It's been too long but I got something out!

Harry stared at the man he had only known for a few hours yet had revealed the very thing he didn't realize he desired to know.

This new information, to hear how it was he had come into the Dursley's care, that someone had tried to avenge his parents…

The sound of the chair scraping against the tile echoed throughout the room as Harry moved, pacing around the kitchen as he tried to gather his thoughts, glancing back to Sirius before running his hand through his messy hair.

It was Dumbledore that had left him at the Dursley's. Dumbledore! The age-old anger resurfaced at finally knowing the truth and he had to pause as searing pain emitted from the mark on his neck that was still covered. Hand clapping against it, as if it would help dull the pain.

Sirius, who had been following Harry's movements intently, immediately noticed the change and was at his godson's side, removing the bandages against heavy protest.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the hate and disgust he knew would cross his face when he finally looked upon what a mistake he was, how messed up and damaged his godson was.

Sirius' hands were cold to the touch as they gently unwrapped the bandages, pale face becoming even paler as the blackness of a mark slowly revealed itself. It didn't take a genius to connect who the mark belonged to and who had likely placed it on his little godson.

"Merlin," his voice shook at the weight of this knowledge. He had been unable to protect his godson, the most important person in his life. He thought by breaking out of prison, he could protect Harry but it seems that he was too late. Why was he always too late to save those he loved?!

Harry's head shot up at the shakiness in the other's voice, eyes widening in disbelief that Sirius wasn't pushing him away.

Green met grey, "We'll fix this," the scratchy voice assured the younger who tried so hard to keep a blank face, to not get his hopes up. It was a valiant effort that failed at the sincerity of the man in front of him. All Harry could do in response was nod his head in broken relief as Sirius pulled him into his tight embrace and Harry thought for a moment Sirius believed he could put all the broken pieces together with the strength of his embrace alone.

This time he wouldn't fail. He would be there for Harry and make sure nothing ever happened to him again.

Depending on who you asked, some people would be surprised to know that Sirius Black was well versed in dark magic. Those were the people who knew him in passing from his Hogwarts days where he declared war on anything Dark, including his family. But it was precisely that reason he knew so much about the dark arts. His family was old magic, believers in the old ways and had raised him in such beliefs.

It was from this alone, he knew there may be something helpful in the family library which is where you could frequently find both the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place as they worked to clean out the decade of disuse and decay.

Harry had pulled out a book at random the first day cleaning, flicking carelessly through the pages, seeing if anything caught his eye. It was a picture that gave him pause and swiftly flip back to the page, almost cutting open his fingers in his haste.

He was equal parts horrified and transfixed in what his eyes devoured. He had known there would be some questionable books and artifacts in this house, knowing the history of the Black Family but it was a completely different sensation when actually confronted with how dark some of the subjects were this library held. The book in his hand detailed gruesome rituals that had been outlawed for centuries and were probably forgotten about by the rest of the world. He felt a jolt of desire at this realization, the Ravenclaw in him awakening at this accessibility to forgotten knowledge.

When he showed the book to Sirius and inquired if all the books were of similar nature, the man only shrugged and told him the Black's had always considered themselves above the law and the home had been in the family for centuries, accumulating wealth and knowledge as time went on with each generation. It was hard to say what exactly was in this library anymore.

It was a few days later when Sirius decided to broach the topic that had lead to him breaking out of Azkaban.

"Was she your friend?"

Harry paused in his browsing of book titles, contemplating if he should answer. He hadn't spoken her name since leaving Hogwarts, hadn't talked to anyone about what had happened. But Sirius was showing he wasn't like the other adults. He was making the effort that had been lacking his entire life. So he answered without turning around.

"Yes."

How could words describe just what Ginny meant to him? How she had saved him in more ways than one? Taught him that it was okay to open yourself up to others? Taught him to laugh and smile? To be a kid?

It turns out, he didn't need to say all that for Sirius to understand the weight of that one word.

"Not a day goes by that I don't miss Jams and Lily."

Harry doesn't respond. He's intelligent enough to realize what Sirius is trying to do and if he's stubborn enough, the subject may just drop itself.

"I'm haunted by my actions and know I'm responsible for their deaths. I couldn't even avenge them properly; Pettigrew's still out there."

Did he know? Did he know what happened in the Chamber or was he truly speaking from experience? It was like listening to a parallel version of himself as an adult.

He was learning there were layers to Sirius Black that were slowly being peeled back just as he began to look more and more human as he gained weight and regular sleep.

All his life, people had told him to be grateful, that things could be worse, that he was lucky, that they understood his pain. But it was all a lie. Things adults told him to make themselves feel like they were doing something so they could sleep peacefully at night. It was placating lie after lie. He had thought coming to Hogwarts would stop this cycle but the professors were all the same. Not asking questions, ignoring the obvious, hiding behind the façade that everything was okay so they could think better of themselves. They could tell themselves that they had tried to help poor orphan Harry Potter. It was the same act over and over.

But Sirius was different. He knew – Harry knew he knew – his dark past and he didn't stop there. He wanted to help and worst of all, he understood. He took him as he was and wanted him.

"It's my fault she was there that night. I could've gone to a professor sooner and stopped all of it. I just, I thought he was my friend." Harry rested his hand on the worn pages of the book in front of him, trying to will away the images of that night, explaining his feelings as detached as possible. "I couldn't save her, she died because I wasn't strong enough. And sometimes, sometimes I wish Fawkes had left the Basilisk venom kill me."

A tattooed hand met his and Harry followed the markings until they disappeared under moth-eaten sleeves.

"And then all their sacrifices would have been for nothing. The ones we love never truly leave us," the hand moved to his chest, right over his heart and Harry felt it skip a beat, "They're here. If you ever think you're alone, remember that and they'll be with you, always."

His lips trembled and he swallowed down the cries that wanted to escape.

"None of it was your fault. You're just a kid, the professors should've protected you. Dumbledore should've protected you."

Harry finally met Sirius' gaze, pale cheeks pushed back as his face contorted in anguish at those words. It was the first time someone had told him that, that the world wasn't on his shoulders. That he didn't have to always be the one fighting.

He fell into the embrace that was becoming increasingly familiar and the tattooed hand brushed up his neck until it made contact with his head of wild hair, gently cradling it as he brought it to rest against his chest, caressing it in soothing motions.

Sirius knew the consequences of keeping these feelings buried and he didn't want Harry to experience that kind of hurt. He didn't want Harry to turn into him, the shell of a broken man.

The fire spits and crackles in the background, the only light in the dark house of his ancestors, providing no warmth to the two occupants. It was suffocating being back here where his life had been nothing but hell for sixteen years. It was a necessity, it was only temporary.

"Filthy blood traitors! Dishonouring the memory of Kreacher's poor mistress. Worthless son returning after breaking mistress' heart. Scum, filth…Kreacher does not want to serve him but Kreacher must. Kreacher lives to serve the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black," the furious mumbling echoed through the room from the open door. "Harry Potter, vanquisher of the Dark Lord, spawn of blood traitors and Mudbloods."

"Kreacher!" Sirius roared as he moved away from Harry, intent on killing the damned house-elf once and for all – except, he couldn't move! Looking down at what was obstructing him, Sirius found Harry's hands in an iron grip, tangled in his shirt.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Sirius forced himself to relax. He couldn't run forward without thinking anymore, not when that was the reason they were in this situation in the first place. He had to be rational. He had someone who depended on him now.

But could he really do this? He had never been good at the emotional stuff. That had always been Remus. Kind, compassionate, patient Mooney.

The mutterings of the mad house-elf faded as he continued his haunt elsewhere for the time being.

"Did you know, I ran away from here when I was 16? One night, I had enough and I just left." Merlin, he remembered that night like it was yesterday. "There was one place I was always welcome…your dad's. Your grandparents became like parents to me and I went back every summer until we graduated."

Sirius felt movement as Harry pushed himself away and releasing his grip, awkwardly trying to compose himself so he could listen to the story, wanting to hear everything he could about the people he knew nothing about.

The light still flickered from the fire but finally, the warmth began to seep into their bodies and for the first time in decades, laughter filtered through the empty spaces of Grimmauld Place, bringing back echoes of two little boys tucked away late at night, the younger collapsed into muffled giggles as the older looked on in triumph. But those were ghosts long buried to the cruel reality of their world, a world that was not kind to children.

There was an ease about them now, Harry was still hesitant but he could see the cracks forming.

With the knowledge that the Ministry couldn't track magic done under this roof, Harry took to that greedily. The few weeks of being unable to perform any magic having created an itch that he desperately wanted to scratch.

He had every spell he had learned the last two years at the tip of his tongue ready to use. Cleaning the house, making it habitable was a momentous task and he was ready to help in any way he could.

Harry looked to Sirius when he performed his first grey – dark-leaning – spell to removes a horde of doxies that had moved into one of the studies. He waited for a reaction, preparing himself for the worst…but all he received was a raised eyebrow before the man continued on with the task at hand.

Harry took that for the acceptance it was and continued with his spell work, a noticeable smile lighting up his eyes as another barrier was taken down. Every day that went by, he became surer and surer he had made the correct decision to take his godfather's hand.

Sirius was amazed at how advanced Harry was, knowing spells from fifth and sixth-year curriculums. Lily had always been intelligent and James never bothered applying himself in school so it wasn't too much of a shock that their son was a hardworking genius. Then, there was the fact he was in Ravenclaw.

Harry only shrugged awkwardly, "I like to read."

Which wasn't a lie but it also wasn't the full truth as Riddle had taught him many of these spells. He didn't want to think about that now, didn't want to think about him.

Sirius took the flow of the conversation to learn more about Harry.

"What else d'you like to do?"

It gave Harry pause, taking him away from those thoughts and he began to think about what it was he liked to do. He hadn't been able to do what he liked for years so he never really figured it out but he felt like he was slowly beginning to find himself. There was one thing he didn't have to think about before spitting it out with a face-splitting smile, "Quidditch!"

Sirius shared his energy and probably doubled it when he learned that Harry was a Seeker and demanded to be regaled with play-by-play of each of his games.

The day dissolved into the sharing of Quidditch stories where for every game Harry told, Sirius would recreate one of his father's until Harry had none left and listened intently, captivated, to all the games Sirius remembered.

He felt warm and light at all this new information, confirmation that he was more alike to his parents than he ever knew.