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Chapter Text

It was what Sirius liked to call an ‘easy morning’ at 12 Grimmauld Place. He had an opportunity to sleep in, and a restful sleep to wake from. Harry had set off at dawn to spend time at Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione, so excited their schedules had finally coordinated. He’d be away all day, which gave Sirius plenty of alone time to spend with his husband.

Upon entering the kitchen to make breakfast, the sight of a sink devoid of dishes should’ve delighted Sirius, by all accounts.

However, upon crossing the linoleum, his brows drew together. Standing there in his flannels, a pit of dread opened in Sirius’ stomach.

It was a particular sinking feeling he’d come to recognize over the years: one, he often felt, gave him more trouble than it was worth.

Sirius quickly cleared his throat, and forced some lightness into his voice.

“Dear,” Sirius called out. “I’m going to give the Weasley’s a house call.”

Ever the early riser, Remus’ voice floated out from two rooms over. “What for?”

Drawing his wand from his pocket, Sirius prepared to apparate. “Just a social visit,” Sirius assured him, turning on his heel. “Be back soon.”

But Remus was already at the threshold, a dour, knowing look on his face.

“You’re not dressed for a social occasion,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius smiled tightly, caught in the trap. “No, I suppose not.”

Remus’ eyes flickered over to the sink, then back to Sirius.

“It’s about Harry, isn’t it?”

“As astute as ever, Remus,” Sirius said, nodding slowly. Then: “I’m worried about him.”

“I am too,” Remus replied, surprising Sirius. He winced, shutting his eyes tightly for a beat. “I meant to sit him down for a talk, but it’s been a week of terrible headaches. It’s gotten to the point where I can hardly sort one thought from the other.”

Sirius’ heart cracked. He hated to see Remus in pain from his lycanthropy.

And he hated it even more when Remus still tried to hide it from him.

“I know,” Sirius said, gentle as feathers. “I’d do anything to take it from you.”

Remus offered a half grin, passing a hand over his face. “It’s just in the week before the full moon. It’ll be over soon. And only this round of potions has a nasty side effect. I’ll not be using Madame Trisbane again.” Remus sighed longingly. “Almost makes me wish Severus were still here to bother us. His elixirs went down the smoothest.”

“Don’t inflate a dead man’s ego, now,” Sirius warned, rubbing some life into Remus’ arms. “His ghost might float up and really start bothering us.”

“I imagine you’re scared of that the most,” Remus replied, finding the energy to boop noses with Sirius. “Peace already made or not.”

Sirius pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ lips. “I think that’s all the Severus talk I can take for today,” he announced, sidestepping Remus. “I’ll change into something more appropriate and be off. Rest while I’m gone.”

“Oh, I need no coercion,” Remus said, waving Sirius off. He paused before adding: “I hope Molly and Arthur can help us fill in some of the blanks.”

“You and I both,” Sirius agreed.

But some deeper part of him wondered if he really wanted to know at all.

Or, if he already knew, and couldn’t stand the truth.

Sirius first noticed Harry’s odd behavior three months into his stay at 12 Grimmauld.

After the Battle of Hogwarts ended, Harry immediately wanted to move in with Sirius and Remus. He already had one foot out of the Burrow when Sirius and Remus had to break the bad news: 12 Grimmauld was not yet ready for visitors.

They asked for six weeks to complete renovations. Harry protested that he knew quite a bit about house maintenance and could help, but Sirius insisted on Harry having his proper goodbyes at the Burrow. Harry had been disappointed to not be included in the new construction, Sirius could tell, but this wasn’t a simple project.

Sirius clung to those six weeks, to get himself together.

In truth, he and Remus could have probably had Harry’s room ready by the Battle of Hogwarts, if not for the house’s effect on Sirius. He’d struggled to tear down multiple parts of his family home, feeling like he was injuring part of himself. He worked, half-terrified the apparition of his parents might glower at him from the mirror. The work was far more emotionally taxing than physical--much more than he’d anticipated, when he insisted on living with Harry here.

There were times when Sirius walked into a room and immediately turned around, overwhelmed by memories. Ghosts moaned his name at night, wandering the half-wrecked halls. Sadness and anger flooded him equally, at random times, and Sirius wondered if this was the right move. He knew Remus wondered it too, but was too polite to ask.

For hours, Sirius would sit in the decaying room of his family tree, his eyes roaming the dead and the wicked, and wonder why he was still here. Why his burnt-out image was the only one that had stayed. If he really deserved to be here at all.

Renovating that room had been the most liberating. Once Sirius’ ax struck the mural, a laugh bubbled out of him. Remus’ worried aura broke, and they both laughed until they choked, gasping for air.

From there, 12 Grimmauld Place started to feel more like their own. Knocking walls down and painting fresh ones; removing the faint scent of mold and putting up bright lights--every positive action took Sirius one step further away from his insecurity.

He had finally made something of himself. He could stand in his foyer, in his own home, proud to be a husband and a father. Sirius would be able to give Harry everything that hadn’t been given to him, and the thought sent a rush of happy, nervous energy through him.

Harry had been blown away, upon arrival. He marveled at everything Sirius and Remus had accomplished. He grinned and cheered, excitedly pointing out every new fixture and faucet. He offered endless compliments, walking through the first floor and up the stairs. He was a positive chatterbox, up until Sirius directed him to a door with his name on it.

Harry’s voice failed him, and his step faltered. He stood outside the threshold, eyes fixed on the thin, brass letters of his own name. A mix of reverence and confusion swirled in his misty gaze, like he couldn’t trust what he was seeing.

“Is this mine?” he finally asked, nearly too quiet for Sirius to hear.

“Of course you’d have your own room,” Remus said, hands clasped behind his back. He looked proudly down at Harry, quirking an eyebrow. “You didn’t expect us to have you sleep in the bathtub, did you?”

Harry flushed, turning his head.

“No,” he said, just as quiet. His hand tightened on the strap of his bookbag: his only other piece of luggage, besides the one downstairs. “I just--I’ve never had my own. The dorms at Hogwarts; sharing a room with Ron, at the Burrow; I’m not--” Harry’s eyes widened as he peeked through the crack.

“That is a huge bed.”

With that comment, Sirius considered their efforts a success.

At first, Sirius was blinded by his elation at getting to spend more than a night or two with Harry. Here, they could really get to know one another, and grow together. In the next few months, Sirius became well acquainted with all the little mannerisms Remus had already picked up on, working with Harry at Hogwarts.

Sirius knew about how Harry bit his lip before a touchy question. How he could sleep anywhere, in any position, and how the end of his laugh often curled upward into a childlike giggle. He even noticed that Harry, without fail, preferred to put his left shoe on before his right.

But, once the newness wore off, Sirius picked up on something else.

Harry didn’t take food without permission.

There was a day when Sirius rounded the corner to the kitchen, and found Harry already there, taking an apple from the counter.

When Sirius’ gaze landed on him, Harry dropped the apple like it was on fire. He froze, and a shiver went down Sirius’ spine at the glassy, fearful look in Harry’s eyes.

The sight of it made Sirius’ stomach lurch.

“I was just about to make lunch,” Sirius announced, pushing through the sensation. He approached Harry and drew him into a one-armed hug, smiling warmly. “You can still have the apple as a snack, though, if you want.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Harry said, the fear melting from his eyes. He returned Sirius’ grin and asked: “Do you need any help?”

And Sirius had accepted, because he found Harry to be a well-trained cooking partner. He liked the time they spent together, working in tandem. Harry was quick with a knife, anticipated directions, and put together most meals in less than thirty minutes. In truth, Harry seemed content to spend more time in the kitchen than anywhere else.

Whenever Sirius and Remus had business that took them away from the house, without fail, they would return to a thoughtful dinner prepared by Harry. If Remus didn’t get to it first, Harry would be up making breakfast for the three of them. As long as Sirius and Remus provided the ingredients, Harry cooked the day away.

But then, Sirius started to notice, it wasn’t just cooking.

Harry’s culinary expertise could’ve certainly been excused as a hobby, if not for the other behaviors.

Remus had sneezed once in Harry’s presence, idly complaining of the dust in the living room. Since then, the shelves and bookcases were always clean to the touch. The hardwood was swept and shining, the stairs notably glossy when the daylight hit them.

Unlike when Sirius and Remus lived alone, the trash cans never reached above capacity. The windows lost their smudges and dirt; the house smelling perpetually of lemon and cleanser. The bathrooms stayed neatly stocked and tidy, to the point where Sirius was genuinely starting to wonder if a house elf had snuck in.

Coming home to find his and Remus’ clothes folded on their bed was the final straw.

Sirius knocked on Harry’s door, even though it was half open already. Sirius had yet to see it fully shut, and he didn’t quite know what to make of that.

Hearing him approach, Harry lifted his head from his desk, a smile automatically filling his face. “Hey, Sirius,” he greeted him, standing and abandoning his project.

Another thing Sirius had picked up on. Whenever someone addressed him, Harry gave them his full attention. At first, Sirius had chalked it up to politeness.

Now? Now he could hardly be sure of anything.

“Hello, Harry,” Sirius said, stepping inside. He clasped his hands together, keeping his tone light. “I noticed you did the laundry.”

Sirius expected Harry to brush him off, in that kind way of his that showed he still didn’t know how to take a compliment. Humble Harry, uninterested in being praised for “just doing the right thing.” Sirius thought he knew his godson so well.

But, like the apple had proven, some deeper instinct ran through Harry: one which occasionally made him a stranger wearing a loved one’s face.

Harry’s smile vanished. His posture straightened, at the same time his head lowered. The fear was back, shimmering behind his irises, as he guiltily asked:

“Did I do something wrong?”

Sirius faltered, caught off guard. “What?”

“I can fold it differently,” Harry insisted. “Just let me know. I would press your clothes, too, but we don’t have an iron, and--” Harry blinked rapidly, mouth falling open slightly. “I’m an idiot. I could just buy one.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry pulled on a jacket and moved to walk past Sirius.

“So stupid. How can I still not be used to having money? I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Sirius caught Harry’s arm, bringing him back around. He opened his mouth, but whatever he wanted to say never came out.

Because, under Sirius’ hand, Harry flinched.

Sirius immediately let go of Harry, insisting “It’s okay, it’s okay” at the same time Harry was saying “Sorry, I’m sorry”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Sirius said. “It was my fault for moving so quickly. I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry replied, clearly wanting to avoid the issue.

Sirius paused for a beat, then pressed his luck.

“Harry, you’re not an idiot,” he stated. “You don’t have to--do all this. It has been you, hasn’t it? Doing all the chores?”

Embarrassed, Harry nodded once. He worked at a muscle in his jaw, dropping eye contact as he muttered:

“Didn’t want to make a big deal about it. It’s not that much work to have to get done.”

“Remus and I are adults,” Sirius said patiently. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“I know,” Harry said quickly. “I wasn’t saying you can’t. But--but it’s just what I should do, right? Help out?”

“It’s a kind gesture, yes,” Sirius agreed. “But even though Remus and I may be old dogs, we can still handle fetching our own laundry.”

Harry relaxed slightly at the awful joke. However, his hands still twisted the hem of his shirt as he spoke.

“You don’t need rent money from me,” he pointed out. “You said I don’t need to pay for utilities or groceries. I feel like I’m here for free, and that’s...” Harry blew out a frustrated breath. “That’s not okay.”

“Why not?” Sirius asked.

As far as Sirius was concerned, this was supposed to be their paradise. Spending time together as a family, in a clean, safe, house. Eating as much food as they wanted. Freedom to go wherever they wanted; freedom to have friends over, and be as loud as they liked. No poverty, no violence, no enemies--against all odds, they’d turned a pipe dream into reality.

So why didn’t Harry look happy?

But Harry’s lips twisted shut, and Sirius knew a losing battle when he saw one. This wasn’t the time or the circumstance to have a conversation like this.

Burying his need to settle this now, Sirius smiled and took Harry’s hand in his. He patted the back of it, waiting until Harry met his eyes.

“Why don’t I go to the store with you?” Sirius suggested. “You’re right: we don’t have an iron, and I know nothing about them. I think there’s a lot you could teach me.”

A slow, hesitant smile broke Harry’s lips.

“Alright.”

Sirius thought that was the end of it. Ironing the folds of Remus’ cloaks and ties, they had a short conversation about responsibilities. Namely, Harry taking on less of them. Sirius encouraged Harry to sit back and spend time with friends, or find new hobbies. If he needed to keep his hands busy, there were other methods.

And Harry had nodded. Harry had listened. He had talked to Ron and Hermione, and discussed learning to bake with Ginny.

But several times over the next week, Sirius’ eyes shot open to those old ghost-steps haunting the hallways.

At first, he chalked it up to his old insecurities returning, feeling like a failure of a guardian. But, after the third instance, Sirius realized the feet were neither heeled nor booted. Someone was tip-toeing around in socks.

Someone who had very nearly memorized all the creaks in the hall.

Sirius waited 15 minutes, then left his bed. He skulked around his own home, following the sound of movement down the stairs.

Harry was quiet, but Sirius had the hearing of a hunting dog.

And there he found Harry, knelt in front of the bookshelf, dusting knick knacks at two in the morning.

Two days later, Sirius found the dishes he’d expressly ordered Harry to leave undone vanished from the sink. Washed, dried, and tucked into their places. The floor beneath his feet freshly waxed and shining, sun streaming through the previously-dirty kitchen window.

And that was when Sirius knew he was missing something critical--something necessary--because this wasn’t normal.

And so, on pins on needles, he turned his feet to the Burrow.

Chapter Text

If Molly Weasley was shocked to find Sirius Black unannounced on her doorstep, she possessed a wonderful poker face. As she looked him up and down, the only question she presented was:

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

Sirius knew the correct answer and, luckily for him, it aligned with the truth.

And so, late in the morning, he found himself seated at an unfamiliar dining table. Positioned opposite Molly and Arthur Weasley, he offered them both his best smile.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of being breakfast companions,” he announced. “I appreciate you having me.”

“Have you and Remus had a falling out?” Arthur wondered, as Molly moved to put together scraps of breakfast. From the stove, a teapot lazily drifted toward the table, followed by two cups.

“Oh, heavens no,” Sirius said, plucking his cup from the air. He waited for Arthur to finish pouring his serving of tea, then doled out a healthy portion of his own. “I’d be asking for whisky in this cup, otherwise.”

From the counter, Molly snorted.

“I wasn’t your biggest fan when you decided to be a drunkard, Mr. Black.” Molly turned her head, a sliver of a glare cast Sirius’ way. “It made your bad temperament near insufferable.”

Chagrined, Sirius laid his hands on the table. “I’m proud to say I’ve made strides past that point in my life.”

“Well done indeed,” Arthur said, toasting Sirius. “It was tough for everyone. But to practically be just freed from Azkaban, then forced into hiding, and suffering under the war like the rest of us?” Arthur shook his head slowly. “I’d have gone mad.”

“Well, I was halfway there already,” Sirius allowed. “I’m just one of those rare fellows who found it easier to go back than forward.”

Arthur grinned at Sirius, but a glance at Molly showed she still held a pensive expression. She brought over a plate of bacon, toast, and eggs, laying it out in silence.

Sirius liked to consider himself and Molly friends. They worked well together, when pressured. And, in truth, he held great admiration for the matriarch of the Weasley family.

But when it came to Harry, Sirius found himself scrambling for purchase on the slippery slope of Molly’s wrath. She found Sirius too reckless and cavalier to be a responsible parent. Sirius found her jaded, incapable of trusting Harry’s potential and intelligence. In the past few years, the war had been enough to distract them, in between their petty squabbles.

But with Voldemort gone, and Harry now living permanently at 12 Grimmauld, Sirius finally found it time to clear the air.

“Thank you,” he said.

Molly shrugged, sitting across from Sirius. “Plenty of leftovers to go around in a house of a dozen.”

“No,” Sirius clarified, a strange nervousness fluttering in his chest. “You two have been Harry’s parents since his first year at Hogwarts.”

Molly and Arthur let out a mix of swears and surprised exhales.

“I wouldn’t say--” Arthur began.

“Lily and James--” Molly said.

Sirius shook his head. The move was enough to silence them, but Sirius gathered himself before continuing.

“I don’t know much about Harry’s life with the Dursley’s. I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m scared to know what happened,” Sirius confessed. “I’m afraid of my temper. Afraid of what my reaction will be. Afraid I’ll never forgive myself for not--” Sirius drew a short breath, reeling in his emotions. “For things I logically know were out of my control.

“I’m already so guilty over the years I’ve missed,” Sirius continued. “I’ve been greedy. The second Harry said he wanted me around as his guardian--the moment he relied on me for the first time--I was hooked. I went head over heels, all in. I had a godson; a partner in crime; after having nothing, I suddenly had it all.” Sirius snorted. “A certified dog with a bone.”

“I remember,” Molly said mildly.

“But you two,” Sirius said, bringing it around, “were his guardians before me. He started out as your kid’s friend, but you went above and beyond. You kept him alive. You took him in. You’re going to be a part of his life forever, just like Remus and I. He sees us all as his parents.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Arthur offered. Molly gave no such sugar-coated comment, silently demanding Sirius to finish up.

Sirius licked his lips. “I know we haven’t always...agreed in the past when it came to Harry, and what he wanted to do. But your interests always revolved around protecting him. He needed people to protect him; to know what unconditional, familial love feels like. And because of that, greed aside, I couldn’t be more grateful you two found him first.” Sirius laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “Arthur and Molly Weasley, thank you. Thank you for taking care of Harry, in all the years I wasn’t able to.”

And that was enough to break past the emotional dam Molly had kept erected all these years. She turned her head, tutting softly, and, half-embarrassed, insisted: “It was a privilege to have him around.”

“I agree, in the present,” Sirius said.

“For a while I was...jealous, that you took him away.” Molly locked eyes with Sirius, a fondness in her gaze. “But oh, how he looks at you. How proud he wants to make you. I couldn’t bear a grudge for long.”

“You showed him what a real family looks like.” Sirius’ mouth twitched. “Sometimes, I wonder if Remus and I are enough, compared to this place.”

Sirius nearly expected Molly to start listing all of 12 Grimmauld’s faults.

He did not expect Arthur to offer a follow up question to his speech.

“Do you love him like a son?”

Sirius focused on Arthur, who wore a neutral expression. Sirius shook his head, baffled by the insinuation he could ever possibly not.

“Of course,” Sirius emphasized. Emotion colored his words; the passion he viewed as such a detriment always coming out, when it came to his godson. “Every night of every year I was in hiding, all I thought about was Harry. If he was doing alright; if he was warm. If I was doing enough to keep him safe, staying so far away. I dreamt about the house we would live in, when everything was over. Harry was the first thing I hoped for in twelve years.” Sirius closed his eyes, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. “So many times, I just wanted to take him away from this. To give him everything he ever wanted, and never miss another chance to see his smile.”

“Why?” Arthur asked.

Sirius didn’t waver. “Because I love him, and Harry deserves to be happy.”

“Then maybe,” Arthur conceded, giving a cheeky grin, “we agree on things more than you think.”

He and Sirius shared a secret smile for a moment, before Molly broke through.

“Alright,” she said, pushing a full plate Sirius’ way. “Enough of all that old baggage. Eat and talk. What brings you to the Burrow, Sirius?”

Sirius grabbed his fork and complied. He chewed, swallowed, and hesitated, before drawing a short breath.

“Harry’s been behaving strangely.”

“Strangely?” Arthur asked, taking a sip of his tea. “How so?”

Sirius tapped a long finger against the table. He briefly wondered how to best phrase his concerns, but ultimately, the plainest question came out of him.

“Did you notice Harry has a habit of doing the dishes?”

Arthur and Molly let out equally exasperated sighs.

“I thought it was a Muggle trait--” Arthur began.

“And I explained, you can just flick your wand and it’s done--” Molly continued.

“But then he started collecting plates right before dinner ended,” Arthur said. “Clever boy. He’d get the twins rolling on some wild tangent, and while we were distracted, he’d just start cleaning, quiet as a mouse. Impossible to hear until he was done.”

“Cleaning and cleaning, in his spare time,” Molly went on. “When the other kids were laying down or studying, he’d pick up a broom.”

“Fred asked once if he was half house elf,” Arthur recalled.

“Did not go over well,” Molly agreed. “And when there weren’t any chores, he’d go outside. Weed the garden, patch a wall, get the mail straight from the owl. Whatever he could get his hands on.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, nodding slowly. “12 Grimmauld is starting to look quite similar.”

Arthur and Molly gave Sirius pitying looks.

“You don’t want to make the boy feel bad,” Arthur said, his voice hushed like Harry might appear in front of him. “He’s just trying to help out.”

“But it’s more than that,” Sirius said, realizing Arthur, Molly, and himself had all reached the same conclusion. “It’s more than good manners.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Sirius bit the edge of his thumbnail, braced himself, and dove right into it.

“Going back to what I was saying before. Harry hasn’t told me everything, but I know his life with the Dursley’s wasn’t...ideal, to put it lightly,” Sirius said. “And I understand I may be reaching here. It’s actually why I came--if anyone could shed light on this, it would be you two.” Sirius looked between Molly and Arthur. “I think whatever that family put him through is still affecting him. Like they still have some hold over him, even though he never has to see them again.”

Molly glanced Arthur’s way, some unspoken thought communicated, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“I met them, when Harry was in his fourth year.”

Sirius looked puzzled. “He never mentioned the visit.”

Arthur drew a hand over his mouth, raising his eyebrows in remembrance. “It wasn’t the best first meeting. Or the friendliest exit.”

“I’d imagine not,” Sirius allowed. “What happened?”

“Well, you see, I was so excited, because they were Muggles--real Muggles--in their little Muggle home full of wonderful Muggle things, but--” Molly laid a hand on Arthur’s arm, and his rambling simmered down to something much more streamlined. “I will allow that my decision to try and enter through an electric fireplace and not the door was, perhaps, shortsighted of me. And so, perhaps, it would account for their cold and disgusted attitude toward me. But Harry...”

Arthur’s eyes briefly lost their focus, his mouth settling into an unusually hard line of disapproval.

“I didn’t realize how much they really didn’t care about him until that point. Their refusal to say goodbye; to wish him well--they stared at him like...well, truthfully, like they hated him. And my sons had told me about the bars they put on Harry’s window in second year--”

“Bars?” Sirius interrupted, hands tightening on his mug.

“You really haven’t talked about it, have you?” Molly tutted. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” she asked, changing course. “That someone would hurt the Harry we know.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Sirius said, helpless. “He was just... He was just born. How wrong is that?”

“From what I understand of Petunia, there’s just no pleasing her,” Molly said. “So don’t even try. And Vernon, more rage than man--I’d feel worse for their child, if he weren’t cut from their cloth.”

“You can’t blame the children,” Arthur admonished.

“I’ll blame who I like, for hurting our boy,” Molly snapped. “That Dudley could’ve snuck Harry food, when he was starving. He could’ve done anything to make Harry’s life easier, if he could look past his own nose.”

Sirius’ tongue caught behind his teeth.

“...Starving?” he worked out.

Molly gave Sirius a pitying look. He was starting to wonder if he preferred her venom after all, when she continued.

“Before second year, the boys took the car to ‘rescue’ Harry,” she began. “At first, I was too cross to really hear anything they had to say. They claimed bars on the window? I heard young boys crowing anything to get out of trouble. They claimed Harry was starving? They said the same thing to me every night supper took a mite too long.”

Molly’s gaze softened, and she took on a slower cadence.

“Then I noticed how tiny he really looked. I noticed the bruises, and the averted eyes. The jumpiness; the eagerness to please; the secret food stash. Over the next couple years, it all fell in, overtop one another, like a house of cards. And I was furious.” Molly listed it off. “I was angry I didn’t believe my own children at the first word. I was angry that Harry, beloved as he was, didn’t ask for someone’s help. And I was angry at myself, as a mother, that I didn’t have some instinct to know when a child needed help. What kind of 13-year-old knows how to scour a pot by hand?” she scowled. “What teenager is content to work hours on his hands and knees, for not even a ‘thank you?’ ”

Harry’s voice spoke softly, spilling out from Sirius’ memory.

“It’s not that much work to have to get done.”

“We all have our illogical thoughts, Sirius,” Arthur said, distracting Sirius’ guilt. “We thought the Harry we saw--that everyone else sees--was the only one who could exist. Brave, witty, pure-hearted: Who could see Harry Potter as anything else?”

“I didn’t want to let Harry go back after I realized the bars were true,” Molly insisted. “I didn’t care if they never put them back up. The line was drawn in the sand, as far as I was concerned. And I kept him as long as I could.”

“I asked for more time,” Arthur confessed. “Time to get the Burrow ready. Time to ask Harry what he really wanted, without pressure. I, myself, was still on the fence about ripping Harry from, what I previously considered to be, the only home he knew.” Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t stay there for long. Not after that meeting, and not after the Cup. Losing Cedric, finding Voldemort... It was raw, for Harry. He needed a safe space to grieve.”

“Thank you for giving him that,” Sirius murmured.

“He deserved it,” Molly replied. “He’s been through so much, Sirius.”

“I know,” Sirius said.

“Too much,” Molly continued, “to go through all at once. He’ll come to you in pieces, when he wants to. It’s how he is, and how it has to be. It took years for him to open up to us, and I’m sure there are things we still don’t know. I have to make peace with that, for his sake. And it’s a sacrifice worth making.”

Molly reached out to take Sirius’ hand in hers. She swiped a thumb over the back of his hand, tracing small circles, her touch ever so gentle.

“It isn’t about us, and how we feel. Everything we do, it has to be for him. Which means, sometimes you don’t get the exact justice you want.”

Sirius smirked. “I know something about that.”

Molly clasped Sirius’ hand in both of hers and smiled. “Then I also believe we can get along more than you thought, before coming here.”

Molly replaced the group’s tea with a fresh, strong, pot of coffee. The trio snacked on elevenses--more twelveses at this point, Sirius noted--and the conversation turned more pleasant. But while they caught up, some guilt festered with Sirius, that Remus couldn’t be part of this. He was as much Harry’s guardian as himself, and it felt unkind to put all the focus on Sirius.

Sirius’ guilt was getting the better of him again by one p.m., and he thought about excusing himself to go home to his miserable husband.

However, a beat later, a clamor sounded overhead: a rough tumbling of several bodies, which Molly quickly attributed to the twins. Finding no argument, Sirius once again began mulling over the right words to announce his departure. And not long after he’d settled on them, he cleared his throat to go, convinced he had no need to stay.

Convinced, until, two sets of hurried footsteps tripped down the stairs, followed by a voice decidedly not of the Weasley lineage.

“Pardon the noise,” a high, familiar soprano announced.

“They’re used to it,” a lower voice said.

“It’s still rude!”

The footsteps crossed the threshold, one of the two bodies coming in at a brisk, hurried walk. Sirius recognized her immediately, but she only gave Molly and Arthur the barest pause, her feet pointed toward the cabinets.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, sorry to arrive back so soon, but--” Hermione stopped short of her destination, catching sight of Sirius. Her eyes widened and, with a slight breathlessness, she staggered and said: “Hello, Sirius.”

Ron loped in behind her, nodding at his parents, then smiling at Sirius. “How are you?” he asked politely.

“Is Harry with you?” Sirius asked, moving to stand.

“Oh no,” Hermione said quickly, inching to block his way out. “He’s...”

Ron touched Hermione’s shoulder. Like Molly and Arthur, he and Hermione shared a silent moment of understanding. Hermione looked back to Sirius and finished her thought.

“He’s upstairs. Sleeping.”

“Mate’s had a habit of overworking himself since Hogwarts,” Ron explained. “He might not notice he’s doing it, but we’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing a crash before it happens. And we’re always there to catch him.”

“Literally, today,” Hermione chirped.

“He fainted?” Sirius balked, panic breaking through. “Is he sick?” Hermione held up her hands, quick to ease his fears.

“No, no. Harry’s fine,” she said calmly. “It was more the...” Here, she wavered. Her cheeks dusted pink and she feebly continued on: “The mob of reporters The Daily Prophet sent, that made him fall. Over a crate. He was pretty tired after the exercise, once we outran them.”

“Vultures,” Ron scoffed.

“I told you it was too soon to take him out,” Molly lectured.

“Which is why we went in the morning, Mum,” Ron answered, frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair. “We almost made it to lunch. We could’ve been in the clear. I mean, it’s already been months, and we’ve all given our fair share of statements! But, oh, they can’t get enough of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Great Wizard Warrior,” Ron mocked. “We figure they have to stop bloody hounding him at some point--”

“No offense, Sirius,” Hermione said lightly--and the words, coupled with the stress of the situation, made Sirius laugh.

It was a choked bark of a laugh, not at all happy, and he spread his hands over the top of his chair to steady himself.

“Can’t he catch a break?” Sirius whispered.

Hermione’s voice broke through once more.

“You’ve been worried about him, haven’t you?”

Sirius raised his head. “Always.”

“Welcome to the club,” Ron joked. He put his hands in his pockets, looking at Sirius with something akin to sympathy. “It gets easier, once you know what you’re dealing with.”

“I came here to find that out,” Sirius confessed. He straightened his spine, raising his arms in a helpless gesture. “I know why he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been obsessively cleaning the house. He’s been waiting on Remus and I hand-and-foot, like--” The truth broke through Sirius’ throat, and it hurt worse than the laugh. “Like he’s a servant. Like that’s all he is to us.”

“He’s indeed a tidy individual,” Hermione offered.

“He won us good marks for cleanliness in the dorms,” Ron added. “He looked more proud at the prefect’s praise than any good grade.” Ron shrugged. “But those, I guess, were expected--from Dumbledore, from the professors. He couldn’t let them down. Helping his mates out, though... He likes to be needed.”

“It’s more than that.”

The attention focused on Hermione, who had gone from hesitant to assured.

“I think he’s scared,” Hermione said. “He's scared if he doesn’t prove he’s worth keeping around, you’ll get rid of him. Like something that’s broken, you’ll just...toss him out. Especially with the War being over, and Voldemort being gone--” Hermione bit her lip. “He probably can’t think of anything else to do, but to go back to basics.”

Ron put a supportive arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “The Dursley’s really messed him up. I mean, he’s our mess and we love him, but man--” Ron’s nose scrunched up in remembrance. “I’ll never forget our first Christmas at Hogwarts. He’d never gotten presents before.”

White hot rage flickered in Sirius’ chest. His temper reared up, threatening to roar, but one glance at Molly sent it simmering back down.

Sirius cleared his throat. “I honestly don’t know how you all haven’t marched up to the Dursley’s door and given them what they deserve.”

“Harry doesn’t like talking about it,” Hermione said. “He doesn’t like it when people make a big fuss. He’d rather forget it all and move on--and, in theory, I think it’s a good idea.” Hermione locked eyes with Sirius. “But burying the past isn’t the same as reconciling with it.”

Sirius nodded, swiping his lower lip with his thumb.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

“He’s just stressed,” Hermione continued. “He’s really unsure about things, with all these changes, but he’s been here before.”

“Yeah, at Hogwarts, there were loads of times he thought he wouldn’t make it,” Ron said. “You just have to support him. Give him that space to vent and relax. And remind him of his good points--really lay it on thick, until it sinks in. He’ll break eventually.”

“And it’s you telling him, Sirius,” Hermione added. “You’re the one he wants to hear it from the most.”

Molly’s earlier words rang in Sirius’ ears. It was funny to him--here he was, praying so hard just to be considered a suitable guardian for Harry. And evidently, misguided methods aside, Harry was doing everything he could just to be the best for him. Only, he didn’t realize he’d won from the start, simply by being himself.

Could the same be true for Sirius?

Sirius aimed a bright smile at Ron and Hermione. “Thank you, you two. This has been helpful.”

“Anytime,” Ron said. Hermione nodded firmly.

Sirius’ eyes went to the ceiling. “You said he’s sleeping?”

“He was dead on his feet at the market,” Ron announced, which earned him an elbow to the gut. “Oh come on, it’s been months. Even Harry doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll stop bothering you about it when I believe him,” Hermione hissed. Then, to Sirius: “I know what he looks like when he’s spent. I would’ve insisted, but he didn’t want to ‘ruin our fun.’ So we ordered him a coffee, and for a while, it was good. But even if the reporters didn’t catch up to us, the exhaustion did.” Hermione tilted her head, allowing a small admission. “And I’ll be honest, I’m glad for it. I missed our cuddle piles from Hogwarts.”

“Ah, just sleeping by one of the couches in the common room; the fire roaring in the corner,” Ron remarked wistfully. “They were grand cuddles, alright.”

“And they always had either hot chocolate or pumpkin juice or cider,” Hermione listed, gesturing at the kitchen. “Hence, our arrival. What do we have to offer, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Let’s check the pantries,” Molly said, rising from her chair. “Will you be staying, Sirius?”

Sirius smiled warmly at Molly. “That almost sounded like an invitation.”

“If we’re both going to be taking care of Harry, we might as well be on good terms.” Molly pointed at Sirius threateningly. “So don’t screw it up.”

“No pressure, yes?” Arthur joked, taking some of the weight off of Molly’s words. “The Burrow is open to everyone with good intentions.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said. He clasped his hands in front of him. “On the contrary, I think some time with the other half of his family is just what Harry needs. I’ll always be there to return to.” He winked at Ron and Hermione. “Spoil him well and good for me, yes?”

The two broke into matching, wide grins.

“Undoubtedly,” they answered.

So, satisfied his godson was in good hands, Sirius left the Burrow with a lifted heart, and a clear mission in mind.

Chapter Text

Sirius flipped the latch on 12 Grimmauld long after the sun had gone down. He stood in the quiet of his foyer, pressing his forehead to the front door. He measured the silence, getting a feel for the inhabitants of the home.

Remus shouldn’t have left. Harry had likely returned. They lingered somewhere, holed away, waiting for Sirius to find them.

And find them he would. Sirius stood straight, passing the kitchen on his way upstairs. Nervous, his eyes flicked toward the sink.

Dirty dishes had never looked so heavenly.

Sirius took the stairs slowly, not wanting the creaks to betray him. His wish held true, and Sirius wandered past the shut doors: his and Remus’, Harry’s, the bathroom.

And then, finally, he found an open one.

Remus had been released from the torment of his bad batch of potions. He lay sleeping in his wolf form, completely harmless, laid across the carpet of his dimly lit study. He was rolled out on his back, massive paws lazing in the air, his snout turned toward the big desk he was nestled beside. He snorted out a half yawn/half sneeze, and Sirius quirked a smile.

Cozied up next to Remus, his back to the desk, Harry stirred.

Sirius rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. The boy could truly fall asleep anywhere. Even stuffed between a previously-fearsome beast and an uncomfortable slab of wood.

Sirius tread the carpet carefully, avoiding the pile of ropes, oversized tennis balls, and bones collected near the door. He picked his way over Remus’ tail and Harry’s splayed limbs, positioning himself in front of his godson.

Sirius reached out, preparing to give Harry’s foot a light jostle. Then his eyes went higher, up to Harry’s face. He had had it turned away before, but now Sirius could see it plainly.

Tear tracks shone in the light.

Harry’s brows were drawn together, his eyes flickering rapidly back and forth beneath the lids. His breathing came in short bursts, and he twisted his head to the side, like he was searching for some unseen enemy. His mouth pulled downward, mumbling unheard phrases.

Harry jerked his body, kicking his heel out, and narrowly missed Sirius.

“Harry,” Sirius called out. He reached out in earnest, grabbing a fistful of Harry’s shirt to steady him. With all the thrashing, he might hit his head.

“Harry,” Sirius tried again. “Wake up.”

Harry’s eyes popped open.

Sirius had never gotten himself on Harry’s bad side. The two had never quarreled, and they had certainly never raised their hands to one another. Sirius knew Harry had proved himself an amazing fighter--it was self-evident, with how many times he had pulled himself from death’s grip.

It was one thing to know, rationally, what his godson was capable of.

But it was another matter entirely to have Harry’s wand pressed to Sirius’ temple, eyes clouded by anger and fear, his lips a half second from firing off a spell.

Fixed in place by Harry’s other hand on his shoulder, Sirius had little time to think. He tried to put on an easy smile as, out of the corner of his eye, Remus stared Harry down with jaws parted.

“Let’s calm down, shall we?” Sirius said softly. “No need for violence here.”

Remus yipped, anxious. Harry’s grip loosened some, reality starting to catch back up. Sirius watched the dream crumble behind Harry’s eyes, and he took a sledgehammer to its remains.

No ghosts haunting his godson.

“I must say,” Sirius began, the smile on his face flickering, “I much prefer your usual greeting, Harry.”

“...Sirius?” Harry asked, blinking.

And oh if Sirius’ name didn’t, for once in his life, sound like a blessing to his own ears. Sirius nodded, as Remus’ hackles lowered. Lucidity flooded Harry’s eyes, and he scrambled to get away.

“Sirius--Sirius, I’m so sorry--”

“Hush,” Sirius breathed. He was far less offended than he usually was, when someone attempted to kill him.

Calm as anything, Sirius took Harry’s wand hand and lowered the threat. Simultaneously, he took Harry’s face in his other hand. He rubbed his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, casting off the tears there.

“Shh. Shush, you’re alright.” He tutted, just like Molly had. “It must’ve been an awful dream.”

“N-No,” Harry stammered. “I’m fine.”

Sirius didn’t bother trying to argue. He pulled Harry into his arms, squeezing him tightly. He brought a hand to the back of Harry’s skull, keeping him there. And ever so gently, Sirius ran his nails across Harry’s scalp.

“It’s okay,” Sirius murmured, the timber of his voice reverberating straight through Harry’s chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. No one will hurt you while I’m here.”

Faintly, Sirius felt Harry’s shoulders tremble. Harry returned Sirius’ embrace in full, clinging to him and curling up in his lap. Harry nuzzled into Sirius’ collarbone, saying nothing as Sirius continued speaking gentle words, rocking the two of them back and forth.

A sharp whine made Sirius open his eyes. He turned his head to greet Remus, who had one paw lifted, like he wanted to hug Harry too.

“Yes, hello to you too, dear,” Sirius said, releasing Harry to give Remus a quick scratch behind the ears. “Everything is okay. Have you been keeping Harry company while I was away?”

“We played,” Harry said, sitting back on his heels. He rubbed at his face, then gestured at the pile of toys. “Tossed a tennis ball. It was kind of like playing catch with your dad. But reverse? And if your dad was a dog.”

Sirius stared at Harry, the air gone still in his lungs.

“Dad, huh?” he breathed, trying not to sound too indulgent.

Oblivious, Harry nodded. “I also had some jerky tucked away, just for wolfy time. Real premium grade--taste tested it myself. And Remus really enjoyed it! Then...” Harry hesitated. He reached out and patted Remus’ flank. “Then I guess it was time for a nap. But Remus probably had better dreams than me.”

“I wonder what he dreams about,” Sirius mused. He turned his attention back to Harry, whose hand halted above Remus.

I wonder what you dream about, the unspoken thought lingered between them.

Harry pursed his lips, taking his hand back.

“Where did you go, Sirius?” he asked. Harry curled in on himself, knees drawn to his chest, and averted his gaze. “I’ve been back for ages. You normally leave a note if it’s going to be a while.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Sirius tucked a stray lock of hair behind Harry’s ear and smiled. “I’ve been off making a deal with the devil.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“How,” Harry laughed, “is that not supposed to worry me?”

“Got you to laugh,” Sirius cheered.

Harry searched Sirius’ face for some explanation. “You’re acting...strangely,” he decided.

“So are you,” Sirius replied. “And today, I tried to find out why.” He turned more somber, copying Harry’s pose. “I learned The Daily Prophet has been giving you trouble.”

Harry raised his shoulders, defensive. “So you heard.”

“Yes. And if they won’t leave you alone based on good conscience alone,” Sirius said, “then I am not above sweetening the deal.” Sirius took Harry by the wrists, undoing his self imposed prison. Sirius tilted his head, continuing to speak quietly. “I never told them how I escaped Azkaban. Sure, the government report is one thing, but where’s the sensationalism? The first person account; the gritty, descriptive details? Fudge wouldn’t tell them about the secret lives of guards and prisoners in the most high-ranking Wizard prison...”

“But you would,” Harry supplied, quietly awestruck. “But--you don’t talk about Azkaban.”

“It’s not my favorite set of memories,” Sirius allowed. “And, as my charge, it isn’t your job to bear my pain. But by giving the largest magical newspaper exclusive rights to a six-part interview series the other magical papers will be scrambling to outdo...” Sirius briefly closed his eyes, nodding at his choice. “I think we can shift the focus from The Battle of Hogwarts to Azkaban pretty easily, and give you the break you deserve.”

Sirius decided not to add the personal threats he leveled at the editor-in-chief, or the hefty sum of money he slipped into a receptionist’s palm to be seen in the first place. Those tidbits he would share with Remus alone, when he was less wolfishly-inclined.

Harry was still having difficulty absorbing the implications of Sirius’ actions.

“Sirius--” he began.

“I want my godson to be able to go out with his friends,” Sirius interrupted. “I want to see you get back on your broom, unafraid of the wide, open skies. I want to see you heal, and grow back into yourself. Oh, Harry,” Sirius said. “You’re more amazing than you realize.”

Harry bit his lip. His eyes shone brightly, but this time, no fear settled into Sirius’ gut. Only pride, as Harry whispered: “I think you’re the amazing one.”

“Come on,” Sirius said, extending his palm to Harry. “I saw you made dinner? Will you share it with me? I imagine Remus isn’t the most gracious dinner companion today.”

Harry took Sirius’ hand, a goofy chuckle filling the space. “He jumped on the counter, trying to pull the half-cooked chicken from the pot.”

“Sophisticated aristocrat, you are,” Sirius said to Remus, patting his back. “He looks happy to trot around the study. Shall we leave him to it?”

“Yeah, we can come back later,” Harry agreed, waving behind him. “Bye, Remus.”

Remus let out a short bark, nose already sniffing out a fresh toy.

The curry Harry made was as delicious as to be expected, given the chef. With the heavier things set aside for the time being, Sirius and Harry traded jokes and stories about their day. And when the meal finished and Harry looked guiltily at the dishes, Sirius came to a compromise.

“Together,” Sirius said, meeting Harry at the sink.

And, seemingly done with the secrecy, Harry agreed. He set himself up at his station, showing Sirius exactly how the magic was done.

His methods, Sirius found, were flawless. And Sirius decided he much preferred doing the dishes for the rest of time, if he had Harry beside him.

He learned Harry hummed while he worked--quietly at first, then louder, once Sirius offered an accompanying baritone. Without the threat of retaliation or a time constraint, an hour passed easily. Sirius learned Harry liked to bump hips and flick bubbles--which, on playful giggles, led to a battle of the dish rags. They snapped their cleaning cloths back and forth at each other, like pirates clashed swords.

Harry dodged Sirius’ parry with a delighted shriek, but he overestimated the space he had available. He tripped, running up against the organizer shelf attached to the wall. He lost his balance, falling back with a thud, his elbow catching a shelf and breaking his fall. Assorted kitchen supplies clattered under his weight, making a racket as they were knocked aside. But none of this removed the smile from Harry’s face.

The shattering of glass was what did it.

Just like in his bedroom, Harry’s expression closed off, and he moved automatically. He dropped to the floor, immediately picking up shards of some plate Sirius couldn’t care less about.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said, like a mantra. “Sorry, I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

“Harry--” Sirius said, kneeling. He took Harry by the wrists, physically pulling him up and away from the mess. “Let’s clean you up first.”

“I’m fine, though?” Harry said, confused.

Sirius raised his brows, and gestured at Harry’s shirt. Harry looked down to find it sliced open, a large scrape dotting his midsection. Harry twisted his head around to find the culprit: An innocent-looking cheese grater, placed just so.

“Huh.” Harry absently pressed his fingers to his collar. “I actually...liked this shirt a lot.”

“We’ll get you another. Let’s take a look, then,” Sirius said, reaching to pull Harry’s shirt up.

“Oh,” Harry said, too little too late. “Don’t--”

Sirius’ eyes widened, finding a large bruise staring back at him, sitting just below Harry’s ribs. Faintly, Hermione’s story from earlier came back to him.

“The mob of reporters...made him fall over a crate.”

“Was this from today?” Sirius asked. He pressed his fingers to the edge of the bruise, testing it. “Does it hurt badly?”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yes. And nope. To answer your questions in order.”

Sirius gave Harry a scrutinizing look.

“Really,” Harry insisted. “I’ve got a cut healing on my forearm, if you wanna look. I get scuffed up a lot, Sirius. My pain threshold is high, and I--I know to get help when it’s bad.”

Sirius wasn’t so convinced. Harry must’ve known it because, without any teeth pulling, he added:

“It happens all the time. Once it stops stinging or burning, it’s not a priority.”

“It is to me,” Sirius said quietly. “It’s why I keep a medical kit here in the first place.”

Embarrassed, Harry lowered his head. “I know. I was gonna check the cabinets when I got home. I was pretty sure we had some healing salve left over, but Remus had already shifted, and I...ended up forgetting about it.” Harry shrugged. “I try not to use it much, anyway. Feels like cheating.”

Sirius made a face. “Cheating?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I made a mistake. It ought to hurt, so I don’t do it again.” Seeing Sirius’ hesitation, Harry smiled and added: “I mean, don’t get me wrong--I break another bone, I’d definitely prefer the easy way out.”

“Harry,” Sirius said, choosing his words with care, “you don’t deserve to be in pain. Even if the wound is small, or you caused it yourself. Do you understand?”

Harry’s expression said, Not really. But he refused to betray himself with words, keeping his silence until Sirius gave up and took out his wand.

“I don’t feel like searching for the salve right now,” Sirius said, pulling a healing spell from the back of his mind. “So hold still.”

Harry obeyed, hardly breathing as Sirius pressed the tip of his wand to Harry’s wound. With a whispered word and a flash, it was healed. Harry let out a deep sigh, bowing under his relief.

“Better than Lockhart,” he said under his breath.

“Pardon?” Sirius asked.

“Unimportant.”

Sirius pointed his wand at the floor, the shards of broken glass disappearing into the recycling. He turned and gave his hands some work to do, putting away the dishes that had started their pirate fight. Harry kept guard beside the kitchen rack, watching Sirius move in the sudden, uneasy silence.

When the suffocating mood became too much to bear, Sirius clicked his tongue.

“Harry, am I mistaken in thinking you like hot chocolate?”

Harry blinked at the question, then slowly offered one of his own.

“Aren’t you allergic? If not you--Remus?”

Sirius nearly laughed. “Doggish we may be in other aspects, Remus and I do not share their poisons.” Sirius put away several pots under the cabinet. “You’ve seen Remus eat plenty of chocolate.”

“Remus gives me a lot of chocolate,” Harry corrected. “It’s not the same.”

“Yes, well, the fact remains the same--” Sirius interrupted himself, blurting out: “Is this why you look queasy whenever we chop onions? You think Remus and I are going to make ourselves sick?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed pink.

“I mean, who am I to tell you what to eat?” he asked. “For all I know, it’s like a lactose allergy, and you’re choosing to drink milk, what right do I have to--?”

“Harry,” Sirius said, cutting him off. “You are beyond thoughtful.”

“Oh,” Harry faltered, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I--”

“It makes it extremely difficult to spoil you.”

Sirius crossed the kitchen, coming to a stop in front of Harry.

“I haven’t had the advantage of being close to you for your formative years,” Sirius confessed quietly. “Ron, Hermione, Molly, Arthur, and the whole lot of Weasleys--they’ve seen so many sides of you. The ones you couldn’t keep hidden, and the ones you rarely let shine. They know you so much better than I do. It stings, but it’s true.”

Sirius sighed deeply, then squared his shoulders.

“But I’m learning. And I want to learn more. I want to know you just as well as they do, so I can help you before you need it.” Sirius tucked a finger beneath Harry’s chin, raising it slightly to make eye contact. “There is no darkness within you frightening enough to turn me away. Nothing could ever make me hate you, Harry.”

“How... How can you be sure?” Harry asked. “You said it yourself--you don’t know.”

“I know,” Sirius said, dropping his hand, “that I won’t give up on you. And that’s enough. The love I have is enough. Please try to trust in it.”

“I do--trust you,” Harry worked out.

“Just try,” Sirius insisted. “I’ll be patient. It’s not going to be perfect, at first. You may prefer your friends. You may find Remus more suitable.” Sirius gathered his courage, bracing himself for the next part. “But I don’t want to be excluded as a candidate simply because you’re worried I’ll think less of you. I can’t tell you how impossible that is, Harry. And frankly, I’ll be upset if you continue underestimating me.”

Sirius took Harry’s hand, working small circles into the back of it.

“I’m not going to walk away,” Sirius vowed. “I won’t throw you away. I’m here for forever, Harry.”

Harry stiffened. “Forever,” he said, “is a big promise to make.”

“I know. But it’s not such a hard decision. I already committed to forever with Remus. It’s just a different kind of forever, with you. A familial forever. The kind of family you choose for yourself, not the one you’re born into.”

Sirius waited for Harry’s answer, but nothing passed his lips. Sirius, brows drawn, continued marching on.

“It’s a lot to ask, wanting to know what happened with the Dursley’s. And truthfully, I don’t think going over every painful memory I’ve missed is good for you. So I don’t want that, either. But if you’re uneasy, and something from the past is bothering you; or some monster in your mind won’t let you be... I want to be introduced to them. Let me know their name.” Sirius wrinkled his nose, smirking as he added: “And we can tell them to piss off together.”

Harry broke into a smile, the tension evaporating from his shoulders.

“Well,” he said, “the only monster calling my name right now is Ginny’s baking homework. She wants me to produce her a lovely pie crust by tomorrow morning.”

“Pie crust?” Sirius echoed. “Doesn’t strike me as a beginner task. Hasn’t she heard of banana bread?”

“She likes to keep me on my toes,” Harry said, heading for the pantry.

“Sounds like her,” Sirius conceded. “Alright then, I’ll watch you work, so she can’t accuse you of passing off the market as your own.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Harry said, turning with the flour jar clutched tightly to his chest. “She can taste the difference. She’ll turn me into pie crust.”

Sirius expected nothing less from a Weasley woman.

“Better get going, then,” he said, folding his arms on the island counter and leaning forward. “I’ll be right beside you.”

A throwaway line this time, but underneath the mirth, a promise Sirius intended to keep until his dying day.

Sirius awoke to a tapping on his elbow.

He groaned, blurry vision clearing to find Harry standing above him in the still-darkened kitchen. He had his hands in front of him, one finger extended toward the sink.

“You wanted to...do them together, from now on?” Harry mumbled, embarrassed.

Sirius turned his head, finding Harry had refilled the basin in a heartbeat. Locating the clock above the oven, Sirius deciphered the digits and settled on a quick answer.

“Appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I vote we leave it up to Remus. He’s the only one who hasn’t had to deal with bloodthirsty journalists today, and I’m jealous.” Sirius looked behind Harry, at the sparkling countertops. “You’ve done well enough already. How did the crust turn out?”

“Acceptable.”

Given the source, Sirius was convinced that would translate to “perfect”, for Ginny’s standards.

“Excellent,” Sirius said, pushing himself to his feet. “Off to bed we get, then?”

“Sure...” Harry said, trailing off. “Just let me put a couple more things away, if we aren’t doing dishes...”

Sirius folded his arms, watching Harry glide across the kitchen. Opening drawers; spinning in place; reaching for tools. He knew all of 12 Grimmauld’s creaks and groans, and almost all her hiding places. She had become home to Harry: A thing Sirius had been terrified he and Harry might never have.

Tears pricked at Sirius’ eyes, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I know you saw me struggling, when I was confined here during your fifth year.”

Harry halted his work, surprised by the subject change. Sirius continued quietly, speaking to the wall across the room.

“I hated pacing these dreary, narrow halls, trapped and reliving every awful memory of imprisonment,” he said. “There was no escape; no relief. It was Azkaban all over again, this time colored in my own personal shades of hell.” Sirius tilted his head, turning over some well-worn thought. “I dreamt about burning this black hole of misery down, once the war was over. Once my name was cleared, and I could finally be free.”

Harry paused, a slew of strange emotions taking over him. Confusion won out as he slowly confirmed:

“But we...live here now? And you haven’t said anything about leaving?”

Sirius renewed his attention on Harry and smiled.

“That’s true.”

“So...what changed your mind?” Harry asked, anxious hands finding the hem of his shirt.

“Well,” Sirius said, licking his lips, “you did. To put it plainly.”

Harry’s nails sank into the fabric. “Me?” he asked, incredulous. “Me.”

“I can tell you more about it later,” Sirius said. “Some day when I haven’t spent all my brain power, stringing together more perfect words than I’ve ever said in my whole life. I can tell you, in detail, exactly how you saved me. How you still inspire me.”

“I’m not even doing anything, though,” Harry argued. “Or the things I am doing--aren’t they just the right things to do? I just...” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You’re always helping people, whether you mean to or not. It’s a sign of your big, lovely, heart.” Sirius drew Harry in for a hug, squeezing him tightly and murmuring into his ear: “But you can trust the adults to take care of you sometimes, too. You aren’t a disappointment to anyone, and you don’t have to put everything on yourself. Not anymore.”

“It’s an...adjustment,” Harry said, squeezing him back. “I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Together, remember?” Sirius reminded him. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s head. “You and me. You and your big, stubborn, not-going-anywhere family.”

Harry laughed softly, swaying in Sirius’ embrace. He found that here, tucked against Sirius’ sternum, he liked the thought of forever.

Trapped in the closet under the stairs, forever had sounded like a death sentence. Happiness, laughter, unconditional love--nothing more than dreams, running through his damaged psyche at night.

But so far, Sirius and Remus had made all of Harry’s dreams come true. They hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t abandoned him, once the war ended. Neither had the Weasley’s or Hermione or any of Harry’s other friends. He’d been bracing himself all these months for a punch that refused to land. A sword that never fell.

Harry couldn’t lie to himself with sweet words. It was still terrifying, tilting his head toward the thought of relying on someone else to help him.

But if it was Sirius holding out his hand, maybe it wasn’t such a hard adjustment to make after all.

Maybe, standing in the kitchen with him, Harry had already started making it long ago.