Author's Note: This can be read as a one-shot, though I may update it with further chapters. This is part of the "Life As We Knew It" Story. This chapter is during Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, so it is way farther along than the story is currently.

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(Sirius Black)

Sirius sat in the now dingy formal dining room of Grimmauld Place. It was incredible what a decade of neglect could do to a once grand and impeccably clean room. The massive solid silver chandelier was covered in cobwebs and layers of dust. The Order had taken to all eating in the kitchen – the place only the elves ever ate – rather than any of the house's dining rooms.

Even they can tell how stuffy and boring this room is, he thought to himself bitterly. He was sitting in his old seat at the table. The straight-backed chair felt oddly familiar – and yet, the life he'd once lived here was world's away. There was nothing left of that life now. He wasn't even sure why he'd found his way into this room and sat down; it held no happy memories for him. He supposed it was the bit of nostalgia he could still cling to of the person he once was. It was strange… he'd hated who he was almost his entire adolescence – perpetually the son who was never good enough - , and yet now he'd give anything to have that spirit back.

As he sat in that rigid ornate chair, he couldn't help but be flooded with the countless times he'd sat in it as a child and stared out at this same view – well, it was cleaner back then. Five years old, being told that a proper young gentleman always breaks off a small piece of his bread instead of biting into it. Ten years old, bobbing up and down with anticipation over going to Hogwarts for the first time – not knowing what lay ahead, both good and bad. Eleven years old, sitting there with no food in front of him, wondering why even his brother seemed not to be glad to see him home. Fourteen years old, telling his mother she could go fuck herself and throwing a piece of her favorite antique china set – food and all – across the room and into the wall. Twelve years old, and the Potter's coming over for a surprise dinner. Sirius grinned to himself, but it was short-lived. The pain of losing them – of losing James, was forever close to the surface. Twelve years of reliving the worst memories of his life in excruciatingly vivid detail did that to a person. Before he knew it there were tears in his eyes. James. James and his stupid grin, and being all exciting that he could have wine at dinner. He could almost hear James' laughter in his choked out a laugh that ended as a sob.

"Sirius?"

James? Sirius instantly looked up and around to the door. Harry. …Of course it's Harry. Not James. What was I thinking? But, he already knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing that happened to him every time he looked at Harry. He looked so very much like James, so much like James that Sirius thought the universe was just being cruel. Haven't I had enough? Yet, Sirius couldn't deny that he also sort of liked that Harry looked so much like James. In fact, he wished he could just stare at him…just listen to his voice…just let him pretend that Harry was James… just for a little while. Of course Sirius loved Harry… but not the way he loved James. Never the way he loved James… almost though. Harry was James… in a way. He was all that was left of him.

Harry reached a hand up and nervously ran it through his hair. He looked at the ground and dug one toe into the dust-covered oak floors. So much like James.

"Am I… er… interrupting?" he asked hesitantly. Sirius was brought back to his senses at this. Harry may look so much like James, even in his mannerisms, yet he was not so much like him in other ways. Sirius had learned that over the past two years. In many ways, Harry was so much more like Lily. Lily. James would have simply barged right in, oblivious that his sudden presence might ever be unwelcome by anyone.

"Not at all, Harry" Sirius said, shooting him a grin. Harry was by far his favorite person in the world – even more than Remus. "Come on in. Couldn't sleep?"

Harry was still in his pajamas; it had to be at least three in the morning. Sirius didn't know the time – he'd gotten used to having no sense of time in prison, and he had never really bothered to readjust back into the swing of it. Besides, it's not like he could ever sleep much.

Harry went up to the nearest empty chair and plopped into it beside Sirius.

"Yeah" Harry confessed with a grin. Merlin, it just killed him. It just killed him that Harry looked and sounded so much like James… that Sirius should have been there to raise him when his parents died… that Harry had had to grow up with those horrible relatives of Lily's instead of with the people who loved him. It nearly brought Sirius to guilty sobs whenever he saw him, despite how thrilled he was to finally be around Harry; yet, Sirius was careful to hide it.

Harry had no real idea. He had an idea of what he'd lost – parents that loved him, a godfather that spoiled him, Remus… But, he had no real memory of just how much he had truly lost. All that love, laughter, and happiness. All that hope for a bright future.

"That's alright," Sirius told him brightly. Harry deserved cheerfulness. "I'm happy for the company." Harry didn't respond, which was unusual seeing as he was typically quite social despite his lack of a proper upbringing. He was staring at the table, scratching at some of the caked-on dust with a few of his nails. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Sirius felt a pang of guilt even as he asked the question. It shouldn't be me. It should be James or Lily. Why should I get to help him? They deserved to be there for their son. They deserve to be here alive, not me. …I'll do my best. Merlin, Lily, I know you would have done a better job at this whole advice giving thing than me.

Harry looked up at him with those green eyes that stood out so fiercely, just the way Lily's always had.

"Yeah…" he said slowly. "It's just… well, I was just wondering… if maybe you could tell me more about my parents. What were they like? Remus only ever tells me the things he thinks I'll want to hear, but… I just want to know everything I can. You were my Dad's best friend. So, I was just hoping…" he trailed off, shrugging, and staring back at the table.

"Of course I'll tell you more about them, Harry" Sirius said, offering him a smile. Harry brightened up and grinned back.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me" Sirius said flatly. "You're their son. You should have been told so much more about them. They were such wonderful people, Harry. But, what d'you say we go to a room that's less dreary? I don't think I can spend much more time in here without going mental."

Harry chuckled and stood up with Sirius. Sirius led the way out of the room and down the long hall to a small corner room that Sirius hadn't spent much time in growing up – perhaps that was why he could stand to be in it. It was smaller than many of the others, and Molly Weasley had cleaned it out already, so it was mostly dust-free. There was an ornately carved white marble fireplace on one wall and two large leather arm chairs opposite it. The wall opposite the door was lined with three dark oak bookcases. Another reason Sirius was fond of that particular room was that there were no portraits in it – a rarity in his family's home.

Sirius waved his wand and the fireplace, as well as the candles mounted to the walls, lit up. The room was much brighter now. They crossed the circular green rug and sat down in the two armed chairs. Sirius waved his wand again and two mugs of tea appeared on the small round table between the chairs.

"Thanks" Harry said, picking his mug up with both hands. Sirius did the same, allowing the steam from the tea to rise over his face in a warm soothing mist.

"Are you hungry?" Sirius asked him.

"No, thank you."

Always so polite.

"I can have Kreacher make you whatever you want, you know. Treacle tart… popped corn… minced meat pie…"

"I'm really fine" Harry assured him. Sirius nodded.

"Alright. Do you have any specific questions about them or would you just like me to ramble?" Harry grinned.

"Just…what were they like? All I know is from Snape and Remus, and it isn't much."

Sirius chortled, "Take anything Snape's ever told you and shove it. He's a lying bigoted idiot. He's always hated James and I, and Remus for what he is. Your Dad saved his life once, and what does he do to repay him? Treat his only son like shit. Don't you listen to him, Harry. He didn't even really know James." Harry looked relieved. "I mean it, Harry. James – your father'd - be rolling over in his grave if he knew you were listening to one word of what that awful git says about him."

"Okay" Harry nodded.

"Good" Sirius said, trying to calm back down. He took a few deep breaths and then cracked a smirk as he saw that Harry was grinning at his heated reaction. "What?" Sirius asked him, knowing perfectly well what Harry found amusing. "Snivellus is a foul lying traitorous git. He used to be a death eater, Harry; and no one stops being a death eater. …Not entirely."

They'd kill anyone who tried to leave. He thought briefly of Regulus, but forced him quickly from his mind. Now wasn't the time to get upset over him. Not now when he had the chance to talk to Harry about James and Lily.

"Anyway, I digress" Sirius said, winking at Harry. "Your parents. Where do I even begin?" The question was very real. Sirius had no idea where to begin. He couldn't just tell Harry anything; he needed him to know how wonderful James and Lily were, and he couldn't risk telling him anything out of order that would make him think otherwise. Especially since Snape had already done his best to taint Harry's image of James.

But it wasn't just Snape that he had to think about – it was James and Lily themselves. There was so much to them – to who they were. How could he communicate all the intricacies of their personalities to Harry? How could he make him understand that when James said the words 'it'll all be okay' he made you believe him? How could he express how when Lily laughed it lit up the whole room?

How could he get across the feeling of all those sleepless nights laughing and exploring the castle when he could no longer remember what they had talked or joked about – only that they had been some of the best nights of his life? How could he make Harry understand what it felt like when James laughed and threw an arm over your shoulder, or when Lily tried to look stern and you just knew that she wanted to scold you but she couldn't keep from smiling?

How could he tell Harry that when he was born, it was the happiest day of James' and Lily's lives, and that they'd talked on endlessly about all the things they wanted to do with him and teach him, and how excited they were to watch him grow up?

"Your Dad used to fall asleep with his glasses on all the time" Sirius began.

He wasn't sure how that fact had come out first. Surely it was trivial. He could have told Harry about how brave James was – how he'd saved his worst enemy's life, how he'd been the one to support Remus first when they found out about his condition, how he'd given up on his dream of being a professional Quidditch player in order to join the Order, how James always cared about protecting others and doing what was right. Only he didn't start with any of that – because anyone could have told Harry those things. Sirius wanted Harry to know what it was like to really know them. To know the little things that no one else knew. The things he would have known if only he'd gotten to grow up with them. Because those things weren't trivial – not really – those little things were everything.

"He'd end up breaking them at least once a week, but luckily he got pretty great at 'repairo'." Sirius chuckled as the memories came back to him. "He used to try to hide it, because we kept making fun of him for forgetting to take them off. So he'd always try to fix them inside his bed curtains."

Harry was grinning.

"Your Dad was obsessed with Quidditch. He was the best flyer I've ever seen. But a lot of people could tell you that. What they can't tell you is that he used to draw Quidditch doodles all over everything. Tables, parchments, tests, essays, notes we'd send each other in class, nearly all of his letters. He'd stop writing to think and he'd just start doodling about Quidditch. So whenever we'd get a letter from him, or a note, it'd be covered in all these little snitches, and broomsticks, and goal posts. We'd have to write around his drawings, and Moony used to get so aggravated… because you see how he is; he likes everything to be neat and organized. And professors used to laugh because his essays would have all these drawings along the edges, and sometimes he'd like what he drew so much that he'd rip off the whole edge of his essay and tac it up onto our wall." Sirius let out a laugh. "I used to tell him that ripped pieces of parchment weren't art worthy of the wall. Oh, and he drew a stag into the corner table in the Gryffindor common room. It's probably still there. You should look for it. Back in our first year…

"Oh, and I will tell you this story. Our first year people had a really hard time accepting that the Black heir was in Gryffindor. My cousins, lovely people, spelled 'blood-traitor' across my forehead. Very original, I know." He added sarcastically as Harry looked horrified. "I refused to go to classes or leave the dormitory, so your Dad arranges this whole thing without telling me, and then he forces me to go down to breakfast. As soon as we get there he stands up on the bench and calls the whole hall to attention. …I wish I could remember everything he said." The dementors had eaten away at his happy memories for so long, it was a miracle he had any fragment of them left. "It was something witty about Gryffindor getting all the blood-traitors and then I looked around, and he'd managed to get nearly everyone in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff to charm on this little saying to their clothes in these gold letters. It was something brilliant and witty, and the whole day we had people coming up to us and telling him what a genius he was and apologizing to me. That was the kind of person your Dad was Harry."

Sirius paused to let that sink in. Harry was smiling at the thought of it.

"He used to sing in the shower. Loud as can be; he didn't care that his vocal chords had no business singing." Harry laughed. "He'd make up his own songs too. We'd go in there and he'd be washing his hair singing on about how he couldn't wait 'til after his Charms test so that he could fly on his broomstick, or how he hoped there'd be pasta at dinner that night.

"And he was a nester" Sirius added with emphasis. "He could never just sit down. He always took his time getting just right in his chair, or fixing his blankets just so. He was like that when he'd tuck you in too. He could never just put you down. He'd spend nearly ten minutes fluffing the pillows and smoothing the blankets, and tucking you in so that you were just the right amount of wrapped up.

"I used to drag him around to all these muggle shops with me. When we were kids, your grandparents took us. He knew that I loved them, but he hated shopping, so he'd just follow me around with his arms crossed in boredom and this huge frown on his face. But he knew that I loved going, so he always asked his Mum if she would take us when I visited. I would never have gotten to go otherwise.

"I used to wear his clothes all the time. My parents never let me buy anything Gryffindor, or anything particularly leisurely, so I'd always be borrowing his t-shirts, and his jumpers. We were about the same size. He'd pretend to get annoyed and say things like 'this is why I got you clothes for your birthday! Why are you wearing my Magpie's shirt!?'" Sirius laughed. "But, he didn't really mind."

"Were the Magpie's his favorite team?" Harry asked.

"Most of the time. He changed around depending on the statistics and who was on which team. He always decided his favorite on who he thought was the best rather than sticking with any particular team. He was constantly reading the statistics and the predictions, Harry. He had all these magazine subscriptions, and his parents would send them to him at school every month. He'd spend the whole month reading them over and over until the next issues, and then he'd pour over those.

"He was invited to play professionally after graduation in our seventh year. He'd finally gotten what he'd always wanted. But, he turned them down. He said…" Sirius paused for a moment, as he was suddenly getting upset. If only James had decided to play Quidditch. If he hadn't been in the Order, Voldemort would have thought it was Frank and Alice's son instead of Harry. But, if James had made any other choice but to defend what he thought was right, then he wouldn't have been James. "He planned to play professionally after the war ended. He said he couldn't play Quidditch while people around him were giving their lives to stop Voldemort. So he joined the Order instead."

There was silence for a moment between them. Sirius tried to lighten the mood again.

"Your Dad always had so much energy. He was the first up every morning, and he'd never want to go to bed. It'd be two in the morning and he'd be asking us to get up and go exploring with him under the cloak, or to plan a prank, or to play a game of snap. He'd say things like 'I want to get the full day in' and… 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'. Sirius didn't say he last part aloud, instead trailing off. He took a large gulp of tea to mask the fact that his eyes had started watering.

It was much easier for Harry to hear about him, and to talk about him. Harry hadn't known him.

"He really lived each day to the fullest" Sirius told Harry after he'd regained some of his self-control. "You should know that. While I spent my time being lazy, and Remus spent his time studying for things he'd never need to know, your Dad made sure that he enjoyed every day."

There was so much more that Sirius wanted to tell Harry about James. So much more that he needed to know. But there weren't words for such things. There weren't words to encompass someone's entire personality and life.

"Why don't I show you?" Sirius suggested, wondering why he had only thought of it now. "You're learning Occlumency, yes? You can cast the Legilimens spell on me, and I'll show you. If we had a pensieve, it'd be better, but I don't have one here, so it'll have to do. What d'you think?"

"Yeah" Harry said eagerly. Then, realizing that Sirius was offering to put himself in an extremely vulnerable position for him, he added, "I mean, if you're sure. We could always wait for a pensieve. Or you could just keep telling me about him. You don't have to-."

"It's alright, Harry. I don't mind. Just let my mind lead you to the memories. Don't go searching around for them yourself. Agreed?"

"Yes" Harry said, nodding. He was on the edge of his seat now; Sirius could see how eager Harry was. Sirius chuckled, though he was a little nervous to give Harry access to his mind. There was so much he didn't want him to see. His parents dead on the floor being just one of the main ones.

"It's very important, Harry. There are things I've seen that you don't want to see. You've got to keep your mind fluid and let me guide you. Usually with Legilimency it's the other way around, but not this time. Okay?"

"I understand" said Harry, and Sirius could see from the way that his face darkened a little, that he knew what Sirius was warning about.

"Okay." Sirius sat back in his chair, bracing himself mentally. "Oh, and don't tell Molly. She'd have a kanipshin. … Or Remus for that matter."

Harry grinned.

"No need to tell me that. I know."

"Alright. Go ahead, Harry." Sirius shut his eyes and prepared his mind. He focused on a few happy memories that would be good to show Harry, and then waited.

"Legilimens" Harry said. Nothing happened.

"Make sure you make it a small counterclockwise circle when you do it" Sirius said without opening his eyes.

"Okay" Harry said, sounding determined. "Legilimens."