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Chapter Text

Prologue – The Storm Before the Silence

October 31st – Godric's Hollow

The evening air over Godric’s Hollow was crisp, laced with the scent of chimney smoke and the distant sweetness of fallen apples. The sky was a rich indigo, streaked with fading orange as the last hints of sunset melted into night. On the edge of the village, nestled beneath a thick grove of ancient oaks and golden elms, stood a modest stone cottage. It looked like any other house from the outside warm light glowing through its leaded windows, a small garden blooming stubbornly despite the season, a toy broom lying abandoned near the front steps.

Inside, the cottage was alive with quiet magic and the comfort of home.

The sitting room, though modest, radiated warmth. A squashy velvet sofa, worn down in all the right places, sat in front of the hearth. Above the mantel, a series of moving photographs flickered gently, James laughing with Sirius; Lily waving with baby Harry nestled in her arms; Remus balancing baby Harry on his shoulders while Peter looked on with a sheepish grin. A few of the pictures shimmered slightly, the enchantments woven into them pulsing with faint protective runes.

The walls were covered in deep, enchanted wallpaper of shifting golds and forest greens, charmed to respond to the seasons. Autumn leaves danced slowly across the corners of the room, rustling when no breeze stirred. Candles flickered in sconces shaped like curled ivy, casting a soft amber light.

From the kitchen came the scent of cinnamon and warm milk.

“James, love, will you grab his bunny?”

Lily’s voice was light, but firm. She stood near the old rocking chair in the nursery, gently cradling Harry in her arms. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulder, catching the candlelight as she leaned down to kiss the top of her son’s messy black hair.

“He threw it again?” James called from the hallway, laughing.

“He summoned it and then threw it across the room. I’m telling you, Jamie, he’s getting stronger.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now? Summoning?”

Lily rolled her eyes affectionately, rocking their son as he babbled in a mix of nonsense and accidental Latin.

James appeared in the doorway, still in his threadbare Quidditch jumper, holding the plush grey bunny by its floppy ear. “If he starts levitating you in your sleep, we’ll talk about strength.”

As if on cue, the bunny in James’s hand vanished with a tiny pop.

Lily blinked. “Did you—?”

James looked at his empty hand. “Nope.”

They both turned to Harry, who was now giggling furiously, his green eyes shining with mischief. Floating gently in the air above his crib was the plush bunny, spinning lazily in place.

James let out a low whistle. “He’s two months old, Lils.”

Lily’s brow furrowed slightly, but her eyes remained soft. “One day, we’re going to wake up and find ourselves in the middle of nowhere…”

“Yeah, Maybe on a beach somewhere.” James smirked, clearly joking.

The two laughed, but something unspoken lingered in the air a kind of tension neither wanted to name. For all Harry’s gifts, for all their love, there was a shadow looming just outside their door.

Still, that night, the cottage was full of joy.

Harry giggled again, now babbling with wild concentration as the toy bunny flipped upside-down, floated higher, then blinked out of existence entirely.

“Where’d it go this time?” Lily asked, scanning the corners.

A soft thump came from the kitchen.

James turned slowly. “He sent it through three rooms.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed.

Lily exhaled and smiled, brushing her thumb across the lightning-shaped tuft of baby hairs on his forehead. “He’s going to be something else, this one.”

“I’m already terrified,” James said, leaning down to kiss her temple.

But neither of them saw the faint shimmer across the wardline outside. The ripple in the air. The distant cold... creeping ever closer.

It began with a whisper. Not a sound, but a sensation like a breath of wind that did not belong.

James paused halfway down the stairs, frowning. The lights flickered. The enchantments in the hallway trembled like a taut wire had been plucked.

“Lily,” he called, voice suddenly sharp. “Wards just—”

A crack echoed outside. Not Apparition. Not broomstick. Something else. Something ancient and cold.

Lily felt it too. Her arms tightened around Harry. Her breath hitched. “He’s here.”

James reached the nursery doorway at a run. “Take Harry. Go.”

She didn’t argue.

He kissed her forehead with a desperation she would remember until her last breath, then turned to face the stairs, wand drawn. His free hand closed around the locket Sirius had given him a good luck charm. It burned cold.

The front door exploded .

Lily bolted down the hallway, her baby pressed to her chest. Harry wailed, sensing her panic. Her magic surged around her like static. The nursery cracked with magical tension as she entered windows sealing, crib levitating and smashing into the wall.

She tried to cast the emergency Portkey spell. It fizzled. The wards were dead.

A shadow moved behind her.

“Step aside.”

Lily spun, eyes blazing. Voldemort stood in the nursery doorway, his presence filling the room like poison smoke.

“No.”

“Step aside, girl.”

Harry’s magic erupted the mobile above his crib caught fire and spun faster, a circle of fire and wind. Voldemort’s robes rippled.

“I said—”

Lily didn’t move.

And then it happened. The flash. The scream. The explosion of green light.

James’s name on her lips.

Harry, eyes wide and glowing, unleashed a wave of magic so powerful it cracked every remaining spell in the cottage. The roof blew open. A pulse of light shot skyward like a beacon.

Sirius Black felt it from half a village away. One second he was rounding a bend on his flying motorbike, and the next his heart was screaming . He pushed the bike faster.

Smoke rose from the trees.

He didn’t land. He leapt from the saddle as the engine was still hovering and ran.

“JAMES!”

The front of the house was gone.

Inside, it was a ruin. He found James crumpled near the stairs. Sirius fell to his knees, his breath punched from his lungs. He touched James’s face. Still warm.

“Jamie…”

He heard a baby cry.

“Harry.”

Sirius ran.

The nursery was lit by the eerie glow of still-burning magic. The crib was splintered. The walls cracked. And in the middle of the chaos sat Harry tiny, crying, untouched.

And beside him, Lily.

Sirius couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He dropped to his knees and pulled Harry into his arms. The baby clung to him, small fingers gripping his coat.

Then came the sounds.

Apparition cracks. Shouts. Aurors.

“Drop your wand!”

“Black, you’re under arrest for murder!”

Sirius turned, still holding Harry. “What? No, listen—Peter—Peter betrayed them!”

They didn’t listen.

A woman ripped Harry from his arms.

He screamed.

Sirius lunged, was stunned.

He hit the ground, eyes locked on Harry’s terrified face as the boy vanished from sight.

And darkness took him.

The wind blew cold over Privet Drive.

Number Four sat stiff and proper, its lawn clipped and its curtains drawn against the world. It had never known magic. Not truly.

Until tonight.

A flash of light, quiet and sorrowful, heralded Albus Dumbledore’s arrival.

He stood at the edge of the street, robes rustling. In his arms lay a baby with messy black hair, a lightning-shaped scar glowing faintly red against his pale skin.

“Good luck, Harry,” he whispered. “For what it’s worth... I hope one day you forgive us all.”

He laid the baby down on the cold stone step. Tucked a letter under the blanket.

And walked away.

Azkaban was silence.

Not the silence of peace but the silence of emptiness, of memories that choked and howled.

Sirius Black sat slumped against a damp wall, the smell of salt and rot curling in his nose. His hands trembled. His soul screamed.

He hadn’t spoken in days.

No trial. No visit. No explanation. Just a cell. And the image of James, Lily, and Harry—

He buried his face in his arms.

Then—

A pop .

Not loud. Not like Apparition. Like magic sighing into the world.

He lifted his head.

There, in the middle of the cell floor, stood a tiny bundle. A pair of green eyes blinked up at him. A plush bunny hung by one ear in a chubby fist.

Harry.

Sirius gasped. “No. No, no, no—”

He scrambled forward. Picked the baby up, hands trembling.

Harry laughed.

Sirius clutched him to his chest, shaking violently. “How—how did you—”

The baby laid his hand against Sirius’s chest. Warmth bloomed there. The cold receded.

Even the Dementors paused outside.

That night, for the first time since Halloween, Sirius Black slept.

And Harry Potter was home.

End of Prologue.

Chapter Text

Azkaban – One Month Later

There are stories that begin with light. This one begins with darkness and a baby’s cry that should never have echoed within prison walls.

After the fall of James and Lily Potter, the wizarding world wept, the Ministry rushed to close its wounds, and Sirius Black once best man, now branded traitor was locked away without trial. They said he’d betrayed them. That he’d murdered Peter Pettigrew and Muggle bystanders in a burst of wandless rage. The world moved on.

But the truth never left the walls of Azkaban. It had grown warm in a prison cell, wrapped in desperate magic and love so strong it changed the impossible.

The sea beat endlessly against the rock. Azkaban never changed.

Sirius Black had.

His cell, once a pit of silence and despair, now held a strange kind of life. Harry—three months old and impossibly small—was curled beside him on the ragged cot, his tiny chest rising and falling in soft rhythm. A chewed and dingy plush bunny lay tucked under one chubby arm. Sirius had tried to clean it with what little magic he dared use without setting off alarms. He’d transfigured his own shirt into a blanket days ago.

His face had grown thinner. His body gaunter. His eyes hollow, bruised by sleeplessness.

But alive.

Because Harry was alive. And that changed everything.

The boy had appeared one month ago, glowing with raw magic, slipping through the prison’s unbreakable wards as if they were mist. One moment, Sirius had been alone. The next, the child was in his arms.

Harry hadn’t left since.

No one had noticed. No guard had seen. Sirius had hidden him fiercely, with magic born of something older than spellwork—instinctive, protective, primal. He cast wordless wards that pulsed from the marrow of his bones. He wrapped Harry in his arms during inspections and whispered illusions against the walls.

Harry was quiet when he needed to be. Unnaturally so. But when it was just the two of them, his magic thrummed. Like a heartbeat. Like home.

Sirius had changed again.

One morning, when Harry cried with a hunger so sharp it tore through him, something inside Sirius had shifted. A slow warmth had bloomed in his chest was alien and aching and then, Milk, he could feed the child.

it was not conjured or not charmed.

He didn’t understand how. He didn’t ask. Magic had answered Harry’s need. And Sirius, as ever, had answered Harry’s.

It was a cold evening when everything changed again.

Auror Amelia Bones stepped into the corridor, boots echoing on the wet stone, torchlight catching on her monocle. She hadn’t planned to come, not really. She’d told herself it was a protocol check, an unannounced review of the high security wing. But the Potter case had always haunted her. The trial that never happened. Dumbledore’s silence.

Something was wrong.

She paused outside a cell. A sound.

Not the moans or mutterings Azkaban usually bred but a cry.

A baby’s cry.

Bones froze. “That’s a baby. In a cell.”

She unlocked the door with a flick of her wand, heart racing, ready for anything. Anything except this.

Sirius Black pale, wild haired, and hollow sat on the floor, cradling a baby in his arms.

The baby blinked up at her with green eyes that seemed too big for his face. Her blood ran cold.

“Black,” she said sharply. “Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sirius rasped, voice raw and desperate. “It’s Harry. Harry James Potter.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “He was supposed to be with his Muggle aunt.”

“I didn’t take him,” Sirius said immediately. “He came to me. One night he just appeared. And he wouldn’t leave.”

“And how the hell did no one notice?” she demanded.

“I kept him hidden. Protected. I wasn’t going to let them take him again.”

She stepped closer, gaze narrowing. “And how has he survived?”

Sirius looked down, eyes dark. “I don’t know how. But… I feed him. I hold him. I care for him. He protects me more than I protect him.”

Something flickered in her face. A pause. A knowing.

Then her voice softened. “Tell me everything.”

And he did.

He told her about Peter. About the switch. About the trust placed in a friend who had betrayed them all. About the flash of light. The explosion. The chains. The silence. And Harry was glowing in his arms like a miracle.

When he finished, the baby had fallen asleep, nestled into the torn robes at Sirius’s chest.

Amelia Bones stood and squared her shoulders.

“You’re coming with me. We’re reopening this case.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“I’m not leaving a baby in Azkaban. And I’m damned well not leaving an innocent man rot here because the Wizengamot didn’t feel like doing its job.”

She turned for the door, wand glowing.

“I’m getting you a trial, Black.”

The darkness of Azkaban cracked for the first time with hope.

To be continued in Next Chapter

Chapter Text

Part I – Department of Magical Law Enforcement

It took three relentless days for Amelia Bones to tear through the bureaucratic rot of the Ministry.

Three days of pounding her cane through closed-door meetings, pulling favors from old alliances, and reviewing sealed case files that reeked of negligence and silence. She barely ate. Slept in her office. And fought like a woman who had lost her patience with systems that valued ease over truth.

But even the sharpest Auror couldn’t win this kind of battle alone.

The web of negligence surrounding the Potter case was too deeply woven for one woman to unravel. So Amelia began to do what she did best: find the cracks and widen them until the whole rotten thing split.

She went looking for leverage.

She started with blood.

Her first visit was to the Black sisters.

Andromeda. Narcissa. Bellatrix’s name remained unspoken, a ghost best left untouched. Her descent into madness had long since severed her from family and reason alike.

Narcissa Malfoy greeted Amelia in a frost-laced salon at Malfoy Manor, framed by crystal chandeliers and velvet curtains. She said nothing at first, but when Amelia spoke the name Sirius Black , and added quietly, “And the child is alive,” something flickered in her expression. Not warmth. But something old. Something cracked.

Once, Sirius had been the wild boy who dared to dream beyond the twisted legacy of the Black name. And for all her pride, Narcissa had once admired him.

She agreed to help.

Lucius, of course, had his price. He demanded that if Sirius were freed, he would not speak against the Malfoy family during the upcoming post-war hearings.

It was a bitter compromise.

But Amelia accepted it.

For justice.
For the boy.
For Harry.

Andromeda Tonks was more direct.

She opened her own door, wand in hand, suspicion etched across her brow. She listened to Amelia’s explanation in silence. But when she saw the documentation—Harry’s name, the details of Sirius’s incarceration without trial—her expression darkened.

She thought of her daughter, Nymphadora, toddling beside a crawling baby with Lily’s green eyes.

Andromeda swore herself to the cause. She dove headlong into the old Black family vaults, searching for anything the Ministry might have missed—or ignored. She unearthed letters between James and Sirius. She found the original magical contract naming Peter Pettigrew as the Secret-Keeper, signed and sealed.

Proof.

The foundation was being laid.

Then came the surprise.

While cross-referencing guardianship laws and magical custody statutes, a clerk unearthed something strange—a rolled scroll, protected by preservation charms and delicate runes.

A magical marriage bond.

Between Sirius Orion Black and Severus Tobias Snape.

Unaware. Unclaimed. But binding.

Signed magically by Sirius’s mother and Severus’s maternal grandfather, an old, aristocratic arrangement between House Black and the faded Prince line. A relic, preserved by tradition and time. A chain neither party had known still existed.

Amelia read the document three times before deciding what to do.

Then she took it straight to Severus.

He opened the door to his quarters in a foul mood, dressed in dark robes, expecting another meaningless summons from the Ministry.

“I hope,” he said dryly, “this isn’t more paperwork designed to insult my intelligence.”

“It isn’t,” Amelia replied, holding out the scroll. “It’s a marriage contract.”

He stared at it.

“I assure you—if this is some elaborate joke—”

“It’s legally binding,” she cut in. “Signed and sealed in blood magic. Between you and Sirius Black.”

Severus went still.

His eyes scanned the scroll once. Then again.

And when Amelia added, almost as an afterthought, “Harry Potter is alive,” something in him changed.

Alive. In Azkaban. Surviving only because of Sirius. Nurtured through magic, hunger, and unrelenting will.

Severus said nothing for a long time.

Then: “Lily’s son.”

Amelia nodded. “He needs help. Sirius can’t raise him alone. Not in a prison cell.”

Severus didn’t agree for Sirius.

He would never agree for Sirius.

But for Lily’s child, he joined the case.

They visited Azkaban together.

Amelia. Severus. Narcissa. Andromeda. Lucius.

They stood outside the cell and saw what no one had expected: Sirius Black, filthy and skeletal, crouched on the cold stone floor, holding an infant against his chest as if the boy were the last light in the world.

Harry whimpered softly, clinging to Sirius’s robes with tiny fists.

Severus said nothing. His eyes scanned the child, then Sirius. His expression gave nothing away.

Then, at last:
“We’ll get you out. Don’t thank me.”

Sirius let out a hoarse, bitter laugh. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Amelia laid out the options. The bond was valid. If Sirius annulled it, Severus would automatically gain shared custody of Harry, as the magical spouse.

Sirius went pale. “You’re joking.”

“I’m Bones,” she said flatly. “And no, I’m not.”

Severus smirked, just barely. “Seems you’re stuck with me.”

“Revenge suits you,” Sirius muttered.

“It always has.”

In the end, they agreed to stay married.

Not for love.

Not yet.

But for Harry.

Part II – One Week Before the Hearing

Ministry of Magic – Secure Legal Wing

The wizarding world buzzed like a broken hive.

The Daily Prophet ran dueling headlines:
“Innocent or Illusion?”
“The Boy Who live Found in Azkaban.”
Rumors spilled from tea shops and Ministry corridors. Whispers turned to debates. Some called Sirius a hero. Others demanded his execution.

Amelia Bones ignored them all.

She built her legal team with Andromeda Tonks and formidable witches with steel in their spines and truth at their fingertips. Women who remembered what justice was supposed to look like.

Lucius Malfoy kept his word. He brought in Cassian Flint, a barrister known for defending the indefensible. Cold-eyed. Soft-voiced. Efficient in the way death was efficient. He didn’t win with charm. He won with precision.

Severus rarely attended strategy meetings. When he did, he lingered in shadowed corners, arms folded, expression carved from granite.

Until Harry came up.

Then his voice cut clean through the noise.
“He can’t be in that courtroom.”

Amelia turned to him. “Explain.”

“You parade him as a symbol,” Severus said, “and he’ll unravel the room. His emotions fuel his magic. You want to make a statement? Fine. But don’t risk him for it.”

Amelia’s expression didn’t change. But she nodded. “Noted. He stays out.”

Harry’s magic was... raw.

In the week following his removal from Azkaban, he turned parchment into birds, chairs into clouds, light fixtures into starlight. Whenever Sirius left the room, every lamp and ward pulsed in agitation.

“He’s anchoring,” the healer murmured. “But he has no control. His emotional core is still exposed.”

He was only three months old.

Too small to hold so much power. Too loved to be left alone.

Sirius didn’t speak much during that week. He barely slept.
He held Harry close.
He didn’t let go.

Severus came once.

The room was quiet, dim, warded with privacy spells. Sirius sat in the rocking chair, Harry sleeping lightly on his chest.

He didn’t look up until he heard the door.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Sirius said softly.

Severus lingered near the threshold, hands behind his back. “Neither did I.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Neither moved.

“Why are you here?” Sirius asked finally.

“For Lily,” Severus said. Then, after a pause:
“For the boy.”

The room didn’t shift. Nothing exploded or fell apart.

But something settled.

They didn’t mention the marriage. Or the bond. Or the war they had once fought with and against each other.

Severus turned to leave.

And Harry half asleep reached for him.

Not for Sirius.

For him.

Severus froze, just for a moment.

Then he walked away.

Part III – Courtroom Ten – The Trial

It rained above Courtroom Ten.

The enchanted ceiling mirrored the storm outside, lightning flashing behind heavy clouds, thunder rolling faintly like distant giants shifting in their sleep. The room was full to bursting. Ministry officials. Reporters. Old families in somber robes. Spectators who wanted blood or salvation or both.

And at the center of it all stood:

Sirius Orion Black.

Not shackled.
Not muzzled.
Just standing.

His hair was longer now. Washed. His robes black and clean, though they clung to his thinner frame. His eyes—still haunted, still sharp—scanned the courtroom like a man trying to remember what the world looked like outside of grief.

At his side stood Amelia Bones not as jailer, but as defender.

Beside her, Andromeda Tonks stood regal and fierce, chin high, wand holstered but ready. Cassian Flint, Lucius Malfoy’s gift to the case, sat calm as frost, his pale fingers folded on the table like a vulture waiting for the wind to shift. Lucius himself observed from the benches, his expression carved from stone.

And in the shadows, apart from them all, stood Severus Snape.

Harry did not attend.

He remained in the suite above, swaddled in a quiet ward, asleep in the arms of a nurse—unaware that the world below debated not only his godfather’s freedom, but the shape of his future.

Testimonies came in waves.

Some damning. Some hesitant. A few powerful.

A Pensieve memory played before the court—James Potter and Lily Evans speaking in a sunlit room, confirming Sirius was not their Secret-Keeper. That they had chosen Peter Pettigrew. That only a handful knew.

Then came the document.

The original Fidelius charm, signed by both Potters. Witnessed. Dated. And in elegant handwriting:

Peter Pettigrew.

Gasps echoed across the chamber. One Wizengamot elder rose from his seat, his voice cracking with disbelief.

“Why was this never brought forward?”

Amelia Bones didn’t flinch. Her voice rang out like a wand strike.

“Because no one looked.”

And then Severus stepped forward.

The entire chamber shifted.

His steps were precise. His robes immaculate. But his presence… undeniable.

“I am Severus Tobias Snape,” he said, voice like silk over stone, “and as magical law affirms, I am the legal husband of Sirius Orion Black.”

The room exploded in whispers.

Snape ignored them.

“I confirm the timeline. I confirm that Sirius Black was not the Secret-Keeper. And I confirm that Harry James Potter—son of Lily and James—is alive today because this man kept him alive in Azkaban. With nothing but magic, madness... and love.”

He turned slightly, his eyes never leaving Sirius.

“And I support his right to raise the boy.”

A pause. Not long. Not dramatic. Just honest.

“And I intend to be part of that child’s life.”

The silence that followed was deep. Not awkward. Not tense.

Just still.

The trial continued for hours.

Arguments. Debates. Legal enchantments summoned. Veritaserum dismissed. Memories reviewed. Facts laid bare. The weight of ten years unraveled one thread at a time.

And finally, just before dusk, Chief Warlock Marchbanks rose.

A hush fell.

“On the charges of conspiracy, betrayal, and the murder of twelve Muggles,” she began.

Time paused.

“…Sirius Orion Black is declared not guilty.”

The courtroom did not erupt.

It exhaled .

A wave of release, like the air had been held too long.

Sirius didn’t speak. Didn’t rise. He simply sat back, eyes wide, hands trembling in his lap. It didn’t feel real. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

As he stared into nothing, a hand touched his shoulder.

Firm. Grounding. Warm.

Severus.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t linger.
Just one touch.
Then he was gone, back into shadow, where no one could see the way his jaw clenched or the breath he didn’t quite take.

But Sirius felt it.

And in that moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Four Weeks After the Trial

Freedom didn’t feel the way Sirius had imagined.

There were no open arms. No celebration. No glittering magic or cheering crowds. Just silence, cold, awkward silence and the ever present figure of a man who looked at him like one misstep might end in combustion.

Sirius Black had been cleared of all charges.
But the wizarding world hadn’t forgiven him.
Not fully.
Not yet.

Some welcomed him back, old Order members, a few Aurors, and the rare soul who remembered the laughing, reckless boy he used to be. But others whispered in doorways. The Daily Prophet ran dueling headlines: “Hero Returns?” beside “Dark Secrets Still Unspoken.” Rumors swirled like smoke behind polished Ministry doors.

And Sirius?
He had nowhere to go.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place remained off-limits, its wards corrupted, its walls poisoned by portraits and bloodlines he didn’t want to breathe. The Potters’ home was a ruin. Their vaults, sealed under magical litigation. All he had now was a modest allowance, granted only because James had named him Harry’s guardian in his will.

So when Severus offered him a room at Prince Manor, Sirius had said yes.
He didn’t say thank you.

Prince Manor was old magic, gothic, sprawling, and quiet in the kind of way that made you think twice before raising your voice. The iron gates loomed like fangs. The stones whispered. The air held its breath. It was dignified, but not warm. Silent, but not peaceful.

Except for Harry’s soft coos.
And Severus’s sharp ones.

Harry was now four months old.

And hungry.

Relentlessly, stubbornly hungry.

He refused everything except Sirius. No potions. No warmed bottles. No magical substitutes. Only Sirius’s milk, called forth by magic, instinct, and something deeper, neither man dared speak aloud. Harry’s magic flared when he was hungry, tugging at Sirius’s robes until the bond between them flared bright and Sirius’s body responded.

It was strange. Intimate. Sacred.

Sirius never refused him. Couldn’t.
In those quiet moments, with Harry’s tiny hands curled in his robes and his magic humming gently, Sirius forgot the headlines, the prison, the weight of years stolen. He was just dad. A parent. Anchored by love and responsibility he’d never asked for but would never give up.

Sometimes, Severus paused outside the door.
And listened.

One morning, as Sirius gently laid Harry back into the crib, Severus muttered from behind his potions journal, “It’s unnatural.”

Sirius turned slowly. “Then don’t look.”

They argued often, though never loudly, sharp barbs passed like coded spells. The kind of bickering that was more exhausting than explosive.

Severus believed in order.

“You will follow the house expectations,” he declared the night Sirius arrived. “I manage the household. I cook because I don’t trust your taste not to poison the child. I monitor security, schedules, correspondence. You clean, feed him, keep him safe. That is your… role.”

Sirius had blinked. “My what?”

“One partner must ensure order.”

“I’m not your wife, Severus.”

“No,” Severus said calmly. “You’re a feral dog with a wand and unresolved trauma. I’m merely trying to minimize the damage.”

Sirius had stormed off. And not quietly.

He may have hexed the sugar jar.

But he didn’t leave.

Because Harry needed them both.

They moved around each other like storm fronts, fire and smoke.
Severus watched Sirius like an alchemist eyeing unstable ingredients.
Sirius watched Severus like a stray dog watching a gatekeeper.
But neither retreated.

And slowly, they fell into something like a rhythm.

Uneven. Brittle. But real.

Then came Narcissa.

She arrived one rainy afternoon in robes stitched with silver and a look that could pierce stone. A house elf floated behind her with six bags, each enchanted, each embroidered with her initials. The manor recognized her at once, the wards shifted, the sconces lit themselves, the front hall breathed magic into the air.

Sirius opened the door in a wrinkled shirt, a smudge on his cheek, and baby spit on his shoulder.

Narcissa surveyed him like she might a cracked heirloom.
Then she held up a velvet onesie with tiny enchanted stars.

“I brought clothes. Andromeda sent self-cleaning nappies. They adjust for nighttime spells. Naturally.”

Sirius stared. “Why are you—?”

She touched his arm. “Because we don’t forget family. Even when they try to forget themselves.”

Then she bent down and kissed Harry’s forehead.

He giggled.
And something inside Sirius cracked and flooded warm.

That night, the house was still.

Sirius stood in the hallway outside the nursery, arms crossed.

Severus stepped into view like a shadow unfurling from the dark.

“You think this marriage gives you power over me?” Sirius asked.

Severus’s mouth curled faintly. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes.

Then from the nursery came a sound, Harry’s laughter. Light, pure, magical.

They both turned at the same time.

And without another word, they walked toward the sound.
Together.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – Late Spring

Sunlight filtered through the enchanted glass of the nursery, bathing everything in a warm, pale gold. Harry, four months old and already too powerful for his age, sat in the middle of a pile of pillows, clapping his hands together in a way that always meant trouble.

The air crackled.

Sirius was watching closely. “No, Harry—don’t—”

A loud POP filled the room, and the mobile above the crib exploded into a flock of translucent owls. They flapped wildly for a moment, then vanished in a burst of glitter and feathers.

Sirius sighed, brushing shiny flecks off his shoulder. “Well. At least they weren’t fire-breathing this time.”

Harry giggled, reaching out toward him. His magic shimmered again like heat off stone.

Downstairs, Severus was making tea. With exact precision, as always. He heard the magical pulse through the ceiling and winced.

“I told you he’s unstable,” he muttered to the kettle. “This is going to get worse.”

Still, he poured two cups. One black, one with honey. He hated how Sirius drank his tea like a spoiled Gryffindor with a sweet tooth, but he prepared it anyway.

Sirius entered, Harry on his hip, wearing a faint burn mark on his sleeve.

“Feathers today,” he said.

Severus handed him the tea. “Progress.”

They sat in silence, at opposite ends of a long mahogany table, Harry burbling in between.

Then came the knock.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You expecting someone?”

Severus stood, already heading toward the door. “No.”

Standing on the doorstep was Healer Poppy Pomfrey.

“I’m here for the magical development assessment,” she said crisply. “You did request a specialist.”

Severus blinked. “No, I—”

“I did,” came a voice behind her. Amelia Bones stepped into view, arms crossed.

Sirius groaned. “What now?”

“We need to understand what we’re dealing with,” she said. “The child is manifesting dangerous surges. The Ministry is getting nervous.”

Pomfrey entered without waiting for an invitation. “Let’s see the little one.”

The examination was brief, but intense. Pomfrey ran dozens of enchanted tools over Harry’s body, all while he wriggled and made faces at her.

“Well?” Sirius asked finally.

Pomfrey looked grim. “He’s not just powerful. He’s awakening. Magical core expansion this early is... unheard of. His body is adapting rapidly, but the emotional connection to his magic is unstable. If he becomes distressed or frightened...”

Severus’s brow furrowed. “He could be dangerous?”

“He could level a building.”

The room fell silent.

Harry blinked, then burped loudly.

Pomfrey packed up her case. “He needs stability. Routine. Gentle magical exposure. And above all, he needs calm.”

She looked pointedly at both men.

“Which means you two need to stop behaving like territorial hippogriffs.”

Neither replied.

Before she left, she paused and turned back toward Sirius. “And you.”

Sirius blinked. “Me?”

“I examined you too, while Harry was napping. Your body’s production of milk isn’t magical anymore, it’s biological now. You’ve stabilized. The magic made it permanent.”

Sirius paled slightly. “So…?”

“So you’re going to continue producing milk like any nursing parent. No more Harry crying to summon it—it’s yours now.”

He nodded slowly, heart racing.

“And Sirius,” she added, gentler now, “he’s fine. A little underweight, yes, but it’s nothing alarming. That one month in Azkaban weakened both of you. You just need nourishment. Feed him every three hours, he’s four months old. That’s what babies his age need.”

Sirius let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Right. Every three hours.”

She patted his shoulder, and then she was gone.

That evening, they received an invitation from Andromeda. A small gathering at her house, nothing formal. Just family. A chance for Harry to be around other children. To be normal.

Severus frowned. “You’ll go?”

Sirius hesitated. “He needs it.”

“And us?”

“We’ll survive it.”

Severus didn’t argue.

But as they began dressing Harry in one of the new outfits from Narcissa, deep green with silver buttons, he couldn’t help noticing that Sirius lingered just a bit too long, brushing a curl from Harry’s forehead.

And Severus, without thinking, adjusted the tiny collar gently before stepping back.

Together, they opened the front door.

To the beginning of something new.

Chapter Text

Tonks Residence – 

The Tonks household was nothing like Prince Manor.

Laughter spilled from open windows. Music floated through the garden, and the scent of roasted lamb and cinnamon pastries made the entire place smell like a memory Sirius hadn’t realized he’d missed.

Andromeda stood at the garden gate in deep blue robes, hair pulled back, wand casually at her hip. Ted Tonks stood beside her, smiling warmly, and their daughter, Nymphadora, had hair as electric as her presence, currently a vivid purple.

“About time you showed up,” Andromeda said, unlocking the gate with a flick. “Thought I’d have to send a Patronus.”

Sirius adjusted the blanket wrapped around Harry and smiled. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

Severus stood just behind him, robes simple but pristine, eyes scanning the garden like he expected an ambush.

Harry, swaddled in soft green and silver, yawned.

Children darted between tables, cousins, neighbors, magical toddlers running wild. They stared openly at Harry. Curious. Intrigued.

Tonks crouched beside them, her grin wide. “He’s so tiny.”

Sirius chuckled. “Tiny but powerful. He blew up a crib two nights ago.”

Ted laughed from the porch. “You always did bring dramatic people into the family.”

Severus lingered at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed, gaze sharp. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, but the moment Harry cooed and reached toward him, Severus moved without hesitation.

And everyone noticed.

Later, as most of the guests played lawn games or floated teacups lazily through the air, Narcissa arrived. Regal as ever, her robes flowing like silk over polished stone, Lucius at her side with a vaguely disapproving Draco tucked into one arm.

“Sirius,” she said, brushing a kiss near his cheek. “You look… upright. A miracle.”

“Narcissa,” he replied with a grin. “Still leading with grace and venom?”

She looked down at Harry, now babbling gently in Severus’s arms. Her expression softened. “He looks like Lily. But he smiles like you.”

Severus didn’t answer. He adjusted Harry’s blanket, held him closer, and said nothing.

Lucius drifted closer to Sirius. “A word?”

They stepped away beneath the shade of a sprawling tree.

“I’ve held up my end,” Lucius said, voice low. “My lawyers. My gold.”

“I know.”

Lucius tilted his head. “Now you hold up yours. When my hearing comes, you don’t speak against me.”

Sirius clenched his jaw. “You’re lucky Harry needs peace right now.”

Lucius smiled thinly. “Indeed.”

The evening ended with tea beneath the stars. Harry had fallen asleep curled in Sirius’s arms, one small hand wrapped securely in Severus’s sleeve.

They sat together in silence. No arguing. No tension. Just the weight of something tentative, almost peaceful.

“Today wasn’t awful,” Sirius murmured at last.

Severus gave a faint hum. “High praise from you.”

“Maybe you’re not always unbearable.”

A ghost of a smile touched Severus’s lips. “It’s a start.”

Harry stirred in his sleep.

Both men leaned toward him at the same time.

And for once, it didn’t feel like rivalry.
It felt like family.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – Late Night

The manor was still.

For once, the silence didn’t feel like a threat—it felt earned.

Harry slept soundly in his crib, the faint shimmer of protective charms curling in the air like silver threads. His tiny chest rose and fell, a soft glow pulsing around him, as if his magic itself were dreaming.

The nursery was golden. Calm.
No sparks. No flames. No storms.
Just peace.

Sirius stood just outside the door, arms crossed, watching the faint strip of light spill across the floor.
His mind wandered—through old hallways, shattered memories, the damp weight of Azkaban’s walls, and the sound of Lily’s laugh.
Through fire.
Through silence.
Through a child that shouldn’t have survived—but did.

He didn’t hear the footsteps until the voice broke the quiet.
“You’re avoiding me.”

Severus’s tone wasn’t sharp. Just observant.

Sirius didn’t look back. “Not very well, apparently.”

Severus stepped closer, his robes whispering like ghosts across tile.
“We need to discuss… the bond.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed.

“Legal, magical, and public,” Severus continued, his voice calm. Controlled. “We are married in every way that matters to magical law. And if we don’t solidify that bond… it will weaken.”

Sirius finally glanced at him. “Weaken?”

“For Harry’s custody. For the wards. The inheritance magic. Unstable bonds are dangerous—especially when there’s a child involved.”

Sirius turned fully. “So this is about Harry?”

“Yes.”

“And not about getting your marriage consummated so you can parade around like the perfect, cold-blooded heir of two noble lines?” His tone was sharp. Defensive.

Severus didn’t flinch. “It’s about stabilizing the magic. Anchoring protections. Formalizing what’s already in place.”

“You mean,” Sirius said, voice low, “it’s about power. You consummate this, and you’ll have more leverage. Financially. Legally. Magically. I’ve been there, Severus. With my family. I know how this works. I won’t be someone’s property.”

Severus’s gaze flickered. “You think I want to own you?”

“I think,” Sirius snapped, “you want to control me. The house. The boy. Me.”

A pause.
Then Severus said, quietly:
“You’re terrified. Not of me. Of the choice already made. Of being chosen for something you didn’t agree to.”

Sirius’s fists clenched. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Silence stretched between them, thick and motionless.
Behind the nursery door, Harry stirred. A sleepy sigh slipped through the quiet, and magic rippled across the warded walls like a heartbeat.

“I’m not asking for control,” Severus said at last. His voice had lost its edge. “I’m asking for partnership.”

Sirius blinked.
That wasn’t what he expected.

“Partnership,” he repeated, slow. Wary.

“If you’re not ready,” Severus said, “we wait. I won’t force a bond you haven’t accepted.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

Sirius studied him for a long time.

He saw no smirk. No game. No shadow of manipulation in Severus’s expression. Just tired honesty.

And that, more than anything, threw him off balance.

“Good,” Sirius said finally. His voice cracked, just a little. “Because if you try anything without me saying yes—”

“I’m not that man,” Severus said softly.
Quiet. Steady.

They stood there for another breath.
Beneath the soft hum of old magic, in a quiet house that had never known this kind of warmth.

Then Sirius turned, brushing past him. “I’m going to pour a drink.”

A beat.
Then: “You coming?”

Severus hesitated only a second.
“Yes.”

They disappeared down the corridor together.
And the light behind them faded to calm.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – A Few Days Later

For a brief time, it seemed like they might actually settle into something like a rhythm.

Sirius had begun to wake earlier, even before Harry. He and Severus took turns preparing breakfast—though “turns” might have been generous. Sirius always burned the toast, Severus always over-steeped the tea, and somehow it worked. Harry was sleeping better, his magical bursts softening into flickers of light instead of fire. Their nights were quiet. Calm.

It almost felt like peace.

But peace was an illusion. And illusions crack.

It began with a conversation. A simple one.

“I’ve been thinking about finding work,” Sirius said casually over dinner.

Severus didn’t even look up. “Why?”

Sirius blinked. “Because I want to contribute. For Harry. For myself.”

“You already care for the child.”

“That’s not the point.”

Severus finally lifted his eyes. “We don’t need your income. I manage the finances. This isn’t necessary.”

“It is to me,” Sirius snapped, sharper than he meant to. “I don’t want to rely on you for everything. I need to do something that’s mine.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“No,” Sirius growled. “You’re underestimating me. Again.”

That night, they didn’t speak.

Sirius lay awake in the nursery, Harry curled against his chest, warm and breathing evenly. But the quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was heavy. Like waiting for something to go wrong.

It got worse the next morning.

Severus found the letter.

A simple inquiry to the Department of Magical Beasts. Dangerous fieldwork. But honest work. Something with purpose. Sirius hadn’t even sent it yet. It was just… hope. Folded into parchment.

“You’re risking your life?” Severus hissed, the letter clenched in his fist. “For pride?”

“For purpose,” Sirius shot back. “Not that you’d understand that.”

The look Severus gave him was ice. “Because I’ve never risked anything? Don’t confuse trauma with martyrdom, Black.”

“And don’t confuse obsession with parenting, Snape. You’re here for Lily’s son—not for me, not for this family.”

For a moment, neither moved. Then Severus’s wand sparked in his hand, silent but threatening.

Sirius didn’t flinch.
But he wanted to.

Not from the wand. From the feeling.

Because in that second, something inside him folded. Something that had been holding the weight of too many broken things.

And suddenly… he wasn’t standing in the manor anymore.
He was twelve years old again, back in Grimmauld Place, cornered by a father who didn’t yell—who disappointed . Who made Sirius feel small without ever raising his voice.
Who told him exactly what his place was meant to be.

You’re nothing. You’re ungrateful. 

He felt it now, echoing through Severus’s voice. That same cold control. That same suffocating certainty.

Sirius had escaped Azkaban.
He had survived grief.
But in that moment, standing in Prince Manor, he felt trapped again—and this time it wasn’t bars, it was a bond.

“Maybe we were fools to think we could make this work,” Severus said.

Sirius nodded once. Slowly. Hollow.
“Maybe we still are.”

They walked away from each other that night. Not in silence.
In ice.

Harry cried all evening.
Magic pulsed like a storm in his tiny body.

And Sirius held him. Tight.
As if holding the baby could keep the fear at bay.

But it didn’t.

That night, Sirius didn’t sleep.
He stayed awake in the nursery, one hand tangled in Harry’s blanket, the other pressed flat to his own chest—trying to steady his heart.

He thought of Azkaban.
He thought of fire.
He thought of being thirteen and learning that no matter how loud he screamed, no one came.

And now?
Now he had something to lose.
Someone to protect.

He looked down at Harry’s sleeping face and whispered, “You will never grow up afraid. Not like me.”

And for the first time since the trial, Sirius began to plan again.
For a future.
  One where Harry would never learn what it meant to feel powerless.

Prince Manor – Two Days Later

The house was cold.
Not from temperature—but from silence.

Sirius barely spoke. Severus gave clipped, calculated commands, most of them aimed at Harry’s schedule or the manor’s wards. Meals were quiet, short. Sleep was separate. The air inside the house felt tense, like holding a wand that could snap.

Harry cried more.
His magic, once flickering with curiosity, now surged without warning—blankets catching fire, toys crumbling into ash.

No one soothed him quickly anymore.

And Sirius… Sirius was changing.

He had tried to leave the manor once. Just a walk. Just air. But the wards stopped him cold—magic flaring at his feet, yanking at his bones like invisible chains.

Severus appeared in the doorway, voice void of warmth.
“You signed the bond,” he said. “Until it’s fully claimed, I can assert primary control. For Harry’s safety.”

Sirius had stared at him, chest heaving.
“You mean for your control.”

Severus hadn’t responded.
And that silence said everything.

That night, the bond was claimed.

Sirius said no.
But Severus didn’t listen.

It happened quietly. No shouting. No spells. No violence in the usual sense. Just the soft click of a door, the rustle of robes, and the weight of inevitability pressing in like a closing trap.

Sirius had seen the look in Severus’s eyes—blank, determined, clinical. Like it wasn’t personal. Like this was just something that needed to be done.

He said no again.
Not loudly. Not defiantly.
Just enough to be heard. Enough to matter.

And Severus ignored it.

Something inside Sirius froze.

He didn’t fight. Not because he didn’t want to—but because something in him splintered too fast. Too sudden. The moment became unreal, like watching it from outside himself. His magic screamed, but it didn’t lash out—it recoiled, curled inwards, fled.

There was no pain.
Not physical.
But there was shame. And fear.

A cold kind he hadn’t felt in years. Not since he was a boy in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, biting his tongue while his father raged, while his mother recited bloodline law like scripture. Not since he learned that saying no didn’t always matter.

It was that same feeling now—helplessness disguised as stillness.

He tried to disappear into the walls of his own mind, where things still made sense. Where Harry was still asleep in the nursery. Where Azkaban was behind him. Where Severus hadn’t crossed the line he promised never to cross.

But the line was gone now.

And when it was over, Sirius stared at the ceiling, unable to move.

He felt hollow.
Not just betrayed—but claimed. Marked. Like something sacred had been repurposed.

He didn’t cry.
But something inside him stopped breathing.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bed afterward, eyes hollow, staring at the floor as if it might give him back something he had lost.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, broken rhythm. His hands trembled. His thoughts wouldn’t stop circling. He kept seeing Severus’s face—calm, cold, steady—promising he’d never cross that line.

And yet… he had.

Of course he had.
Sirius should’ve known. He should’ve never let his guard fall.

A storm churned in his gut—shame, grief, betrayal. It twisted through him, into him. It wasn’t just rage at Snape. It was rage at himself. For trusting. For hoping. For forgetting what it felt like to be powerless.

It was a feeling Sirius hadn’t known since Grimmauld Place. Since the walls of his childhood home closed in like a vice, and every word from his parents stripped away pieces of his worth.

This was that feeling again.
But worse.
Because now… he wasn’t alone.

Harry’s cry shattered the stillness.

Thin. Frightened. Sharp as glass.

Sirius flinched.
He didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to be seen—broken, raw, hollowed out.

But Harry was crying.
Harry needed him.

So he rose on unsteady legs, each step dragging like stone, and crossed the room. Shame clung to him like a shadow. But Harry didn’t know shame. Didn’t know betrayal or pain or the taste of control disguised as protection.

He only knew that Sirius was supposed to come when he cried.

Sirius gathered him up, holding him gently, rocking him as if he could hide the tremble in his fingers. Harry nestled against his chest like nothing had changed.
But everything had.

Severus entered the room.

Sirius flinched again, though he tried not to. He didn’t speak. He didn’t meet his eyes. When Harry reached toward Severus with a soft coo, Sirius turned away.

In his mind, something final took root.

This was how it would be now.
Severus would take what he wanted.
Whenever he pleased.
However he pleased.

The law would protect him.
The bond would anchor it.

And Sirius would endure.
For Harry.

But he was wrong.

Because Sirius Black was no one’s prisoner.
No one’s pet. No one’s toy.

Not again. Not ever.

He looked down at the boy in his arms. Small. Innocent. Unaware of the storm circling just beyond the crib.

And in that moment, Sirius made a vow.

Harry would not grow up like this.
He would not be raised in fear.
He would never flinch when someone walked into a room.
He would never feel owned.

Sirius kissed his forehead, soft and steady.
And made a plan.

He packed a bag in secret.
Nothing too obvious. Just essentials: nappies, enchanted bottles, the soft blanket from Andromeda. Harry’s plush bunny. A single toy that still made him laugh.

He studied the wards.
Traced old pathways on parchment.
Tested the magic around the manor at dawn and midnight.
Waited.

He had no allies.
No safehouses.
Nowhere to go.

But he had instinct.
And he had Harry.

And that was enough.

One week later.
A Saturday.
Just before dawn.

The manor still slept.

Sirius cradled Harry against his chest, heart pounding loud enough to drown the quiet. He pressed a kiss to the baby’s soft hair and whispered, “We’re leaving.”

The wards stirred. The floor rumbled faintly. The house knew.

But Sirius didn’t turn back.

Because the chains had broken once before.
And he would break them again.

To be continued in Chapter Eight…

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – The Morning After

The wards caught him.

Sirius had made it as far as the entry hall. Harry was bundled tightly against his chest, a wand hidden in his sleeve, and the enchanted diaper bag slung over one shoulder. The plan had been simple: leave before dawn, follow the forest paths, find Remus, and disappear.

But the manor, ancient, blood-bound, and impossibly aware, knew.

The moment Sirius crossed the threshold, the magic surged like a living beast. It wrapped around his limbs like enchanted chains and forced him to his knees. Pain lanced through him, bright and merciless. The air crackled with raw power, and the walls hummed with disapproval.

Harry screamed. His magic flared in response, wild, radiant, and instinctive. But the wards snuffed it out with terrifying ease. They smothered the outburst before it could take form, pressing it down like a lid on a boiling cauldron.

And then Severus appeared.

He did not shout. He did not raise his wand. He stood in the shadows of the hall, still and severe, and said only one word:

“Enough.”

It was over.

The punishment was swift and precise.

Sirius lost access to the manor’s core wards. The magic that once tolerated him now followed him everywhere, a silent, watchful thing that curled around his ankles and echoed in the corners of every room. He could feel it judging him. Measuring him.

But Severus made only one change that truly broke him:

Sirius was no longer allowed to care for Harry.

Not really.

The house-elves were summoned, silent, efficient, and polite. They took over everything. They bathed him, changed his nappies and tucked him in with a lullaby charm from a bottle. Every part of Harry’s day was scheduled, controlled, and carried out without Sirius.

He was permitted to enter the nursery only once every three hours. Just to feed.

The door would open. He would step inside. He would sit in the old rocking chair and hold Harry against his chest while the baby nursed.

Harry’s fingers would curl into Sirius’s robes. His green eyes would blink up at him with innocent trust.

And then, like clockwork, an elf would appear.

“Master says it’s time.”

And Harry would be taken.

Sirius stopped trying to rebel.

He stopped pushing back. Stopped raising his voice. Stopped pretending that defiance still mattered. He moved through the manor like a shadow of himself, quiet, watchful, unraveling.

He spent most of his time in the west parlor, seated beneath the tall windows, a book open but unread on his lap. Sometimes, he would stare at the fire for hours. Sometimes, he would close his eyes and imagine Azkaban again, not because he missed it, but because at least there, no one pretended it wasn’t a prison.

Severus never spoke of the escape attempt again.

He didn’t need to.

The message was clear.

The manor belonged to him. The child was protected by him. And Sirius, no matter the bond or the marriage, was simply… tolerated.

He was no longer a godfather. No longer a partner.

Just a ghost in fine clothing.

A prisoner in silk.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – Two Weeks Later

Time had slowed.

Sirius no longer knew how many hours passed between feedings. He only knew the shape of the nursery doorway, and the sound of Harry’s cries beyond it, cries he could no longer answer.

The room they had confined him to was warm, comfortable, and magically enhanced. But it wasn’t freedom.
It was a gilded cell.

He sat most days by the window, unread books stacked beside him. He didn’t speak to the elves. He didn’t eat unless Harry needed him to. There were no meals, no letters, no voices, only the slow tick of time marked by when he could feed his son.

Yes. His son.
Somewhere between grief and punishment, that truth had risen and settled in his bones.
He was no longer just Harry’s godfather.
He was his father.

And the pain of not holding him, not rocking him to sleep, not hearing him babble or feeling the small, warm weight of his body against his chest, it was unbearable.

And Harry was suffering too.

The elves never said a word. But Sirius could feel it, unsettled magic trembling through the halls. He heard it behind the closed nursery door: soft spells turned wild, toys burned to ash, the crib rising and crashing back to the floor.

Each day, the bond frayed a little more.
And Sirius broke with it.

When Severus finally appeared, stoic and silent, black robes pristine as ever, Sirius dropped to his knees.
Literally.

The former heir of the Black family. The once-proud Marauder. The broken prisoner.
He knelt before Severus like a man with nothing left to lose.

“Please,” he rasped. “Please let me see him.”

Severus said nothing.

Sirius’s voice cracked. “I’ll do anything. Anything, Severus. You want silence, I’ll be silent. You want obedience, you have it. You want power, I won’t fight you anymore. Just… just let me hold him.”

His fingers curled against the polished floor.
“I know you’re punishing me. For school. For what I did. For what James did. For what we took from you.”

He looked up, eyes red and wet with grief.
“I deserve it.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed slightly. But still he said nothing.

Sirius’s voice dropped, trembling.
“I know why Lily stopped talking to you. It wasn’t your fault. It was ours. Mine and James’s. We drove her away from you. We humiliated you. Over and over. And I thought it was funny. I thought it was harmless.”

His voice cracked again. “It wasn’t.”

He shook his head slowly, every word heavier than the last.
“But don’t punish Harry. Don’t tear him away just to hurt me. He doesn’t deserve this.”

For the first time, something in Severus’s face flickered, pain, memory, something ancient and bitter.

“He needs me,” Sirius whispered. “And I need him.”

Then he pressed his forehead to the floor.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Just let me hold my son.”

Prince Manor – Later That Night

For a long time, Severus said nothing.

Sirius remained on his knees. Silent. Still.
Not proud.
Not angry.
Just stripped bare.

Severus’s fingers twitched at his side. His expression didn’t change, but the magic in the air shimmered—unstable, tense, like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t get to rewrite history,” Severus said at last. His voice was cold, but quiet. Controlled. “You don’t get to apologize and pretend it undoes everything.”

“I know,” Sirius whispered. His voice was rough, but steady. “I’m not asking you to forget. Just… don’t take him from me.”

A silence stretched between them, thick, slow, unbearable.

Then Severus turned on his heel and walked away.

Later that evening, the nursery door cracked open without warning.

Sirius stood in the corridor, frozen.

A house-elf bowed low, its voice soft and precise.
“Master Severus says you may feed and hold the child, so long as you remain in the nursery. Supervised.”

Sirius didn’t ask questions.
He didn’t waste time.

He ran.

Harry squealed when he saw him, tiny arms flailing, eyes bright, magic pulsing in joyful waves. The crib shimmered with color, reacting to the sudden surge of emotion.

Sirius fell to his knees beside it and scooped his son into his arms.

“My baby,” he whispered, clutching him close. “My son. My brave, beautiful boy.”

He wept.
For ten whole minutes, he said nothing more.

He simply held Harry. Rocked him. Let the warmth return to a place in his chest that had been frozen for far too long.

From the hallway, Severus stood watching.

He said nothing. Made no sound. No announcement.
He didn’t interrupt.

But something in his face, so often cold, unreadable, softened. Just slightly.
Not forgiveness.
Not even understanding.

But a crack.

A single, delicate fracture in the wall between them.

He turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Harry’s Perspective
Somewhere in the quiet of Prince Manor

There had once been a warm place.

Soft.
Safe.
It smelled like milk and night and heartbeat.
It spoke in gentle hums, in lullabies made of breath.

That warm place had a name.

Sirius.

Harry couldn’t say it.
But he knew it.

Knew it in the way his fingers curled toward the sound of that voice.
Knew it in the way his magic softened around that chest, “that chest that fed him, rocked him, kept the cold away”.

And then the warm place was gone.

One day, without warning, it didn’t come.

No voice.
No heartbeat.
Only arms that didn’t smell right. Voices that didn’t hum. Rooms that didn’t sing.
Magic that was too clean. Too cold. Too careful.

And Harry screamed.

Not because he was hungry.
Not because he was wet.

But because he was lost.

He kicked.
His magic thrashed, wild, storm-bright. He turned toys into ash. Shattered glowing orbs with a whimper.
He floated for hours above the crib, waiting.
Crying.
Waiting.

The warm place didn’t come.

Sometimes, he felt it, just beyond the door. A flicker. A pulse. A scent.
And then it would vanish again.

So he made his own light.

Made it flicker in the walls. In the air. In the bones of the house.

He wanted someone to understand that he wasn’t angry.

He was afraid.

His magic echoed his need, trembling, golden, unstable.
He needed to be held.
To be smelled.
To be loved.

And then one day, the door opened.

The scent rushed in first.

Milk. Warmth. Sirius.

The world lit up.

He squealed, tiny arms thrashing in joy, magic exploding in soft pink bursts around the crib. He could barely wait to be lifted, to be whole again.

And when he was—when the arms wrapped around him, when the voice whispered, “I’m here, I’ve got you” Harry didn’t cry.

He burrowed in.

Nuzzled close.

Safe again. Home again. His magic purred like soft thunder in the blankets.

And in that moment, Harry knew, without words, without thoughts, just a truth:

This was his.

His person.
His parent.
His Sirius.

And he would never let him go again.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – The Following Week

The nursery smelled of lavender, warm milk, and baby powder.

Sirius didn’t leave it.

He wasn’t confined anymore, not exactly but he didn’t trust the freedom. So he stayed with Harry, moving like a ghost in a nursery full of life. Every gurgle from his son was a balm. Every touch, a reminder that love still lived here, even if it was buried under silence.

Harry’s magic was settling again. Less volatile, more curious. He had begun to float toys again, gently this time. No sparks, no fire. Just soft hums of light. And Sirius watched every moment with reverence.

Severus kept his distance.

He didn’t reinstate the full parenting rights, nor did he visit the nursery beyond brief check-ins. He allowed Sirius his hours, kept the elves out, and said nothing when Sirius started sleeping on the nursery floor.

Neither of them spoke about what had happened.

But tension hummed under every quiet moment.

One afternoon, Sirius found a stack of books outside the nursery. Magical Development in Early Childhood. Advanced Bonding Theory. Parenting the Magical Core. There was no note. But Sirius knew who left them.

He didn’t say thank you.

But he read them all.

A week later, Sirius sat by the window, Harry dozing on his shoulder, when he heard the knock at the nursery door.

Severus entered, holding a parchment.

“I’ve scheduled a magical evaluation,” he said flatly. “With someone you suggested months ago. Figured you’d want to attend.”

Sirius blinked. “You’re... including me?”

A long pause.

Then: “He’s your son.”

Sirius’s heart clenched. He didn’t smile. He didn’t cry. He just nodded.

“Thank you.”

They stood in silence, the baby snoring softly between them.
A moment of peace.
Not warmth. Not forgiveness.
But perhaps… the first ember of understanding.

Diagon Alley – Magical Child Development Office
Two Days Later

The waiting room was sunlit, neutral. Softly charmed murals shifted across the walls, floating toys, soft clouds, and enchanted trees that sparkled gently. Harry sat on Sirius’s lap, watching a flying bumblebee spell drift past with wide, blinking eyes.

Severus sat beside them, stiff-backed and silent, but he didn’t flinch when Harry reached for him. When Sirius passed the child over to fill out a form, Severus held him without hesitation. Their hands brushed once. Neither pulled away.

“Healer Virelle,” said the woman who finally greeted them, a tall witch with silver-streaked braids and kind, intelligent eyes. “I’ve read the preliminary notes. Let’s get started.”

The assessment was long and meticulous.

Resonance testing. Core tracking. Early empathy scans. Sirius hovered constantly, hands half-raised in instinctive protection. Severus stood at an angle near the window, correcting magical misreadings and silently modifying the ward field to prevent Harry from overloading the room again.

The child giggled through most of it. Only fussed once. Magic glimmered on his skin.

Finally, Healer Virelle lowered her wand.

“Well,” she said, “he’s powerful. Exceptionally so. But what’s more interesting is this—” she turned the floating chart toward them—“dual imprinting.”

Sirius frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she said, looking between them, “your son is magically bonded to both of you. Strongly. Equally. That’s extremely rare.”

“He sees us as—?” Sirius began.

“—his parents,” she finished. “Not one. Both.”

A silence settled over the room.

Severus’s jaw flexed slightly, but his eyes stayed on the boy. Sirius exhaled slowly, Harry curled warm against his chest.

“You’ll need structure,” the Healer said gently. “Patience. Boundaries. And above all, unity. The child’s magic reacts to emotional imbalance. If you fracture, he will. If you stabilize, so will he.”

Sirius looked at Severus.

For once, the older man met his gaze without sarcasm or steel.

Sirius nodded. “We’ll try.”

“That’s all he needs,” Healer Virelle said softly. “Try. Keep showing up.”

And they did.

One step at a time.

Chapter Text

Severus’s Perspective – Prince Manor

He hadn’t meant to stop by the nursery again.

In fact, he had told himself that tonight, like every night before, he would stay away. Let Sirius have his hours. Let the silence between them settle into something productive. Something like distance.

But there he was again.
Standing at the threshold.
Hands clasped behind his back like a prisoner inspecting his own cell.

Inside, Sirius lay curled on the rug beside the crib, one arm draped protectively over the baby’s blanket. His body was still, his breathing shallow. Harry snored softly, mouth slack, tiny fingers curled into a peaceful fist beneath his chin.

Severus watched them in silence.

He didn’t know when the sight had stopped bothering him.

Once, he had hated Sirius Black with the kind of religious fervor reserved for ancient grudges. Hated his recklessness. His arrogance. The way Lily had laughed more freely in his presence, even when Sirius was cruel. Severus had hated his ease. His freedom. His weightless existence.
While Severus had drowned beneath names, expectations, a house steeped in violence and ghosts.

And now?

Now Sirius suffered.

And Severus didn’t feel victorious.

In the early days, he’d told himself that the marriage bond was a tool. A legal weapon. A way to tip the scales. To make Sirius understand, what it felt like to be powerless. To have your life dictated, carved up, rationed without consent.

He had watched Sirius flinch.
Watched him kneel.

And yet, Sirius never screamed. Never cursed him. Never raged.
He wept.
But not for himself.

For the boy.

That was when everything began to feel wrong.

Severus hadn’t cried for Lily in years.

He had screamed. Smashed furniture. Drunk until the room blurred and bled. He brewed until his fingers trembled from exhaustion, until the vials lined up like wards against grief.

But he hadn’t cried.

And now, in the long quiet of the west wing, alone with nothing but silence and guilt, the tears sometimes threatened.

Because for so long, he had believed this:
That no one who took Lily’s son could ever be worthy of him.
Could ever love him right.

But Sirius did.

Not with precision. Not with grace.
But with something terrifying.
Something true.

He loved Harry like a man cradling something sacred, unsure if he deserved it, but unwilling to let go.
And Harry responded.

He reached for Sirius.
Calmed in his arms.
Shone brighter when he was near.

And every time Severus looked at them, Sirius, half-broken, whispering lullabies into the quiet, he saw what he had dismantled.

Not a Marauder.
Not an enemy.

A father.
And a child.

In his study, Severus stood over the fireplace.
A single parchment lay beside a cold cup of tea.
A letter addressed to Andromeda.

It asked about custody laws.
About magical trauma bonds in infants.
About parenting.

He hadn’t sent it.

He stared at it for a long time.
Then tucked it away.

Maybe tomorrow.

Later that night, when the manor had grown still beneath a silver sky, Severus stepped quietly into the nursery.

He didn’t speak.

He adjusted Harry’s blanket.
Checked the perimeter wards.
All quiet.

Harry stirred.

And Sirius, half-asleep and worn with exhaustion, murmured into the dark:

“He’s yours too, you know.”

Severus froze.

The words weren’t sharp. Not bitter. Not a weapon.

Just… soft.

Unsteady.

Truthful.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t dare.

But he carried those words with him as he left the room, like a spell he didn’t know the incantation for.

And for the first time in years, the silence didn’t feel like punishment.

It felt like possibility.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – Early Morning

The morning light filtered softly through the high windows of Prince Manor, casting pale warmth over the floorboards. The house, for once, felt still—not quiet in a haunted way, but like it was holding its breath.

Then came the knock.

Three gentle, deliberate taps. Spaced evenly. Followed by silence.

Sirius stirred from his place on the nursery rug, one arm still protectively curled around Harry’s sleeping form. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, disoriented, already feeling his chest tighten. No one ever visited Prince Manor—not without permission. And certainly not without warning.

And no one had been invited.

He gently passed Harry into the crib, brushing a kiss against his downy hair. The baby stirred slightly, then settled again. Sirius stood, legs stiff from sleeping on the floor, and made his way down the corridor, heart beginning to race.

At the front entrance, Severus was already there—wand drawn, but lowered, his expression unreadable and tired around the eyes. That familiar scowl had become less sharp these days. More like muscle memory than malice.

When the door creaked open, the scent of damp earth and worn leather drifted inside.

And there he stood.

Remus Lupin.

Thinner than Sirius remembered. Paler. Older, maybe, but the eyes—those soft, worn eyes—were still the same. Kind. Regretful.

“I didn’t know if I’d be welcomed,” Remus said, his voice rough with emotion and something like hope.

Sirius opened his mouth, but no sound came. He swallowed thickly.

It was Severus who spoke.

“Enter,” he said quietly. “You’ve been expected.”

Remus blinked in surprise at that but stepped inside without question.

They sat together in the drawing room, the air filled with flickering firelight and something heavier than smoke. Between them floated the enchanted baby monitor—Snape’s doing. From it came soft coos and the occasional sleepy babble from Harry, far above in the nursery.

“I should have come sooner,” Remus said, his gaze fixed on his hands. “I thought about it every day.”

Sirius stared at him for a moment. “I know,” he said softly.

Remus winced. “I was scared. After everything… the war, Azkaban. I didn’t know what to believe. And then… when I heard you were married—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. “It hurt.”

Across the room, Severus’s jaw twitched.

Sirius exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping. “It wasn’t my choice. Not at first.”

Remus looked up. “But now?”

Sirius didn’t answer immediately. He turned his gaze toward the glowing monitor. “Now I have a son. And whatever this is—” He flicked a glance toward Severus. “—I can’t let it ruin that.”

A long silence stretched between them. Remus reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter.

“I wrote this months ago,” he said, offering it out. “It’s an apology. But I never sent it. I didn’t think you’d want to read anything from me. I figured… if I came in person, at least you could hex me directly.”

Sirius accepted the letter, but didn’t open it. He tucked it into his lap. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to hex anyone.”

But there was no venom in the words. Just a faint, exhausted smile.

Severus stood abruptly. “You want visiting rights.”

Remus blinked, surprised. “Yes. Of course.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Then prove you’re committed. Be present. Learn his rhythms. Don’t disappear again when things get uncomfortable.”

Remus met his gaze without flinching. “I want to be in his life. Truly. If you’ll let me.”

Sirius studied him for a long moment. Then his expression softened, even if his voice remained weary.

“He needs more love,” he said, almost to himself. “Not less.”

That evening, they gathered in the nursery.

Remus sat cross-legged on the floor, Harry bundled in his lap. The baby blinked up at him, wide-eyed and curious, then reached out and grabbed a fistful of his beard with a delighted giggle. Remus laughed too, startled and warm, tears prickling behind his lashes.

Sirius leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching them. His heart ached—but not with sadness. It ached with something messier. Relief. Grief. Hope.

Severus stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, ever the observer. Silent. Sharp-eyed. Guarded.

But he didn’t intervene.

The three men stood in quiet orbit around a five-month-old child who knew nothing of war or betrayal or old wounds. Only warmth. Only laughter.

Only love.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the room held no fear. No tension. Just a fragile, imperfect kind of peace.

A family—fractured, healing, complicated.

But together.

And in Harry’s smile—bright, boundless—there was nothing but joy.

Chapter Text

Prince Manor – Dawn to Dusk

The day began with laughter—true laughter, the kind that vibrated right down to the bones. It rolled through the corridors of Prince Manor and clung to the rafters like sunlight filtered through stained glass. For once the old house did not echo; it seemed to hold the sound close, as if the walls themselves had been aching for it.

Harry Potter was five months old, and that morning he discovered how to blow raspberries.

Remus Lupin knelt on the nursery floor, a bib slung over one shoulder, an enchanted stuffed wolf lazily circling above him. Milk dribbled down his chin while Harry sputtered and wheezed with glee.

“You’re doing that on purpose now,” Remus chided, though the grin on his face ruined any chance at sternness.

Across from them Sirius sat cross‑legged, towel in hand, smile tugging at his mouth. It had been years since his expression looked so unguarded—years since before Azkaban, before funerals, before grief had become his second skin. Yet here it was again: an echo of the boy who once joked in sunlit Gryffindor towers.

In the doorway Severus watched, arms folded. He made no comment about the splattered milk or Remus’s ridiculous animal noises. When Harry’s accidental burst of magic turned the bib into a flickering ball of spun light—and then back again—Severus only lifted one eyebrow, intrigued but silent.

Harry’s laughter eventually dwindled into soft, contented coos. Sirius gathered him up, and the baby nestled against his chest with a sigh that sounded almost adult in its satisfaction. For an instant, the tableau felt whole: father, son, beloved uncle. Severus hovered at the edge, half in shadow, half in sunlight—part of the picture and yet convinced he did not belong.

He did not leave.

Mid‑Morning | Enchanted Garden

Later, under a sky rinsed blue by a mild spring wind, the mismatched trio gathered in the manor’s protective gardens. Charms woven into the hedgerows kept the breeze gentle and the blossoms in polite orbit.

Harry lounged in a nest of charmed pillows that floated just above the grass. Petals drifted overhead, tracing lazy loops that made him kick and squeal. Remus sat cross‑legged in the grass, fingers stained green from absent‑mindedly plucking blades and weaving them into loops.

“He’s strong,” Remus murmured in quiet awe.

“He’s everything,” Sirius replied. Love thickened his voice, turning each syllable into a prayer.

Severus said nothing, but his gaze softened by imperceptible degrees. Sirius glanced over and, with a small nod toward the floating blanket, issued a challenge wrapped in kindness.

Sirius glanced toward Severus, then gestured subtly at the baby.
“You can hold him, you know.”

Severus hesitated. “He prefers you.”

Sirius let out a quiet snort. “He’s five months old, not grading your performance.”

 Then, gentler: “You were there when the magic flared. You were the one who held him at the healer’s. Remember what they said? He sees you—he knows who you are.”

Severus didn’t speak right away. His expression tightened, like he was bracing for rejection he had already imagined.

“You’re one of his fathers,” Sirius added, voice softer now. “Whether you feel ready for that or not.”

Slowly, Severus crossed the grass. He knelt beside the blanket and reached out a hand.
Harry looked up, blinked, then smiled—and with surprising confidence, curled his tiny fingers around Severus’s.

The breath Severus took was sharp and shaky. But he didn’t pull away.

Time seemed to slow. A bird called from the hedges; somewhere in the manor a clock chimed the quarter hour. Severus inhaled sharply, as if the simple weight of that small hand had stolen the air from his lungs, and yet he did not pull away. The silence between him and the others did not feel cold. It felt full—crowded with possibility.

Evening | Western Balcony

That night, while Harry napped beneath a soft stasis charm, Sirius and Severus drifted onto the west‑facing balcony. They stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a steady spill of stars.

Neither spoke.

They did not need to. Wind moved through the yew trees; somewhere in the library a tired page turned itself shut. In the hush, two men—once prisoners of war, once enemies by choice—simply breathed side by side, bound by the child asleep upstairs.

And between them, for the first time, there was room for whatever might grow next.