THE DEVIL'S WHITE KNIGHT→h.p

chapter 2

Harry's brain was working in overdrive, an attempt to get some semblance of wandless, non-verbal magic going so he could unbind himself. But whether it was his shock, or this particular version of himself being just as rubbish at it as he'd always been, he was stuck.

After the initial attack, Harry wasn't questioned again. He was sat on the sofa, force-fed potions he vaguely recognised in an attempt to get him to reveal his true form, and then after an hour, James scrubbed his hand down his face and looked over at Sirius.

"Nothing."

Sirius' grey eyes were narrowed on Harry, his wand still pointed at Harry, though it was held loosely now between his thumb and fingers. "That doesn't mean anything. He could still...I dunno. He might have been tampered with."

Harry's entire body ached with his strain to move, to speak, to do anything. If he could just open his mouth and make them understand...not that he knew how. The entire fucking thing was so mad and having not had any contact with anyone up to this point, he had no real answers for them.

He didn't know what had been done. He didn't know how. He had no idea the history of Voldemort in this world, or what his involvement was. Hell, he hadn't even looked in the mirror to see if he had the scar.

All he knew was his mum was gone, his dad was married to a man, Sirius and Remus were raising Teddy, and he was shagging Draco Malfoy on the side.

After a moment, James looked at him. "I don't believe you're my son. But I legally can't hold you here any longer. You've passed all the tests, so I'm going to release you. Try anything at all, and I will stun you and drag your arse to Azkaban and let the Dementors sort you out."

Harry felt sick, but the moment James' wand waved and the binding was removed, all he did was sag back into the cushions. His eyes flickered back between his father and godfather, two men long dead, and he felt an ache in his chest.

"I'm not your son," he finally said, his voice hoarse from the long morning. "I mean," he amended quickly when both men tensed, "I am. I am Harry James Potter but I'm not...Jesus fuck I don't even know how to explain it." His hand flew to the locket, and James immediately reached out, yanking it from his grip.

"What the hell is this?" James demanded.

Harry swallowed. "Protection charm, I think. Preservation. I don't know, she never explained it to me." He froze after that, waiting for either of the men to demand a better explanation.

Instead, James clutched the locket in his fist and looked over at Sirius. "We have to take him in. I don't...I'm not convinced."

"James, we've tried everything and..."

"And the Ministry has better interrogation techniques than either of us have got," James said.

A cold rush of panic hit Harry—only because he knew about those techniques. He'd been subjected to them by Umbridge when he was fifteen. He'd even, as much as it churned his stomach to think of it, had ordered a few during the rounding up and trials of Death Eaters.

What he really needed was to find Hermione. If Harry remembered, there was a bloody good chance she did as well. It would only make sense, and then he could get her to explain, to offer up some proof so his father and godfather would stop wanting to have him tortured for information he didn't have.

Harry took a breath, knowing what he needed to do. "I'll comply," he said.

Both gazes snapped over sharply, and Sirius' jaw tensed. "You'll comply?"

"I don't know what else to do," Harry said. "I...I don't know how else to prove it to you so. I'll comply. I'd just like to get dressed."

James gave a sharp nod, and for the first time Harry saw a flicker of doubt in his father's eyes. Sirius, however, was far less convinced, though he rose as Harry did. "Try anything at all..."