boy shook his head, lips pressed together and bloodless, but he looked fearful when Severus brought out the portkey, so Severus reckoned he did.

*****

"Good news, my lord!" shouted Sirius Black as he strode into the parlour, sending the visiting Minister for Magic and his wife into a flutter. "The bastard's done it, he's found Harry."

The reigning lord of magical Britain set his teacup down with far more than the necessary care; the Minister and his wife clutched theirs.

"They're at St Mungo's now," Sirius continued -- he'd burst if he didn't. "Snape wanted him checked out in case he'd anything wrong with him. Imagine living with muggles for ten years! They'd have no idea how to treat a magical malady, I reckon."

"What's this, my lord?" Fudge asked.

"My son," James said, sounding breathless to Sirius, who knew him too well, "has been found."

"Living with muggles?" Ursula Fudge put a hand to her mouth. "How... unusual."

"Quite." James ran a hand through his hair, something he hadn't done since they were in school. "If you'll pardon me, Minister, Mrs Fudge. Obliviate."

"Sorry about that," Sirius said, not sorry at all. Happy news was meant to be blurted. "It's not like we can hide where he's been forever anyhow."

"What of Lily?"

Sirius waved his hand. "Dead. Years ago, according to Snape, and good riddance."

James sank back in his chair, much of the tightness across his shoulders easing. Sirius willed it not be grief. "My son's coming home. My Harry."

"What's this, my lord?" Fudge asked, a bit more groggily than he had the first time.

"Obliviate," James and Sirius said together, and laughed when the Fudges went cross-eyed and slumped in their seats.

"He'll be no good after that," Sirius said between snickers. "Won't be able to tie his shoelaces without a diagram and someone to walk him through it."

"I never liked him anyhow," James said. "It's time for a new Minister. My son is coming home!"

*****

Prying Peter away from his new post at Hogwarts took more effort than Sirius found his company worth most days, but with the extra incentive of seeing Harry again, Sirius badgered him to the hospital with only two fire calls and a howler.

Peter tumbled out of the St Mungo's lobby floo, brushing ash from his tasteful burgundy robes and muttering about meetings and staircases and the dearth of Defence professors in Britain. "Hello again," he added more loudly when he saw Sirius, as though the last time they'd spoken hadn't involved Sirius cussing at him over the floo. "Has Severus sorted everything out then? Can we fetch him?"

"I've only just got here, I don't know." Sirius caught his arm and tugged him over to the lifts. They rode to Harry's floor in silence peppered with conversational bids by Peter and distracted grunts from Sirius. They found the right room after only three wrong tries.

"It's unnatural," a young voice was saying within.

"Why?" That was Snape, and he sounded amused. "Because muggles don't do it?"

"Yes. No. It just is!" Harry, Sirius saw as he stuck his head in the doorway, was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, dressed and kicking his trainers against the lowered rails. "I mean, people just don't turn into pigs!"

"Dishes don't wash themselves either, but that doesn't stop muggles from scrubbing them." Snape was propped against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. "I suppose in your expert opinion people ought to eat off of dirty plates because that's their natural condition after they've been used."

"We have a dishwasher," Harry said sourly. "And a pig isn't any use at all, unless you're going to eat it."

"It was useful to me," Snape muttered. "The pig's squealing was much easier on my ears."

"I hate to interrupt this fascinating barnyard conversation," Sirius said, putting on his most charming smile and half-expecting Harry to rush over and hug him, "but I haven't seen my godson for ten years."

"He turned my cousin into a pig," Harry said, not moving. And then, "I don't have a godfather."

"Don't worry, Harry," Peter said with too much joviality, "we'll send someone 'round to set your cousin right." Sirius rolled his eyes. He'd already 'sent someone 'round,' and if Diggory had set anything right in that house there'd be grief when Sirius found him.

"You can't pretend you don't remember me, Harry James Potter." Sirius came in and flounced on the bed. "You wheedled too many broom rides when you were little."

Harry's lips thinned and he looked away, out the window. "Brooms don't fly."

"I never said they did." Harry's head snapped around, mouth open, and Sirius ruffled his hair and leaned in close to whisper, "But they do."

"Forget it, Black." Snape uncoiled from against the wall. "The muggles have been at him."

"You have a motorcycle," Harry said suddenly.

"It flies, too," Snape said, sneering. "I have work to which I must attend. I leave young Mr Potter in your care." Snape bowed, and strode out.

Snape was as good as a girl some days, going all cold and distant until Sirius remembered just why he had hated the bastard in school. He caught one black sleeve as it swept past. "Anything you want for this, tonight."

A stiff nod, and Snape was gone.

*****

These new kidnappers, Black and Pettigrew, were as bad as the foreigners Uncle Vernon always complained about. Their speech was full of words in another language altogether, and they used plain English words wrongly, talking about the chimney flue as though it were the underground. They mentioned strange people and places as though Harry ought to know them, and Pettigrew seemed to expect him to be excited over going some place called Hogwarts.

He gave Pettigrew a cold look, and made a note of all the funny names anyway, in case he spotted a policeman.

They gave him no chance to run however, and walked close on either side of him. He tried to tell a nurse he'd been kidnapped, and she cooed over him and promised he'd be back with his father soon.

And what did she know? Harry was quite disgusted with adults by the time they reached the lobby and Black and Pettigrew's argument over portkey versus the chimney underground started drawing attention. His father was dead, and it must have been very horrible if his mother and aunt would only ever refer to him as You-Know-Who.

Stupid nurse. Stupid people in strange clothing, staring at the arguing men but doing nothing to help while Harry tried to free himself from their grip. Stupid dreams. Motorcycles didn't fly.

"Fine," Pettigrew said. "Take him by floo, lose him in the network. I'm going back to my school."

"Will someone ring the police? If it's escaped your attention, I'm being kidnapped. Yes, I'm talking to you," he shouted at a passing woman, who wore the most horrible hat imaginable -- it had some sort of dead bird perched on the brim. The woman sniffed and muttered something about the muckles Snape had gone on about.

"Tosser," Black called after Pettigrew's departing back. "So, Harry, Snape tells me -- stop that." Black squeezed Harry's wrist until he stopped kicking. "Snape's note said you don't care for portkeys."

"I don't know what those are," Harry muttered, and closed his eyes against the sudden nausea. The ugly scar on his forehead throbbed and he thought he heard someone shouting, far away. It's a hospital, he told himself, and forced his eyes to open. Someone's crying is all.

"Best take the floo then. And just so you don't get lost--"

"Oi!" Harry shouted as Black lifted him up and threw him over a shoulder. He kicked and wriggled and managed to bite the back of one muscle-bound arm, and almost broke his teeth for his trouble. A heavy hand landed on his upraised backside with a loud slap that momentarily silenced the entire lobby.

Harry's face flamed, and he looked down, only to be confronted with Black's altogether too perky arse.

"None of that now." Black jogged him and a shoulder drove into Harry's stomach. "I don't want to drag you back to James under Imperius."

Harry froze. Neither Lily nor Petunia would say the name, but Uncle Vernon did sometimes. "How do you know my father's name?"

"I told you. Godfather." The world swayed as they crossed the lobby. "Godric's Hollow!" Black shouted and then they swirled into a vortex of cool green flames. Interiors of old-fashioned rooms flashed by, whirling around and around.

"I'm gonna be sick!"

"I'd advise against that, unless you want a week of howlers from people complaining about vomit on their hearths. Hang on for just a few more stops."

They slowed even before Black finished speaking, and the ride halted with a jerk that Black navigated easily, and they found themselves in a lavish parlour. Oriental carpets swam in Harry's view, bathed with large patches of sunshine and forested with curved mahogany legs of tables, chairs, and settees. Silence lay thick and oppressive over everything, the rhythm of the stillness kept by the grandfather clock standing sentry somewhere in the room.

"Welcome home, kiddo," Black said, and set Harry on his feet. All the blood rushed down -- retaliation for having spent so long in his head, he was sure -- and he swayed. "You can puke on the floor if you want," Black said helpfully. "The house elves will clean it up."

"That's a four hundred-year-old flying carpet from Mughal India you're telling my son to vomit on."

Harry turned and felt his heart sink. The man coming to greet them looked just like him -- same turned-up nose, same squarish jaw, same messy black hair. He even had the same lightning-bolt scar on his forehead though, unlike Harry, he brushed fringe back as if to show it off.

Hold on with both hands, Harry. Now kick with your feet, that's it, I'm right beside you. Padfoot, get a picture of this!

"Hi, Dad," he managed to whisper before James crushed him to his chest.

*****

The house in Godric's Hollow harboured two ghosts: a Roman soldier called Gaius Saturninius Crescentius who'd come with the land, and Harry's Great-Aunt Delilah. The casual revelation that he now lived in a haunted house, let slip over a late supper during which James did all the talking, unsettled him. It was the ghosts' presence, more than the moving paintings or Sirius's silly wand tricks or the way food just appeared on the table at dinner, that crumbled Harry's hope that this was all just some nasty hoax set up by that prank programme Dudley loved.

Walking through the halls after supper, Harry fought off the growing sense of familiarity. He hadn't run down this corridor before. He hadn't spent hours coaxing a fluffy thing from under that cabinet. He certainly had never broken the bust of Edmund Potter four times in one week, even though the statue pulled a terrified face as he passed by, James beside him and Sirius ambling behind.

The sudden chill of a ghostly body passing through his own shook him, and Harry was glad of Sirius's steady hand on his shoulder as the translucent figure turned and began spouting gibberish that James said was Latin.

"He'll let on that he doesn't understand English," Sirius said, urging him on to the bedroom after James, "but don't you believe him for a minute. If he gives you grief just tell him the REO works for your dad."

Harry didn't know what the REO was, and didn't much care when his knees felt like they'd never hold him up again. Sirius seemed to understand, even if he had no sympathy and herded Harry into the room before he could process the lingering chill and the memories to which it left him vulnerable.

James stood in the middle of the colourful room, awash with late summer light that turned his black hair red. Childish toys lined shelves or stood on the floor, some familiar from Harry's life on Privet Drive, others spinning only that disturbing thread of deja-vu. It looked like something out of a campy Christmas special.

"I haven't changed a thing," James said. "Except the bed. I let the house elves make it bigger." He sounded nervous, and Harry couldn't imagine why. He wasn't the one who'd had his life turned turtle.

Then again, maybe he had. And he was looking at Harry expectantly, so Harry swallowed back his doubts and tried to summon something from the haze of his early childhood.

"Quillitch wallpaper?" He couldn't stop his nose from wrinkling. James and Sirius shared an amused look over his head, and he rolled his eyes, but the tension broke.

"Quidditch," James said, "and you love it."

"You can change it if you want," Sirius added, over James's immediate protest. "The colours are a bit young for you. Oh hush, Prongs. He's got to live here and he'll want something more grown-up, I'm sure."

"More not moving," Harry muttered, eyeing the slow friendly bob of winged balls.

"As you like," James said, and Harry raised an eyebrow at his petulance. "We'll leave you to sleep now. Your... things from your aunt's house are in the wardrobe. If you need anything, just call for Tongle. Good night." James's cool lips pressed to his forehead. A kiss from Sirius followed, hot and unsettling against his cheek. Harry scrubbed it away with the heel of his palm, but Sirius only smirked.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Harry in a room meant for a four-year-old who knew that it was quidditch, not quillitch, owned woolly pet furballs that hid under cabinets, and wasn't afraid of portkeys.

The rocking horse in the corner whickered, and he jumped. It shook its yarn mane and then fell still under Harry's glare. He felt as though everything in the room was watching.

The doorknob turned easily in his hand when he tried it, and Harry counted to ten before he opened the door.

James and Sirius were at the end of the hall, heads close together. "Stay the night," James was saying. "Hell, stay the month."

"I have an appointment with Snape."

"You can fuck him any time." Harry's breath caught, and he didn't know how the words could shock him more than moving wallpaper or the creatures who had appeared to clear the supper table. "I need you here tonight. I can't do this alone."

"You have him back now." Sirius stroked James's hair. "You'll do fine, you always do. And I'm here."

"How could she?" James burst out, and Sirius shushed him until he lowered his voice to a fierce whisper Harry had to strain to hear. "How could she keep him from me all these years? I've missed everything."

He means my mother, Harry thought as Sirius kissed James full on the mouth and led him away. He closed the door and leaned against it, staring forward without seeing the restless toys. She told me he was dead.

He slept, but not until the sky began to lighten again, and dreamt he was riding a stag through the woods. And then the stag was a motorcycle, warm leather seat rumbling between his legs, and he was flying. When he woke to the odd but vexingly familiar Tongle holding a breakfast tray, he resolved to try this new life -- the life he should have been living all along.

It was not just James who had missed everything.

*****

"But what am I to do if he asks about Lily?" Peter asked, plucking at his robes in a way Sirius had come to loathe.

"Tell him the truth," Sirius said. "Lily ran off with Harry and hid him from James."

"It was a lot more complicated than that! You were there, Padfoot..." Peter trailed off as Sirius turned a full glare on him. "I just meant... Dumbledore opposing James's run for Minister, not the other thing. James was so angry--"

"Dumbledore should have kept out of it." Sirius threw down the report he'd been trying to read before Peter burst into his office, all atwitter because James wanted Harry to go straight into fifth year when he didn't even know a simple levitation charm. "Our Jamie would be Minister instead of overlord, Harry would have grown up with us, and I wouldn't have my charming cousin and her poncy husband reminding me of the cost of their backing at every turn!"

Peter, far from taking offence, turned sympathetic at once. "After the anti-muggle legislation again, are they?"

Sirius rubbed his eyes. "With Harry around to remind James of Lily they might just get it. I try to tell him it will only alienate the muggle-born sector further, but he just goes all quiet and starts chewing the inside of his lip."

"Hmm, interviewing Harry is sounding the less difficult job. Thanks, Sirius."

"Pleasure to be of service, Wormtail." Sirius didn't manage to keep the sour look from his face, and Peter laughed at him.

"Buck up, mate. Unless Harry has managed to pick up at least third-year basics, I'm going to recommend a private tutor this year. You'll have him underfoot a while longer. That should please you."

"James won't like it," Sirius said, grinning, and Peter sniffed.

"Then James can run the school himself. Oh, hullo, Harry. Come on in."

"Sorry I'm late," Harry said. He looked frazzled, and the robe James insisted he wear instead of muggle jeans was on backwards. "What's the REO?"

"Royal Exorcism Office," Peter said. "It's part of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Spirit Division. Why?"

"Is Gaius Saturninius giving you trouble?" Sirius dropped the half-read report into his outbox. It missed and slalomed into the rubbish bin.

"He's not very scary," Harry said, jutting his chin out as though he expected them to argue the point. "He stopped following me when I told him what you said to say, Sirius."

"I reckon that sent him running as fast as his translucent blue sandals could carry him." Sirius grinned, and Peter harrumphed over Harry's nod.

"Good, good, now if you don't mind, Sirius--"

"Evicted from my own office!" Sirius winked at Harry, pleased to see the boy's shy grin.

"We're not all favoured with a desk at the Hollow. Now shoo. I think James was looking for you. He's plotting something and wants your help."

Sirius, who lived for such words, was out the door before he thought to ask what had happened to Peter's own office.

*****

James Potter, Lord of Magical Britain, had eschewed labels of light and dark. His subjects called him Lord James or, if they were desperate not to speak his name, the Wizard Lord. Severus found the whole thing ridiculous; both James and Potter were common as dirt, so it wasn't like they could avoid ever saying the names, and it wasn't as though James had ever indicated he should be called anything but James or Mr Potter.

All in all, Severus thought, watching his lord introduce the gangly boy to the more important sycophants, not a bad thumb to be under.

He sipped his wine, some expensive vintage that Black had insisted was divine before he gave up on educating Severus's palate, and tried not to allow his loathing for the upper echelons of James's court to surface. Harry was looking his way with the longing of someone who knows only a few faces in a room full of strangers, so Severus turned his back and pretended to socialize with the jackals.

The headmaster was speaking with Delia Diggory, no doubt about the priggish son she was trying to work into James's circle of confidants, and Severus cut over to them. Diggory saw him coming and excused herself.

"Peter." Severus sipped to avoid smirking as Pettigrew started and turned. "How are things at Hogwarts? No trouble stepping into Lupin's shoes?"

Pettigrew's florid face paled. "No, no, everything's in order. You know how Remus -- Lupin was. The records are impeccable."

"Very good. You'll report any further evidence to Black, of course."

"Of course." Pettigrew's composure returned with more alacrity than Severus had hoped.

"And any artefacts from the previous headmaster which you may find lurking about."

"I do know my job, Severus," Pettigrew said with the false joviality that drove everyone but James mad. "Remus -- Lupin cleaned most of Dumbledore's tricks from the school, and James shan't have to replace any more headmasters on my account. Now, Ministers..." He took Severus's arm, ignoring his fierce glare. "You've heard about Fudge. Rita told me Malfoy has all but declared himself for the race, and I know that Umbridge woman was sniffing about the office before Fudge... well, before he fell ill. Do you think she'll step up as a candidate? I'd place my money on Malfoy, myself."

"Spare me your blathering. The only thing about the elections that concerns me is how long before the next one."

"Now I know your services weren't required for Fudge, Severus, so buck up. Or is that what's got you out of sorts?"

Severus growled and reclaimed his arm. "If you think--"

"There you are, Peter." James whirled over. "Narcissa has some questions over next year's curriculum. Severus, keep an eye on Harry, would you? I know it's just the inner circle tonight, but he's my son and I've no doubt he could find trouble in an empty basket. Honestly, Peter, Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures? What were you thinking?"

Severus sighed at James's receding back, and looked around for the wizarding world's new prince. Lucius had cornered Harry by the billiards table, and Severus drifted closer to see whether he would once again need to rescue the brat.

"... had days to adjust. Surely you've found it an improvement over the muggle world," Lucius was saying.

"Not especially, no." Harry, for all that he'd been back with James less than a week, had already perfected the look of bored entitlement.

"And you've been at your aunt's house all this time." Lucius ran the head of his cane down Harry's cheek. "Poor child."

"It was brilliant, actually," Harry said coldly. "They took in me and my mother."

"Ah, your mother." The cane found its way to Lucius's lips, pressed tight over a smile, and Severus moved in before the conversation could turn any more dangerous. "Killed in an auto-mobile crash, was she?"

"When I was seven," Harry grated.

"Let's have no more talk of Lily," James said appearing quite suddenly even as Severus snagged a fresh drink from a passing house elf and handed it to Lucius. "Harry, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, this is Alice Longbottom. We went to school together -- you'll be in the same year as her son when you're ready for Hogwarts..."

"I hear you're entering the race for Minister," Severus said as he pressed the chilled glass into Lucius's uncooperative hand. Lucius frowned, but let the Potters go. "Dangerous sort of job, isn't it?"

"I suppose you might think so, Severus." Lucius eyed the wine as though it were a basket of figs which may or may not hide an asp. "The previous Ministers seemed to me to have weak constitutions. I'm in much better health."

Severus hummed noncommittally "Good luck then. I presume you and your charming wife will invite me to your inaugural dinner?" He smirked as a fine sheen broke on Lucius's brow.

"You may presume on us at any time." Lucius bowed, but didn't lower his eyes.

"I'll bring a bottle of the Madeira you like so well." It was Albus who had liked the sticky-sweet wine. Black had picked out the vintage.

Lucius, in the unenviable position of having once done James Potter a favour -- which seemed to result in nothing more than hanging his future well-being on the Wizard Lord's whim -- took a small sip.

"You should have been in Gryffindor, my friend," Severus murmured. Seeing that James had sent Harry off to bed, he took his leave of Lucius, and went to collect an overdue payment from Black.

*****

Part Two