Harry ran his finger under his shirt collar and checked his buttonhole one last time before he rang the doorbell.

"And you must be Harry." The woman who opened the door greeted him in a friendly Jamaican accent. Two teenaged girls in matching dresses, each with the same dark skin as the woman, clattered down the stairs behind her. "Go on through. Dean and Seamus are in the living room. We're just waiting for your friend, Neville."

Harry answered with a nervous smile. "Thanks, Mrs Thomas."

"Marcella, darlin'. We don't hold with much in the way of formality around here."

The living room gave the impression of being cluttered but cosy. Dean and Seamus grinned when he came in, and a large jolly-looking man who reminded Harry of James Earl Jones passed Harry a glass of whisky.

"Harry, this is my dad, Theo, and my little sisters, Ellie and Janice," Dean said by way of introduction. "Grab a seat if you can. The car hire firm just rang to say they're running late, so we could be waiting a while."

Harry thanked Mr Thomas and perched on the arm of Seamus's armchair, letting his gaze wander the room as he provided the requisite pleasantries. It was something he'd picked up during his Auror training, a habit that was now so ingrained he wasn't even aware that he was doing it until he stuttered in the middle of explaining that Ginny's mum was looking after James for the day.

Dean caught the direction of Harry's transfixed gaze and grinned.

"Not much of a family resemblance, eh?" Seamus asked, nodding at the faded photograph of a strikingly handsome man not long out of his teens, with glossy jaw-length black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He leant on the handlebars of an old British motorbike. In the midst of all the darker-skinned family photographs, it stood out like a Goth at a Steps concert.

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's Russell. The one that skipped out on Mum," he clarified. "He used to buy old motorbikes and then do them up and sell them."

Marcella entered the room from wherever she'd gone. "He was a right charmer, that one, coax the birds down from out of the trees. Then, one day, he just gone... but he leave me my boy, and for that I'm grateful."

Harry took a large swig from the tumbler in his hand and swallowed down the secret along with it. He couldn't tell Dean. Not on his wedding day. Maybe not ever. 'Oh, by the way, your dad's name wasn't Russell. It was Sirius. Sirius Black, and I'm the reason you never knew him. I'm the reason he spent your childhood in Azkaban, I'm the reason he's dead, and I'm the one he left everything to when it should have been yours.'

"But Theo's my real dad," Dean continued, as the doorbell rang again. "Mum married him when I was four, and he's been there for me ever since, right, Dad?"

"Neville!" There was a chorus of greeting as the other usher arrived, reminding Harry that there were worse things than losing your father to death. Surely, Dean and his mother deserved to know that Sirius hadn't deserted them by choice. But then why hadn't Sirius looked for Dean as well as for Harry when he escaped? Maybe they had moved, and Mrs Thomas had changed her name, but he must have known that if his son had even a spark of magical talent he would be in Harry's year? Harry grimaced. Wouldn't that be just like a Marauder? All about the grand gestures, the heroic sacrifices. All flash, but not enough substance to walk back into Dean's life and explain himself, to atone for the pain he had caused and try to build a relationship. There hadn't been a real father among them, not one who was in it for the long haul. All willing to die, not one of them prepared to fight to live.

"Cheer up, Harry," Seamus joked. "It's a weddin', not a funeral."

A car horn sounded in the street outside, and Theo nudged the groom. "Come on. If you're late, Padma might decide she doesn't want you, after all."

Harry watched as Marcella, Theo and their daughters each hugged Dean before getting into the second car. No, Dean had a dad. A real dad. One he could be proud of, and Harry wouldn't take that away from either of them.