Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all affiliates are not owned by regenengel3 and never shall be. Plot twists and bunny fluff... okay, I might claim that... in this story.

Summary: "I was an impulsive idiot, and it cost me everything. I'd give almost anything to go back and right my wrongs." "What would you give, Sirius Black, if given the chance?" time-traveler!Sirius fic. Stuck in Harry's head from the time he fell through the veil to the day Harry died, for good, Sirius did some serious growing up. When a mysterious voice asks him what he'd truly give to go back through time, his answer, and his actions, might just change the world.

A/N: Creative license taken and heavily used.

Chapter 1: Revelations

He saw the glee in her eyes as his cousin, his own cousin, blasted him through the veil. She had to know it meant death to fall through that ominous, strangely cold arch. He watched his godson as Bellatrix's spell pushed him from the realm of the living. Seeing the emotion – fearpainangerloss – on his precious godson's face was more painful than all his years in Azkaban. But, as the cold mist claimed him, he felt himself succumbing to peaceful acceptance. 'I just wish I could have watched my godson grow into the brilliant man I know he'll be,' Sirius thought as he slowly closed his eyes. All of this takes time to write, and read, but to Sirius it all happened in a moment. But a moment is all it ever takes, isn't it? The next time he opened his eyes, it was to a scream of pure pain, and rage. "YOU KILLED SIRIUS!" Harry screamed as Bellatrix cackled.

"I did! I killed Sirius Black, the little blood-traitor!" she sang. Sirius could feel Harry's anger like it was his own, could feel the quivering wand being brought up like it was him doing the action. But it couldn't be. He was dead. Unable to move, Sirius watched as Harry and his friends fought the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. He would have been proud of his boy, if he hadn't been wondering how he could be watching what he was, or feeling what he was for that matter. When Harry finally got back to Hogwarts and fell asleep, Sirius was released from whatever spell held him in place and he fell on his rump.

"What... what happened to me?" he asked the empty air around him. He didn't get an answer. Not that he expected it, but it would have been nice after years of unanswered questions. Being locked in a cell with barely any light and not even a newspaper to read left one with a lot of time to ask questions, and dementors weren't exactly known for giving answers. Looking around, Sirius noticed that he was in an ivory colored room with walls filled with vials of swirling white mist with a pedestal near the front holding what he thought to be a pensieve. With a jolt, Sirius realized that the vials contained memories. Walking to the back, he saw a vial labeled October 31, 1981. The day the Potters died. Face fearful, Sirius nonetheless picked up the vial and poured the memory into the pensieve. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Sirius plunged into the memory. What he saw was not what he expected. It was night, and James was waving his wife into Harry's room.

"Lily! Take Harry and run! I'll hold him off, you just run!" the dark haired, bespectacled, man told the flame haired woman. Lily looked close to tears as she darted into Harry's room and knelt by his crib.

"Harry, mummy loves you. Daddy loves you. We will always love you, but right now you need to be brave and quiet," Lilly whispered to her son. Sirius felt like his heart would break, listening to the final words Lilly said to her son. Then James' shouts and Voldy's insane laughter drifted into the room. Sirius watched, bile rising in his throat, as Voldemort murdered Lilly and James Potter and turned his wand on Harry. Little Harry was waving his tiny fists in the air, crying out over the horror he had just witnessed. Laughing madly, Voldemort said,

"Now, child of prophesy, you will die. Just like your filthy mudblood mother. Avada Kadavra!" Sirius glared at the snake faced idiot, feeling an almost sadistic glee as the Unforgivable bounced back on the so called Dark Lord. He watched little Harry cry himself to sleep, tears falling even then, until Hagrid carried the boy away. That was when he was forced out of the pensieve. He was pale faced and shivering, but he forced himself to replace the memory. He knew where he was now, and who's memories were lining the room. He was in Harry's mind-space. But how?

"The arch!" Sirius exclaimed. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. But he did know that he had been cast into the mind of his godson and now had the ability to witness his whole life. As long as the boy was asleep at least. He would never miss a day of that boy's life again. Not when he was a passenger in his head. Sighing, Sirius began watching Harry's life, one day at a time. Harry groaned as he woke. He felt like he'd just had a 'remedial potions' lesson with Snape that had somehow gotten at his oldest memories. With another groan, he pushed himself out of bed and went down to breakfast. Unknown to the boy, Sirius watched with a careful eye. The former convict knew he couldn't do anything from his position, but it didn't stop him from trying to urge the boy. Nothing he did seemed to matter though. And he knew his prying from the night before had hurt the boy. He just couldn't bring himself to care overly much. After a day of hardship in one form or another, Sirius went back to watching Harry's early life. How could Dumbledore have let all that happen? Did he know what Petunia and Vernon Dursley were like? He felt like Minerva might have spent a day or two scouting the couple out, and she would have reported to Albus her findings. That brought up a few questions. Did she scout them? Did she tell Albus? Did Albus hear her? Did he ignore her? Did he want Harry miserable? Sirius shook his head. His thoughts were headed down a slightly traitorous road. If there was one thing he would never be it was a traitor. He had been punished more than enough for a perceived betrayal. The dog amimagus only had time for the first week at the Dursley's before Harry woke. It was more than enough to have the man growling under his breath all through breakfast, what he had seen. Vernon was bad, Petunia was worse, but even Dudley, a child barely older than Harry himself, was the worst. That a child so close, by blood and birth, would bully another, and be praised for it, was unthinkable. And yet, it happened. No wonder Harry had issues. It was a wonder he didn't have more, if his whole 'home' life was like that. Or worse, as it was likely to get as Duddikins grew older, bigger, meaner, and stronger. That day, the day after Sirius had died, was just as rough as any normal day for an Auror, if not worse. How could children be so coarse? Sirius checked himself there. Hadn't he and James been just as rough as some of the kids Harry was having to deal with? It was a sobering thought. A sobering thought he shelved in his own 'mind-space' and would be content to forget forever. But thoughts never really leave, once they've been thought. They just become one of the tiny, not quite heard voices in the back of your mind. Sirius had a lot of those, and years of practice ignoring them. Too bad they always had a way of coming back.

/*/

Sirius quickly fell into a pattern of watching through Harry's eyes, failing to urge the boy, and raging at incompetent and biased teachers during the day and witnessing old memories at night. He marked the day he died with his wand, though he didn't know how he had the thing, so he didn't relive a day. Once was enough with the life of Harry Potter. Then again, there were a few good times. Like when Harry did accidental magic. Or rather, the accidental magic itself. The aftermath, meaning after the letter from the school or the call from a neighbor reached the Durselys, was enough to call forth the red haze that had landed Sirius in Azkaban. The monsters would beat the boy, call him a freak. Sirius was almost glad he was already dead. Almost. Then there were the times Harry would outwit someone. Sirius loved to watch his godson run verbal circles around someone. Too bad the Dursleys had to try squashing that out of the boy as well. When Sirius came out of the penseive the third time, he was glad that Harry was still at school. He might have tried to tell the boy to strangle his cousin if he were at 'home.' Somehow, Sirius made it the rest of the way through Harry's fifth year. Then came the summer 'vacation' at the Dursley's. After the first day, Sirius seriously regretted dying. 'If I had just had the good sense to stay home, to stay alive, I might have spared him another summer with these pigs!' The man snarled to himself. It only got worse from there. Abuse by day, abuse by night, all summer long had both man and boy exhausted and frustrated. What was taking Dumbledore so long? Harry should be out of there by now! But he wasn't. It was torture, but they both made it through, somehow. Again Sirius was struck by how strong Harry's mind was. The kid was entitled to his issues, and Sirius was pleasantly surprised Harry didn't have more. Sirius himself wouldn't have been able to bear the ridicule and abuse, in its multitude of forms, without turning out almost as bad as Voldemort. "Dumbledore, you have lot to answer for. You knew what Harry was going through and you did nothing." Sirius was beyond irritated. He was angry.

/*/

After the summer, Sirius growled his way through Harry's sixth year, wishing the boy would just stop moping. He hadn't died for Harry to drown in self-pity and misplaced guilt. And Dumbledore did next to nothing to help the lad. Sirius was growling enough during the day, but when it came to watching Harry's early life at night, Sirius was ready to tear someone limb form limb. Harry felt the rage as well, he just didn't know where it came from or what it was directed at. Curious as to why Harry had been antagonistic of Dumbledore the past year, Sirius skipped ahead to fifth year. He promptly began to swear six ways to Sunday at Albus Saint Dumbledore for turning away from Harry without so much as an 'I'm busy.' "Dumbledore, you just lost any shred of respect I ever had for you. May your judgment be swift, painful, and final," Sirius declared, just before the end of the year, eyes blazing. He had finished watching Harry's fifth year as an insubstantial by-stander and was beyond angry. He was livid and only being dead kept him from killing the old headmaster then and there. Then that day came. The day that Dumbledore was killed by his own spy. Sirius had screamed and ranted and raged and watched the memory over and over. Nothing changed. Dumbledore, the wizard of too many titles, names, and far too much power and influence, was dead. Snape, the slimy, greasy, slightly evil bat of the dungeons had killed Albus Dumbledore. Sirius could barely believe it. Sure he had wanted Dumbledore to pay but, that was pushing it. His only comfort was that his cousin Draco wasn't as dark as his family, and he himself, would like the world to believe. Harry mourned, and rubbed his head as Sirius' nighttime activities caused him to dream at least part of what he watched and had much the same affect as Snape's 'lessons'. The dog animagus returned to his previous point in Harry's childhood and felt his anger at Dumbledore mounting again, just as his loathing of the Dursleys increased to match the pure hatred of all thing Muggle that blood supremacists held.

/*/

Harry's seventh year came with more pain. Sirius was torn between boiling rage, warm pride, and cold terror the entire year, summer and on the run. It didn't matter. He was furious at Voldemort, proud of his little Prongslet, and terrified for the young wizard's life, as well as the lives of his friends. It lasted the whole year, all three emotions. What really surprised him was his reaction to Dobby the House Elf's death. Perhaps it was because of how deeply Harry cared for the elf? Yes, that must be it. But he did wonder if maybe he had thought of the elf as a friend as well. The surprises and attacks and what-not that occurred were staggered and severe enough that Sirius was sure, had he actually had a heart, it would be damaged quite badly by now. When Sirius saw Snape die from his old master's hand, at first he felt viscous joy. Then the horror of how the potions master died hit him and he felt like retching. When had he become so cruel as to wish that on someone, to feel joy when they bled out with nothing and no-one there to help them while their so-called master walked away admiring their wand? Then he watched as Harry watched Severus Snape's memories and felt shame unlike anything he ever had before. He fell to the 'floor' and nearly wept. How could he be so blind? How much had Snape been influenced by the Marauders? "We all have much to answer for, don't we? Snape... Severus... I may have loathed you, and you may have loathed me, and perhaps we were both to blame for how crippling that mutual loathing became and how long it dragged on. The Marauders may have even had a hand in pushing you to Voldemort's side, but this? For this, I wish you peace at long last." He shook his head. He was dwelling on it too much. He was learning about Harry, not Snape. But the seeds of doubt were sown, and once sown, they can never really die. Then it came. The day that Harry appeared to die in order to destroy the part of Voldemort's soul inside him. Sirius wondered why he was stuck in his godson's body. He got frantic, wondering if he'd be tied to the slowly decaying body of his godson, Prongs' son, forever. Then Harry returned. Sirius was hard pressed to find a happier event in his own miserable life than the moment Harry came back from the dead. Pride welled up in the old Gryffindor's chest as he watched the Battle of Hogwarts, though sadness threatened to destroy him at the same time. So many, many, good people lost in a single, bloody, destructive, chaotic, blinding battle. The Last Marauder was among the dead, along with the wife he had finally, finally, found. At least Harry was named Godfather of the precious little Moonlet. Sirius ran out of old memories by the time Harry was twenty-seven, so he relived the happiest, including the ones with him in them. When Harry woke from those nights, Sirius felt grief from the young man. Along with fondness and a longing so strong Sirius almost regretted pulling up his own memory. At times he thought of reliving memories from his own childhood through Harry's Mind Pensieve, but he dismissed those thoughts. It would do the boy no good to have the memories of another playing in his dreams. So Sirius watched, and waited, and reminded his all too weary godson just what he was living for on the nights when life had been rough. Mostly it was his new family with Ginny and his three perfect little Prongslets, though sometimes he pulled up Ron, Hermione, and the whole host of friends Harry had made. Sometimes, on the darkest of nights, Sirius would pull up memories of Remus pranking his dog animagus friend, or vise versa. Slowly, far too slowly, Harry healed. When it came time for the Boy-Who-Lived to finally die, of a ripe old age and with his three youngest, beautiful, grandchildren keeping vigil, Sirius took a moment to sit back and think on his life. As he looked over what he had done in life, he reviewed how his actions had affected those around him. All those thoughts he had shelved dusted themselves off, all those barely hear voices began to shout. Grimacing, Sirius sorted through the thoughts, the sound in his own head, and as he did, a revelation came to him. With a bitter sneer on his face, Sirius finally admitted something to himself he hadn't allowed himself to recognize, but should have ages ago. "I was an impulsive idiot, and it cost me everything. I'd give almost anything to go back and right my wrongs." As the words left Sirius' mouth, a wisp of sliver smoke appeared before him and a directionless, emotionless, and genderless voice spoke to him saying,

"What would you give, Sirius Black, if given the chance?" Sirius gave the mist, for there was nothing else he could really direct his burning gaze to, a determined glare.

"Anything but my family, my friends, my magic, and my memories." The Voice laughed.

"Anything but what shaped you the first time, huh?"

"Laugh if you wish, but as you said, that was what shaped me. Those four things are the four I wouldn't trade for anything," Sirius said, his eyes burning into the mist. The Voice laughed again, this time sounding fond.

"Of course, Mr. Black. As payment to return to the past and right your wrongs We require that you surrender your voice," the Voice said. Sirius nearly shouted out that they might as well take his magic, but he bit his tongue. He had said anything.

"If that is what it takes," he said resolutely. The mist seemed to jerk in surprise. Sirius gave it a grin. "What? Did you think I would refuse?" he asked.

"Well... We did expect you to object, at least a little," the Voice said, sounding a lot like James. Sirius' grin faltered slightly. "As taking your voice would interfere with your magic, we will take your sight and give you a scar."

"Fine... it wouldn't do to send me back unscathed if I kept my memories now would it? Though... I'd almost prefer you take my voice or all my looks than my sight. Being able to hear my friends, but not see them... it will hurt a lot," Sirius said, slightly forlorn. The mist wobbled slightly, as though it were unsure.

"You will have been in an accident that left you disfigured and with a limp. Also, you will have limited control over your left hand," the Voice said. Sirius nodded.

"All right then. I can live with scars, and find a way to work around a limp and a gimpy hand," he said, standing and reaching out to the mist. A tendril reached out and wrapped around his hand, which he then gave two firm shakes. The mist then formed into a hoop and a hospital room could be seen through it.

"Step through and lay on the bed. Your new memories will come slowly as you receive therapy and your body will be changed when you wake," the Voice said. Sirius gave a sharp nod and walked through the hoop and into the hospital. His clothes morphed into a hospital gown and he quickly got in bed. Sorting through his thoughts, analyzing his life, and bargaining for a second chance, no matter how quick that last one had been, had left him drained so thoroughly that he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The next day, his life would begin again, and he was determined to make it count.

/*/

"Sirius dear? It's mummy, dear. I've brought Regulus to see you," a familiar, yet still loathed, voice said with uncharacteristic concern and love. Sirius tried to pry his eyes open, but he just couldn't. He settled for twitching. "Sirius?!" his mother asked, hope daring to enter her voice.

"Mum?" he croaked. He heard her sigh in relief, though he couldn't fathom why the woman would be so glad to see he was still alive.

"Oh Sirius! When I heard about your accident I... oh Sirius!" Mrs. Black gushed, brushing his raven hair back from his forehead. He groaned.

"How," he paused and coughed, "how long have I... ?"

"You've been asleep for three days since that wild hypogryff attacked you son. I've been so worried!" his mother said. Sirius groaned.

"What date is it?" he asked, considering sitting up to stretch for the glass of water he was fairly certain sat on the bedside table. He decided against it. The bed felt far too comfortable.

"August 4, 1963," his mother, Walburga, told him. She was too overjoyed at seeing him alive and awake to wonder over his question. Of course, she could also have chalked it up to being disoriented after waking up from a three day coma. Which he was... aside from the coma part. He groaned again, then froze. 1963. He was only four years old, give or take.

"Wait... did you say Regulus?" he asked, trying to stop himself from freaking out over being four... and having a loving mother.

"Yes, dear. Here he is. Say hello to your reckless yet resilient older brother, Regulus," Walburga said, tugging at a small hand in hers, prompting an almost two year old Regulus Black from behind her legs. Okay, so maybe he didn't have a truly loving mother this time either. Oh well, he could deal with that. However, he thought that, with his greatly improved and much more adult mind, he could stay closer to his family and maybe help turn House Black's reputation around. Oh sure some of the older members of the family would be solidly stuck in their dark ways and curse him as a rebellious vagabond, but that was just something he'd have to live with until the Elders died and the newer generation took over. Change didn't always come over night and it was far far too much to hope that key people had died, got stuck in the head of an abused child, realized the error of their ways, then got sent back to right their wrongs. Add to those plans, he would definitely stay out of Azkaban this time. He shuddered slightly and looked at his little brother. It was odd seeing him as a toddler again, but Sirius also felt the need to protect him this time around, knowing what awaited the boy if not given proper guidance.

"Hello Reggie. How's my perfect little brother doing?" he said with such tender fondness it nearly surprised him. Regulus looked up at his big brother, now scarred across his left cheek as well as his arm. It was hard for the boy to recognize that the person speaking was, in fact, his older brother. Sirius grinned at the boy and let out a short bark of laughter. "Come on Reggie! I know I must look a sight, but you don't need to be scared of me. It's just a few scars," he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Oh how he had missed taunting his little brother! Regulus would later develop a dry, sarcastic manner, but it was matched by a wit that Sirius loved to combat with his own.

"Siri... awake?" Regulus said, almost like a question. Sirius felt his chest warm at the sound of his brother's voice. Since learning why his brother died, Sirius had been even sorrier that he hadn't known his brother all that well, and guilty that he had disliked his brother, even marginally. Saying you hate your family, in Sirius' case at least, meant quite a few people who didn't really deserve his hate. After all, he was related to almost half of Wizarding Britian.

"Yes, Reggie, I'm awake. Siri's awake, and will likely be ready to play in a few days. Do you want to play with Siri?" he said, shelving his contemplations over some of his more vicious statements from his previous life. Regulus smiled slightly, then nodded to his big brother. Sirius felt like his face would split. "Alright then! I can't wait to get out of here, when I get to play with my Reggie," he crowed, meaning every word. Walburga gave him a sharp look. "But I need to wait a few more days, just to make sure everything is okay, right mummy?" he added swiftly. Oh how he hated those looks his mother would give him. Mrs. Black smiled slightly and gave her son a nod, which nearly made the 'young boy' choke on the water he finally decided on drinking. 'Holy Hypogriffs! My mother actually knew how to smile?! Call the Prophet! We've got a front page story right here folks!' Sirius thought as he fought to get control of himself again. Luckily, he hadn't choked and none of the water had escaped his mouth, since he had taken a small sip. He didn't know what he'd do if his mother had seen how much her smile had effected him.

"Though why you've agreed before I even said a thing, I cannot fathom," she said, shaking her head, completely ignoring the plight of her eldest, if she even noticed. Sirius chuckled. He still had the Marauder ability to control his reactions. Nice.

"Guess you just finally gotten through to me, mum," he said, a mischievous glint in his clear gray eyes. Oh yes, he was very much a Marauder, even now. Walburga sighed and dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"I certainly hope something got through to you. I'll come back tomorrow dear." He smiled warmly up at her.

"I'll see you then, Mother. Take care now, Regulus. I fully expect to have a proper romp with you as soon as I get home," Sirius said to his little brother. Regulus gave Sirius a confused look before leaving with his mother. Sirius sighed and closed his eyes, tired by the contact with his mother and younger brother, who have both been dead for many years to his mind. He groaned, a headache of monumental proportions brewing. "I really hope tomorrow is better than today," he growled, sounding as close to his mental age as he possibly could with the body of a four year old. If only hopes and dreams could be granted so easily.

/*/

Sirius looked at the mirror the next day and could barely recognize himself. Pearl white scars stretched across his already pale face. He looked down at his left arm and saw how the scars went against the scars on his face, and a memory popped up. He had fallen and lifted his arm horizontally above his head, his face turned halfway to the ground, catching the claws of the hyopgriff across the broad part of his arm and down his cheek. It was only his arm being in the way that saved his eye. He lifted the gown above his right leg and saw the slightly diagonal scars where the claws had cut into his leg as he fled, cutting the hamstring above his knee. That scar would make it hard for him to bend his knee, but not as hard as it would have been had he been hamstrung the traditional way, across the back of the knee. He flexed his hand and felt a slight sense of loss as it barely responded at all. He glared at it, then hissed about The Mist, sighed, and looked back at the mirror. "You're still a rather handsome boy," the mirror said, responding to his questing gaze. He smirked.

"Think the girls will still be falling all over me in a few years?" he asked cheekily. After all, he was still Sirius Black. The mirror chuckled.

"Aye, that I do. A fine looking man you'll be, I don't doubt it," it said. Sirius gave it a softer smile, remembering looking in the mirror while being fitted for dress robes for his best friend's wedding. He still remembered how he had looked that day. Silky black hair falling to his shoulders in soft waves, a roughly triangular face, laughing silver-gray eyes, and dashing black robes with red and gold accents.

'Add the scars and that's how it will be this time. Only thing different will be the temperament. And not just of me,' Sirius thought, steeling himself for his self-appointed task. Or was it self-appointed? The Mist certainly didn't have to send him back. Perhaps it meant for him to change the world. He sighed, knowing that there was no way he could know the answer to that question, along with many others. He turned back to the mirror and gazed at the scars marring his face, committing them to memory and learning to love them. They were a part of him and there was nothing anyone could do to rid him of them. It was the price he paid for a second chance. He snorted and sat back on his bed, eyes listless and mind buzzing. There was so much he could do with this chance. He could be a better friend, a better brother, a better son, a better man. Could he even help Severus? Would he be able to keep Peter from going dark? If he were a better, more loving, brother, would Regulus live a better life? If he could be his own man and still honor his family, would he have a better relationship with his parents? Would James Potter still be his friend? Would he still want to be James' friend, if he wasn't as reckless? He shook his head. 'There will be time for those questions and worries later. For now, I just need to focus on getting better and perfecting my four-year-old act,' he told himself. The mediwitch came with his lunch and he thanked her cordially, making her smile and laugh at him. He smiled softly as she called him cute and ate his vegetables gladly, or as gladly as a four year old possibly could.

/*/

A/N: finally edited this chapter so that the paragraphing was better. Man, I really don't like what FF does to my formatting. Is it really that hard to keep the spacing the same? I mean, one space between each line of dialogue and two between each paragraph. Is that really too much to ask?