Im Rusty. So Rusty. And Also Extremely Late For Christmas. I May As Well Have Waited 350 Days Until The

I am sorry for suddenly making you cry I cried about it too so should too... Sirius wanted to be the coolest godfather and just when harry was nearly old enough to get a tattoo sirius *sobs* dieeddddd!!!!!😭😭😭😭

officially submitting my first ever entry for @impishtubist ‘s Sirius & Harry Saturday: a headcanon about baby harry using his crayons to try and draw sirius’ tattoos on himself. (there’s also protective james and prongsfoot friendship and it’s all quite fluffy)

“Harry! What are you doing?” Sirius leaned forward with a laugh, trying to get a better glimpse of his toddling godson, who’d stripped down until he was clad only in his diaper.

“Lookit Siri, I’m you!” Harry squealed, finally losing the battle against gravity in his excitement and falling forward. Lucky for him, his godfather knew him enough to be prepared with outstretched arms.

Sirius dangled him mid-air in front of him, hands under his armpits. It was the best vantage point to scrutinise the new additions to his godson’s previously unmarked skin.

Because, somehow, Harry had gotten his hands on a permanent marker and had drawn all over himself. And not just anything, but very specific artwork that Sirius could recognise instantly, shaky as it was.

“You know your dad’s gonna kill me, buddy,” Sirius mused absently as he shifted Harry’s weight to one hand and ran one black-tipped nail against the runic figures on his pudgy chest and belly. Well, figures that were attempting to be runic, if he wanted to be accurate. Harry’s hand wasn’t steady enough for straight lines, yet, nor was his theoretical knowledge good enough to capture them perfectly even if they were.

“No, I you, Siri!” Harry repeated stubbornly, and by Merlin, what was the allure of Dark Magic in the face of his adorable godson?

He trailed his finger across the jagged lines on his flank, across his arms, up to his shoulders. There were some unrecognisable scribbles on his upper back, like he’d tried to reach back and color in but couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t, Harry’s arms were tiny. But it was clear that he was trying to replicate the antlers on Sirius’ back. Unbidden, his gaze fell to Harry’s wrist and sure enough, there was a messy circle with shapes drawn inside it. It was a valiant effort to recreate his family’s crest. Sirius could feel his heart-melting out of his pores.

“Oh, Harry, you little troublemaker, you,” he cooed, bringing his godson into the circle of his arms to tuck him against his chest, biting his lip at how Harry instantly relaxed into him, head tucked under Sirius’ chin.

“You like my tattoos, huh? Couldn’t wait until you grew up a bit, had to have them right now, is that it?” He continued, slightly bouncing Harry in his arms as he walked back and forth.

“Siri pwetty, Hawwy also pwetty,” Harry babbled from his perch and Sirius’ heart melted.

“Dammit, sweetheart, I have a reputation to maintain. You can’t go around saying things like that,” he mock-scolded.

“Things like what, Padfoot?” James’ voice entered the conversation and Sirius had to suppress his laughter at what he’d say when he discovered the state his son was in.

“Oh, nothing much, Harry just wants to be pretty like me,” Sirius said, special emphasis on the ‘me’. “Guess being a carbon copy of his dad isn’t quite cutting it for him anymore.”

He turned to face James as he spoke and couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in him at the expression on his face. Sirius’ words were already pulling a very strong deadpan from him but one look at his son, covered in black squiggles and smudges, and it immediately gave way to one of pronounced horror.

“Wha—“ James’ words were more of a strangled wheeze. “Padfoot, what did you do to my son?”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said, offended. “I didn’t do anything. This one’s all Harry. I didn’t even know what he was doing until he crawled into the room.”

That didn’t seem to help. “Oh, baby, I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with Sirius, he’s become rather forgetful in his advanced age, hasn’t he?” With an exaggerated frown on his face, James plucked Harry out of Sirius’ arms and settled him in his own. The kid was, as always, overjoyed to be reunited with his father.

Sirius tried hard to hold onto his outrage—how dare James call him old?—but it was hard, nigh impossible, when he could see Harry rubbing the top of his head back and forth against James’ jaw, like an adorable little kitten.

“So, what’s with-“ James ran a hand down Harry’s arm “-all this?”

“Harry’s trying to be like his extremely cool, not-old-at-all godfather.”

James raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sirius ignored him in favour of talking to his godson.

“Don’t you worry, love, when you’re old enough, I’ll be right there to take you for your first proper tattoo,” he tapped Harry’s little button nose, making him giggle.

It wasn’t enough to mask James’ shocked exhale. “What do you mean first proper tattoo?”

“Look at him and tell me he’s not interested,” Sirius pointed at the little bundle of joy in his arms. Absently, he wondered what kind of tattoo Harry would like, if any. Would he be the sentimental kind, like his dad who never put something on his body he hadn’t considered fifty times over? Or more like Sirius, who’d only needed the thought to pop it into his head to get it inked.

“He’s three and thinks colors, and shapes, on your body look cool. That’s- that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Well, I’m just saying,” Sirius shrugged, deliberately keeping his face clear of anything that could give him away. Of course he knew the reaction his words would elicit, that was part of why he said it. “The option’s there on the table if he ever wants to. With parents like you and Lily, and me of course, the kid’s on the right track for a few pieces of his own.”

“But—“

“And of course, no one except his godfather can be trusted with something like this, right? It’s basically my magic-given duty to escort him to the tattoo parlour,” Sirius finished with a flourish. One of his hands had travelled upwards to ruffle Harry’s hair, marvelling at the soft feel of the inky strands slipping between his fingers.

“No- That’s not- you are not torturing my baby like that!” James finally found his voice, and what a loud one it was too for Harry was startled out of his lazy doze against his dad’s chest by the deep rumble that vibrated through him. His green eyes were wide open, looking at his dad who so rarely raised his voice, and James immediately shrunk—literally, Sirius could see the transformation in real-time, the way his shoulders dropped, his face relaxed, and his nose came down from its high perch.

“Oh, Daddy’s sorry, honey, he didn’t mean to shout,” he whispered in between careful kisses pressed to Harry’s face. “Daddy’s gonna be more careful, okay?”

“Otay,” Harry replied, equally quietly, still staring at him with remnants of shock in his eyes.

Sirius broke the moment with a loud snort—accidental of course but this was too much for him—and immediately attracted James’ ire again.

“You—“ he started accusingly before darting a quick look downward to see Harry was alright. He was. “You can’t be—Harry’s not gonna get tatted, Padfoot! It hurts too much. I won’t have it.”

“You won’t have it?” Sirius repeated, amused. “May I remind you when you got your first tattoo? Or mine, for that matter.” That took the wind right out of his sails.

“Er, that’s not the point here,” James replied shiftily, dropping his gaze to Harry instead of looking at him.

“Remember the runic tattoos we etched into our skin? Could’ve literally blown ourselves inside out right there in the do—“

James slapped a hand against his mouth, effectively stopping him. “Okay, I think that’s enough, I get it.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘Do you?’. Harry giggled at his father and godfather’s antics, happily oblivious to the pinched look on the former’s face as he realised the precedent his own actions had set. Sirius couldn’t wait to have this conversation all over again when he was all grown up and could add his own input. He was looking forward to tag-teaming against James, to be honest.

“You—you don’t think he’ll do something like that, do you?” James asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them.

“He is your kid,” Sirius pointed out. “And Lily’s. And a tad bit mine.”

“He’s all yours, especially when he pulls stunts like this.”

Sirius grinned, wide and uncontrollable, at that, unable to help the warmth that spread through his entire body at those words. He knows James was trying to take a shot at him but it didn’t take away from the fact that Harry was his too, has been from the day he was born—no, since the day James flooed into his house, pale and shaking, telling him that ‘We’re having a kid, Padfoot! An actual baby! Can you believe it?!’

For all the jokes and potshots and snippy back-and-forths they had, Sirius knew he would never be able to thank Jamie for allowing him into his life—into Harry’s life—like this. James had always been free with his affections, sharing heart and home without a second thought but Sirius knew that there were many who’d have put their foot down at the level of involvement he assumed in his godson’s life, and that James and Lily didn’t, wouldn’t, do that. He didn’t know where he’d be without the Potters today, and imagining such a world—it was chilling, to say the very least.

“Pads?” James’ soft voice interrupted his morose thoughts and he snapped his eyes up to meet concerned hazel ones. There was a silent question in them.

Sirius shrugged wryly. Silently raised his hands for Harry, needing to hold him close, and after another searching glance, James passed the now peacefully sleeping child over. Something loosened in his chest when he felt the familiar weight resting against him. He immediately buried his nose in Harry’s hair, taking a deep breath, letting the scent of baby powder and blueberry shampoo fill his lungs, ground him.

“I’ll be the coolest godfather there ever was,” he whispered, feeling a knot in his throat where more words should be. He wanted to say that he loved Harry more than life itself, that he’d always be there for him. The world could tilt off its axis but Sirius’ love for the Potters wouldn’t wane. It couldn’t, really, not with how deeply they were entrenched in his life—in his very being.

“Of course, you will. No one would ever doubt that.” James placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “But you’re still not allowed to take my baby to a tattoo parlour, no matter how old he gets.”

if you liked this, i have an entire thing on my ao3 about tattoos and harry and sirius bonding over them postwar >.<

I love the good godfather sirius black thingie!!!

GGSB Fest 2024 - Perfect First Day

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt - First Day of School

Sirius isn't ready for Harry's first day of primary school, but it turns out it's perfect.

AO3

***

Despite the fact that Sirius had gotten to spend the last few years as a stay-at-home parent and knew that this time was coming, he’s still sad even as he packs Harry’s bag for his first day of school.  They had gone shopping the day before to make sure he had all of his school supplies.  He’d picked out a nice outfit for the first, and once he’s packed, it’ll be time to tuck Harry in and before he knows it – they’ll be at the school… for Harry’s first day.

“Pads?” the small voice of his godson says from the top of the stairs.  

“I’ll be up in a minute to help tuck you in, just change into your pajamas.”

“Okay!”

It only takes a few more minutes before he steels himself and goes upstairs.  Tonight was the last night before everything would begin to change.

“Ready for bed, kiddo?” Sirius asks, a smile – only slightly forced – on his face.  He has no idea what he’s going to do without his kid for hours every day.  

“Yeah!” Harry cheers.

“What kind of bedtime story are you looking for tonight?” Sirius questions.

“Will you tell me about your first day of school?” 

Sirius let's out a little laugh as he sits beside Harry’s bed.  “Well, your dad and I didn’t go to primary school – only Hogwarts, and I’ve told you about meeting your mum and dad on the train ride to school, but your mum did go to primary school.”

“Will you tell me about her first day, then?”

Sirius hums.  “Well, she always liked to say that she met her best muggle friend on the first of school.  She had sat in the wrong seat and another classmate of hers had said that it was her seat – they were arguing as much as five-year-olds can argue and it turns out her name was Lila and with your mum’s name as Lily – they were so close it was easily mistaken.  The teacher thought they should separate the girls, but they became friends instead.”

Harry’s looking at him like that wasn’t much of story – which makes sense, his own story about meeting on the train and James pulling an imaginary sword had been far more entertaining.  

“Do you think I’ll make a friend like mum did?” Harry asks, eyes wide like he’s worried about that.

Sirius smiles softly at him.  “I’m sure you will, but not if you’re grouchy from lack of sleep.  So, get some sleep – big day tomorrow.”

Harry pouts a bit before he yawns.  “Night, Pads.”

“Night, kid.”

***

In the morning, Sirius packs Harry’s lunch before helping him with his backpack and taking him by the hand to walk him to the school down the street.  His kid is happily chattering on and on about what school might be like and not at all noticing that Sirius isn’t nearly as ready for this as he pretends to be.  

He knows that this is what Lily (and James) would’ve wanted, but after so long of never being away from one another, Sirius can’t help freaking out a bit.  

He’s just not ready for this – Harry’s not ready for this – maybe … maybe it would be better to hold him back a year … or homeschool him…

But they reach the school before Sirius knows it and he’s … disappointed.

He’s not ready for this.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t matter as they enter the school and Harry happily finds his classroom rather quickly for his age.  The teacher greets Harry and says, “Mr. Potter, please go ahead and help Harry find his desk – you can stay until class starts.”

“Thank you,” Sirius says.  He doesn’t correct her.  James’ parents had practically adopted him, and he hates the Black name, so when they moved, he simply decided to go by Potter, made things easier. 

He helps Harry find his desk next to a little boy, whose name plate reads Dean Thomas, and he smiles at the mother beside him.  

“Look Dean, here’s your deskmate,” the mother says.  “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The little boy – Dean – smiles and introduces himself, and Harry smiles and does the same after a quick nod from Sirius.  

Then, in his excitement once Dean shows him what he’d been drawing, Harry turns to him and says, “Look, Paddy, I made a friend.”

Sirius barely stifles his laugh as he says, “You sure did.”

Before anything else could be said, the teacher calls for last goodbyes and he hugs Harry tight, like he doesn’t want to let him go, and barely contains his desire to cry.  Another parent – not Dean’s mother – says, “Don’t worry, the day will go by faster than you think.”

Sirius nods, and let's go, telling Harry to be good and learn lots before following the other parents outside the classroom.  The one that had spoken to him, introduces himself as Holly’s father, and says, “First one?”

“And only,” Sirius says.  “He’s technically my godson/nephew.  I won’t have kids of my own, but I’ve been raising him since we lost his parents.  I was a stay-at-home parent and now… well, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Holly’s father gives him a small smile as they leave with Dean’s mother.  “Well, I’ve got a small shop that works on motor vehicles.  You know anything about that?”

Sirius grins.  “I built my motorbike from scratch.  I love motor vehicles.”

“Maybe we could go out to eat and talk about it?”

“I’d like that.”  

“Then, let’s go.”

***

Sirius could admit that he rather liked Holly’s father and Dean’s mother (who had come along as well, purely because she also expressed an interest).  Their outing had helped pass the day (which did go quickly) before they arrived to pick up their kids.  

As soon as he sees Sirius, Harry takes off at a run and straight into a waiting Sirius’ arms.  He’s already babbling about his day and his new friends Holly and Dean.  

“I made new friends, too,” Sirius teases, gesturing at Holly’s father and Dean’s mother.  The adults laugh, but Harry cheers and it’s wonderful.  

Holly’s father claps him on the shoulder and Dean’s mother smiles.  “I’ll see you both tomorrow?”

“We’ll be here.”

“Good.”

With that, they all wave goodbye and start to head home.  

Harry reiterates his entire day all happy and excited and honestly, there’s nothing better than this. 

He’s so thrilled that it’s all worked out – they’re both happy and they’re off to brighter future. 

The perfect first day of school.

c'mon Ill be walburga for you

Lets give the tumblr people a good laugh then shall we?

Walburga: so… you’re still gay, then?

Sirius: no, actually I forgot to pay my Gay Bill this month so they cut me off.

Eeeeee!!!! So cute!!! Eeeeeeeee!! I crazy, eeeee!!! But who cares?! Eeeee!!!!!..

What do u think james would have been like as a father

Oh boy, here we go.

Anon, this might be my favourite ask ever. Ever, do you hear me? So take a seat because this is going to be a long one.

It goes without saying that he would have been incredible, yes, but in what way?

(Under the cut because it got too long)

I don't think Harry was planned, purely because of the war. If it hadn't been for that, I think he would have still wanted to be a dad, without a doubt, and a young one at that: being raised by elderly parents probably made him realise that he was luckier than his parents, because they never got to see him grow up, grow old. Little did he know...

James adored being a young dad. He loved the fun bits and the ugly bits. Harry helped him become the man he was destined to be. In the 15 months they shared together (don't worry I'll answer your question in a moment), James was forced to learn some hard truths and make tough decisions. I've always seen him as someone who had a 'black and white' mindset when it comes to right or wrong: it was simple for him, and he couldn't really understand why people did bad things when they knew they were wrong. Well, he knew why, but it only started making sense when he became a father, because suddenly he realised how much he had underestimated the privilege of being able to choose. Having a kid during a war took a toll on him and changed him, because now he was forced to decide whether he was a father first or a soldier. And it was a choice he had to make every day.

He also had to choose what kind of father he was going to be. The kind who comes back from a mission and drinks himself into oblivion, or the one who goes straight to his wife and son and despite being bone-tired and with muscles that ache at every step, he's there for them with a smile on his face. And don't get me wrong, I do believe he did get drunk and felt utterly defeated sometimes. He could have done that and he knew no one would have judged him for it, but he couldn't let the bad days outnumber the good ones.

Let's pretend nothing bad happened on Halloween 1981, and that Voldemort died and everyone got their happy ending:

James is the kind of dad who has long conversations with his babbling two year old, where he pretends to talk about politics and books and Quidditch without using baby voices.

He does use baby voices sometimes, though. Mainly when Harry won't eat his peas or when James has to change his nappy (honestly I hope wizards use them, otherwise the poor babies just have to sit in their poop until someone vanishes it). He does impressions of all his Hogwarts professors, but Harry's favourite is Filch, he laughs so much he makes James laugh too.

He sings 'Beautiful Boy' when Harry can't fall asleep, a smile painted on his face, and when Harry's brows start to relax he whispers the rest of the lyrics, brushing his hair until his eyes close and his breath becomes even (credits to this post for the headcanon).

He's an extremely concerned toddler parent, because Harry learns to run first and walk second. The little boy hates hats, and he always comes back from his walks with his hair all tangled and with leaves in it (yes, Harry dives into leaf piles before his parents can stop him). James, heartbroken, takes a bottle of Sleekeazy's and pours the product on Harry's hair, apologising the whole time.

He watches him play and talk to his toys for Merlin knows how long, hypnotised by his brilliant son.

When Harry accidentally makes Sirius' pancake float towards his plate, James picks up his son and starts dancing with him around the kitchen, singing a made up song that Sirius will mock him for every time he has the chance. By noon, James has not only decided he's going to throw a party in honour of Harry's first accidental magic, he's also decided the menu and planned every activity. He invites Fabian and Gideon and asks to bring their nephews too because the more the merrier, and that's how Ron becomes Harry's best friend.

I also thinks James would absolutely love to have a big family, so in my headcanon Harry has at least a couple of siblings. Imagine being surrounded by all those Potters... A dream for some (James) a nightmare for others (probably Petunia, who is straight up horrified the one time she pays them a visit).

James teaches Harry to fly, reads him stories every night and they even have movie nights every Wednesday, even the day after a full moon, where James falls asleep on the sofa as they watch Star Wars, and Harry goes out like a light shortly after him, head on his chest, drooling on James' shirt.

But most of all, James listens. He truly listens. He makes sure Harry never doubts his worth. He's the kind of dad who isn't afraid to show his emotions, and probably cries as Harry boards the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

When Harry gets in trouble at school for the first time, James realises that lecturing him is not that different from when he had to give out detentions as Head Boy... Except that it is, because when James has to tell him that it's wrong to put Padfoot's hairs in Malfoy's potion, Harry asks him why, and he tilts his head exactly like Lily does when she challenges him, and this kid has her eyes and James' knowing smile, but he's also clever in a way James and Lily are not, and James doesn't know what to do with this information.

Honestly, I have so many more headcanons and if I had to write all of them this post would never see the light of day, so I'll stop here and maybe I'll make a part two, who knows.

In conclusion, this James isn't a perfect dad, but he's a wonderful one. He might be too strict sometimes, and other times too lenient; he might disagree with Harry on some things, and they might fight and raise their voices. But James does everything in his power not to make Harry go to sleep angry or sad, and if it does happen, he makes sure to wake him up with a kiss on his forehead and a hug. Or maybe lots of hugs, because James is a very affectionate dad. With his parents in his life, Harry doesn't doubt for one moment that he's not worthy of being loved.

To throw up confetti! Again!

(wrote this for all the sirius + harry fans who were having rough days yesterday ((more than one??? y'all good??)). have some fluff? maybe? i don't even know anymore.)

-

"Budge over," Sirius said as he sat down on the edge of his godson's bed, Harry currently laying in it with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head in the dead of summer, and as far as Sirius knew, this had been the outfit of choice for a few days now.

Since Harry had come home from a date and retreated to his bedroom, some melancholic record playing loud enough to signal to Remus and Sirius that something terrible had happened.

The first night Harry had cried.

The second night Harry had shouted at the both of them.

The third night Harry had decided the silent treatment was the best course of action and he was going to stay in his bedroom no matter how many times Sirius offered to buy him anything under the sun or Remus tempted with heartbreak dessert.

"I don't want to talk, Sirius," Harry mumbled, scooting over a minuscule amount to allow his godfather to join him in bed. Sirius took the space though, moving so he could lean against Harry's headboard, one arsecheek on the bed, the other hanging half off.

"Okay, you don't have to," Sirius said, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach. "Thought you might like some company though."

"Why would you think that?" He asked roughly, rolling to his side to avoid eye contact or interaction.

"Because you're sad. Because I raised you and know that when you get hurt, you want someone to stay with you. Like when you fell off your bike down that hill?" Harry twisted his neck slightly so he could look at Sirius, "Went too fast...fell so hard. I don't think I've ever ran so quickly in my life to get to you."

"I was fine though...nothing was broken."

"Oh no, but your knees had some bad scrapes on them, a few bruises. I didn't know having something physically broken was the threshold for injury."

"I just mean it wasn't that bad."

"At nine it was. And the whole day you just wanted to be around one of us. Slept in our bed too."

"I'm not nine," Harry muttered, though he moved so he could mimic Sirius's position, sitting up slightly and folding his hands over his stomach, Harry's pointy elbow touching Sirius's.

"You're not, I don't even wish you were anymore, you were a little hellion."

"What? No, I wasn't."

"You used to hang upside down off the third floor, do you remember that? Climb over the railings and hook your feet in and just drop. I'm actually shocked I'm still alive after witnessing that a few times."

Harry cracked a small smile, "Well that was the fun part..."

"Mhmm, I know it was. See? Nothing but trouble," Sirius nudged Harry with this shoulder, noticing that his godson had moved closer to Sirius as he spoke, their elbows overlapping. "But...thing is, even if you had fallen off the railing, or the banister collapsed and you came with it. We'd bandage you up, figure it out, fix the railing. It gets a bit harder when the hurt isn't physical. Nothing's broken, not really, right now and yet..."

"Fucking sucks."

"Broken hearts really fucking suck," Sirius responded, nodding.

"It...just sucks to feel like he didn't want me anymore. What do I do about that?" Harry asked and looked up to Sirius, their shoulders now pressed together. Sirius took a chance, moving one of his arms off his stomach and wrapping it around Harry.

Harry didn't pull away or fidget under the touch. Not a single eye roll.

"You...sit here, and you listen to all the sad music," Sirius started, deciding to leave out the moment in time where he thought he was going to charm Harry's record player off after hearing "I Had a King" for the 30th time, "and you...let someone sit with you until it doesn't hurt so much. Scrapped knees heal, so do hearts."

"You sure?"

"Well the alternative is you being heartbroken for the rest of your life and never leaving your bedroom and I'm okay with that too," Sirius said, "I'll still hang out with you. I'll grow a long white beard sitting here with you."

Harry put his head on Sirius's chest, and Sirius's hand went to the back of Harry's head, resting on messy black hair. "I...I don't think it'll be that long. You know?"

"Yeah."

aww

Remus lupin- tell me a character/ship from harry and a situation I will write a short paragraph for them, and how they would react

regulus black meeting the potters for the first time properly after he ran away with sirius (lets pretend he ran away and got away from that toxic abusive household?)

Okay okay okay!

So.

Regulus was hidden behind sirius, not that sirius was trying to protect him from the potters, just that regulus was worried about how they would react. sirius rung the doorbell and Regulus jumped slightly.  miss Potter opened the door with a welcoming smile, regulus doesn’t think she noticed him yet. She brought sirius in for a hug.

Regulus stood still while they hugged, scared to move and for this reality to fall away. Miss potter looked over sirius’s shoulder at that point, and noticed him standing there.

“Who’s this sirius?”

“Regulus, my brother” he started simply, “I was hoping you may be able to help us both for a while, until we find a place of our own. I couldnt leave him behind”

“Oh sirius, of course that’s alright! More than! You, and your brother are both welcome here” she held sirius at arms length, before reaching out for younger black, and pulling him into a warm hug.

“Oh” regulus squeaked out, the first thing he had said since leaving the house. “Thank you miss potter”

Regulus felt like for once, he was home.

The brothers Black

It's late. He should go to sleep. He has Harry to look after now, he should set a better example.

The said teen is sitting on the floor beside him, and for a moment Sirius is caught in the nostalgia of just how much Harry reminds him of himself.

It's a bad thing, really. He wasn't the best guy around. Hell, Sirius thinks he was probably a menace to even think about. Harry, Harry is better. Sirius remembers picking up the newborn Harry Potter in his hands and hugging him. Sirius remembers closing his eyes and apologising to the ghost of a dead Regulus because Sirius had never hugged his baby brother as much as he deserved.

Sirius puts off his cigarette and runs a hand down his face. Fuck.

Reggie.

Beside him, Harry looks at him with worried eyes. "We don't have to continue, Sirius," he says, perceptive boy. "I can leave—"

"Not necessary, kid," he says, pulling out the last of photos from the shoe box. Harry shuffles closer, almost cuddling him. Sirius quietly points out the people he never got to see grow older. Marlene, her puns and her affinity for everything yellow. Pandora, her heart and her necessity to constantly have chocolates on her person. Dorcas, her loud army boots and bright sundresses.

The last photo in his hand doesn't belong in the shoebox.

It's Reggie and him, Sirius has his brother in his arms and his lips pressed to Reggie's head, eyes closed tight. But it's Sirius, he knows this moment.

Three weeks before Sirius started Hogwarts, Reggie was sure that Hogwarts would steal his brother from him.

(Didn't it?)

Poor boy had been promising to be the best brother in the world, begging Sirius to keep loving him.

Sirius doesn't know when tears blurred his eyes but the ache in his chest comes back full force at his brother's innocent face, still red because of crying and eyes scrunched up close behind Sirius' hand. Sirius was supposed to protect him. Keep his eyes closed, never show him the blood and death that was carved into their fate.

"Regulus." Harry breathes beside Sirius and even the boy sounds pained. He leans further into Sirius and Sirius. Sirius is a greedy man. He takes the opportunity with desperation and puts his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulls him in.

(Everyone he touches will turn out dead. But Harry can't be dead, no, that's his boy, that's his child, he can't, no, not his boy—)

As they've done with every other picture, Sirius turned the photo behind to read who clicked it and when, even if he remembers the dates like they're tattooed on his spine.

But the back of the photo isn't only that. It reads,

Dearest Siri,

I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. For the first time in my life, words fail me. I've failed everything you've ever tried to teach me— all in for a blind wish that was always impossible.

I've heard your silence, I've heard your screams and it seems that it's all I can remember. I am your shadow, no matter how much mother and father try to force the fact to be false. I want your presence, brother. I do not know how to exist without you. It is the only demand I can still make from fate— for even fate will have to pry you from my dead hands.

You are my brother. You are an ache in my chest and nowadays, I only ever breathe to feel this ache. The letters you've written to me are in my room, you will know where. The letters I've never sent you will be there. Burn them, Siri. I am going down a path of betrayal— towards you, towards our name, towards James, towards the Dark Lord as well. Of all the betrayals I've committed, my biggest regret will be not seeing you before I walk towards death.

Remember me, Siri. Let me stay alive with you. Let me take a part of you as I die.

Yours,

RA Reggie.

Clicked by Andromeda, 18/8/71

Panic burns through Sirius and he's heaving— choking on his tears and sobs and gasps.

His brother. His baby brother. He clutches the photo tighter and cradles it to his heart and wails. Regulus.

The ache in his chest blooms anew and Sirius wants to claw at his chest and find that piece of Regulus that's always lived beside Sirius' heart. Brother. My brother. My only brother. My little brother.

Regulus. Regulus. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie. Baby. Reg. Ree. Reg. Reggie.

Sirius slams his fist on the floor and he welcomes the pain that comes with it, his sobs almost cover the thuds his fist is making and he doesn't want to live. His brother. An open wound in his chest, his brother. Sirius wants to burn himself alive, like Reggie wanted to burn those letters.

"My brother." He wails, not sure if anyone will understand what he's saying but he doesn't expect them to, no one will ever understand just what his brother is, was.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Sirius heaves again. He has failed everyone he cared for, and he failed his blood the most. His boy, his brave Reggie.

Harry doesn't speak but keeps his hold on Sirius' elbow and Sirius wishes he would choke him or plunge his hand in Sirius' chest and drag his heart out— Reggie died with a wish to see Sirius, his poor brother, his baby, his Reggie— he doesn't want to live knowing how Reggie suffered and sobbed.

Because even if his brother is dead, Sirius is alive and thus, so is Reggie. Sirius can feel the sobs that must have wrecked Reggie, he can hear all the whimpers Reggie had to subside because he couldn't wake Mother and he can feel all the bile in his throat that his brother must have thrown up during one of his panic episodes.

And now, Harry rises up on his knees and holds Sirius— as Sirius was holding Reggie in that photo. As Harry's hand covers his eyes, Sirius feels the darkness that must have been the last thing Reggie saw.

k sure

Walburga: so… you’re still gay, then?

Sirius: no, actually I forgot to pay my Gay Bill this month so they cut me off.

You cut onion in my eyes!

Sirius being a super protective older brother.

Sirius having near daily panic attacks after regulus had refused to come with him when he ran away to james’.

Sirius acting like he hates his brother but theres always a twinge of sadness in his eyes whenever hes brought up. Something that only the mauraders can see. Something that they know means sirius still loves his brother and has hope for him.

Sirius having constant dreams about regulus. About what his family does to regulus now that sirius is gone.

Dreams that scarily mimic the way sirius was treated.

Sirius finding out about regulus becoming a death eater and having multiple panic attacks daily.

Sirius muttering in his sleep about “regulus is gonna die”

Sirius never knowing that regulus came around even after his death.

Sirius having more consistent panic attacks after his brothers death. Something he hadnt experienced since he was in school.

Sirius knowing that the one thing the dementors would be able to take from him is his memories of regulus. Memories from when they were still friends.

Sirius being paranoid that those memories would be corrupted by the dementors.

Sirius turning into a dog the mere second that regulus crosses his mind.

Sirius hearing talk about regulus from death eaters in azkaban.

Sirius being flooded with emotion as soon as he gets out of azkaban knowing that he can finally think about regulus.

Regulus immediatley tackling sirius in a hug as soon as he comes to the after life.

Regulus have a panic attack chanting “im sorry” still hugging sirius.

Regulus, calming down, finally being able to explain.

“IM SORRY OK?? BECAUSE YOU WERE SO RIGHT. so so right. I shouldve listened to you siri”.

Sirius only being able to hold regulus so tightly because neither of them were ones for expressing emotions.

Regulus knowing that this meant that sirius wasnt mad.

Regulus still crying, this time happy tears, because sirius wasnt mad! Sirius forgives him!

Sirius knowing he was never truly mad at regulus because he knew what his family was like. He understood wanting his mothers approval even if he did spend his entire life trying to make her as disappointed as possible.

*screams* silently cuz yk sitting with a very anti harry potter family

Something He Never Got To Say Before

for @impishtubist 's prompt here ; it's not wolfstar raising Harry, but close! hope you like it ! words: 955 summary: Harry wants to call Sirius ‘dad’. [Set in the summer after PoA, Peter’s caught, Sirius is free and raising Harry the best he can.]

It frustrates Harry how it fits so perfectly. Sirius is spelled soft and warm on his tongue but dad—it’s tender and something Harry’s never got to say before and homey and it makes his cheek hurt with a smile. Harry loves how it sounds.

But he isn’t meant for it.

Harry stares at the words.

Oh, and I’m sure my dad will~

That’s where they end, the curved end of the l smudged into a waving, blotted line; Harry’s quill had jerked with the realisation of what he’d written.

Dad.

He stares, biting his lip, heart starting to pound in his chest. Sirius, he means. But.

Sirius isn't his dad. Harry doesn't have a dad.

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does.

Sirius changed his whole life. He bought Harry a home, now gives him a life that is a thousand times less miserable and more exciting than his previous one—it is love filled and brimming with smiles and soft touches (instead of shrieking and pan-throwing and knee-scraping heart-wrenching hurt) and Sirius buys him candies and ice creams (the very best ones) and takes him to carnivals and teaches him about Holi and Diwali and tells him stories about his parents. Sirius ruffles his hair and watches the telly with him and tells Harry: I love you, kid.

You're the best, Harry.

It's enough. It should be.

It is, in a way. Harry is more than grateful, beyond it really, for all that Sirius has done—he’s done so much for him in a mere twenty days than the Dursleys ever did for him in all of Harry’s thirteen years.

And yet, he finds himself wanting more.

His lips taste of blood as he scrapes back his chair to throw the crumpled parchment into the bin.

-

He is four (but he doesn't know it then) when he, looking at Petunia's long pale hair and Dudley's very blue eyes (handsome, Petunia always says), asks: “Are you my mum?”

It's a question that's been troubling him, after that Incident at the grocer's, whizzing around in his mind and buzzing right next to his ears and crawling over his fingers ever since.

Petunia turns with a crack of her neck, her face pinching and scrunching. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“That woman at the—”

“I am not,” she cuts in, sharply. Then she shudders. “I'm not your mother and never will be, you understand? I would never want you as my son, you freak of a child.”

Harry fights back tears.

“Who is, then?” he whispers.

“You don't have a mother, you idiot.”

One of the words he learns that day is orphan.

-

It frustrates Harry how it fits so perfectly. Sirius is spelled soft and warm on his tongue but dad—it’s tender and something Harry’s never got to say before and homey and it makes his cheek hurt with a smile. Harry loves how it sounds.

But he isn’t meant for it. It’s how it is. Like how he will never have his parents back. How the sky is blue. It’s how it will be.

Yet. There’s a childish part of Harry that hopes so badly, hopes with all of his snitch-sized heart and rule-defying soul that Sirius accepts him and calls him ‘son’ and —

Maybe he should write a letter to Hermione. Or Ron. They’re good at family stuff, especially Ron. Harry wonders what his best friend would say if he asked: ‘Mate, what do you do when you feel like calling your godfather ‘dad’?

He probably wouldn’t know, nor Hermione, Harry thinks, chewing his morsel for far longer than he should, staring at his plate.

The thing is, the real thing that is behind it all, that Sirius is really, when you think of it for a good while, the perfect picture for the word ‘dad’. He’s the synonym of dad, really, and Harry’s sure that if he said it to whoever wrote dictionaries, the writer would most definitely agree and immediately jot it down next to ‘dad’ and congratulate him immensely for the insight. (In his mind, he looks like Cornelius Fudge.)

And that is why, when Sirius asks Harry in his gentle voice, eyes grey and kind, if something is wrong (because Harry has been quiet throughout dinner and Sirius is sure the curry tastes alright and there’s nothing wrong Sirius has said and he’s wracking his brain if today is a date kids should be morose on but he can’t handle Harry looking so sadly at his plate, like it’s broken his heart or something) that Harry blurts, “Can I call you dad?”

Sirius blinks.

His spoon clatters on the plate.

Harry’s mouth parts as he realises what he’s said and he inhales a sharp, stuttering breath.

Way to go there, Potter. “Er—I mean…”

He doesn’t know what he means except what he said and he knows that he shouldn’t have said it and there’s an expression (shock? surprise? dread?) drenching Sirius’ face and he needs to look away and down at his plate.

Shame burns in his throat, flaming his face and his heart twists.

Harry says, “I meant…” He has no idea what he can say that would rectify this situation. He stares at his orange-red curry, imagining his face is as red as it.

“Oh, Harry…” Sirius say, voice sounding... strange. He clears his throat. “I—of course you can. If you want to.”

Harry looks up so quickly his vision greys a little. “I can?”

“Yeah, you can.” Sirius’ hand flies to his smooth hair to smoothen it.

“Oh.”

He can’t believe it. Sirius smiles; a smile that makes him think of his parents’ wedding photos, that makes Harry believe in everything, including this.

Harry’s face splits into a wide wide grin. “Um, thank you… Dad!”

Sirius’ smile wobbles. “Come here, kid.” Sirius gets up and raises his arms, inviting Harry for a hug. Harry rushes forward, chair screeching, heart soaring in delight, and burrows himself in the tight hold of his godfather, and—dad.