'lo! hope y'all had a good week because mine was pretty terrible lol

heads up, this one has mentions of child neglect, nothing graphic but ykno. i also like my characters to be super physically affectionate, even (and esp) in platonic dynamics, so if ur bothered by that pls check out thx.

other than that, this one's….all over the place and has a little bit of everything lol some of u did manage to guess the tattoo so i hope i did this justice for u!

final chapter will be up tomorrow because it's tiny and meant to cut through the intensity of this one.

i hope you enjoy this :")

Bugger. Fuck. Shitting bollocks.

Harry's thoughts rather resembled that of an angry sailor right about now but he couldn't be arsed to care about stuff like that when his godfather was downstairs, probably having figured out everything that had gone through Harry's mind in the last few hours (because he was omniscient like that. Atleast when it came to Harry), and now wanted to have a conversation about it. Why else would he put on a kettle when he didn't even care for tea that much?

And it's not like Harry thought something—unpleasant was about to happen. He trusted Sirius. No. He just—he didn't even know why he was so bothered about this. He wasn't ashamed. He didn't think Sirius would scold him for making such a rash decision. And he definitely wasn't scared of his godfather, heaven forbid no. Sirius had never done anything to make him feel so, and he wasn't about to insult him (even in the privacy of his mind) by going there.

No, this was—something deeper, that he didn't particularly want to examine. His first tattoo, and the subsequent one, were intensely personal to him. They were his—anchors. There were times in those two years from hell where it felt like the only thing tethering him to reality was the ink on his body (not unlike how his godfather had made him feel, when he was…still there), and Harry hadn't ever—he hasn't done this before. Sure, Hermione and the Weasleys and a few assorted others know he has tattoos, but they also knew he never talked about them, clammed up tight whenever anyone asked anything. He…couldn't. It had been bad enough when Hermione had accidentally glimpsed one when she'd barged into the boys dorms one day in sixth year like she was wont to do. He hadn't even meant for anyone to know, had gotten by hiding it from the others in the room, but Hermione. She had eyes of a hawk, she did. She'd instantly zeroed in on his shoulder and after a moment of stunned silence, instantly started berating him. Harry still remembers her words all these years later, the sting of it dulled but never completely gone.

"Oh, I can't believe you'd be so stupid, Harry!"

Harry, who had been up half the night with nightmares at that point, was too out of it to realise what she was talking about at first.

"Huh?"

"That-that thing on your back, Harry James."

At that, Harry's eyes had shot open. He hadn't wanted anyone to know about that. It was—his thing. Thankfully, the way he was lying down, Hermione (and the others who'd crawled curiously out of their beds at the commotion) could only see a partial glimpse of it. Thank lord for small mercies. Harry's skin was already itching at this violation of his privacy, he didn't know what he'd have done if they'd seen the whole thing. Set something on fire, probably, with the way his magic was simmering lowly under his skin, gently rearing up in defence.

"Hermione. Leave. It. Alone." He could tell he'd shocked her. Harry wasn't one to speak like that, with ice coating his syllables, and green eyes turned flinty. But this was—he wouldn't budge on this.

"But Harry—I was j—why-," she'd only spluttered and Harry knew, even then, that if he'd just showed her what he'd gotten, she would have let it go. She might not think things through in her haste sometimes, but her heart was in the right place. She'd fumble through an apology, not quite able to contain her disapproval still, but at least she'd back down. But he didn't want to do that, didn't want to expose himself like that. Even (and especially) after his death, Harry was extremely possessive of anything to do with Sirius, and his grief—his mourning came under that banner. He wasn't willing to part with that, not for something like this. So he didn't.

It had ended up turning into one of the worst fights they'd ever had, neither willing to bow down, both self righteous and stubborn in equal measures. Harry wasn't willing to confide in her, not budging a single inch, and Hermione couldn't let go of that fact, nor that he'd done something as reckless as get an underage tattoo from Christ knows where, Harry, honestly, have you any sense?

Harry had bit his lip to the point of bleeding to keep from shouting at her, telling her that maybe, maybe if he'd had even a speck of support from his friends, if he hadn't been abandoned like a misbehaving dog after one of the most traumatising experiences of his life (and wasn't that saying something?) then he wouldn't have found comfort in mutilating himself. That while she was happily skiing in Switzerland with her parents, he was half starving and delirious from lack of sleep because he saw Sirius falling through the veil every single time he closed his goddamned eyes. He saw the very moment he led to his godfather's death on repeat without a way to escape.

He didn't say it, of course. He knew what would've happened if he had. She would've immediately fallen silent, her eyes filled up with tears, a pitying 'Oh Harry' on her lips. With how uncharitable Harry had been feeling towards her in that moment, he would've sooner walked past her than forgiven her, he knows. Because it wouldn't have changed anything. Hermione would still have had the time of her life on a summer trip, Ron still would've spent the entire time cozied up with his family, and Harry. Well. Nothing much to say there, huh?

So he just…didn't. Things remained frosty for some weeks, only becoming worse with the potions book debacle, but they ultimately weathered it as they did everything else. The only other change was that his entire dorm and the Weasley clan knew he had something inked on his shoulder that he wasn't willing to talk about. At least it spared him from going through that nightmare more than once (even though Mrs. Weasley had tried to corner him one weekend at the Burrow but, thankfully for her and her flower garden, George had taken one look at his face and stepped in with a brutal but efficient distraction- fireworks).

Anyway.That's what it was about. The vulnerability of talking about something as intimate as this. And talk about he would. Harry knew he would take one look at Sirius and cave, not because he didn't know how to give him his space but because he did. Sirius very rarely asked him for anything, and certainly not something that would make him uncomfortable. In fact, Harry was sure that he didn't even think this would be an issue, which is probably why he brought it up the way he did. He was probably thinking that Harry's first tattoo was something along the lines of a drunk dare- embarrassing, ill thought out, and placed in an awkward position. He couldn't blame him for that, either.

Harry inhaled a deep breath, trying to center himself. Even though he was wearing a T-shirt, his fingers still trailed to his shoulder, where he traced a familiar pattern. He'd done this so often by now that he didn't even need the tactile sensation. Slowly, he could feel his mind slowing down. This was Sirius. He'd cried in the man's lap, for Christ's sake. This didn't even have to be that hard.

With a decisive nod, Harry went downstairs, where Sirius was just finished pouring out two cups of tea, teeth worrying his lower lip as his eyes kept straying to the staircase. His eyebrows raised in surprise, he really thought he'd been panicking up there for much longer than that but guess not, huh?

He made his way over to Sirius, lightly pecking him on the cheek to tell him he was fine and to not be such a worrywart (never mind he'd just got done with his own little freak out session), took his black-flecked-with-grey coloured specialty mug, and sat down on his usual place on the counter.

Sirius, on the other hand, had both his hands wrapped around his own boring blue mug, leaning back against the kitchen island, looking much more relaxed. Harry smiled, a little smug, knowing physical touch worked to calm him down better than almost anything else.

"So," he spoke up after taking a sip.

"Not exactly your first tattoo then, huh, pup?" Sirius teased softly, gently, as if he was a spooked animal. And maybe he was. Because even though Harry knew what was coming, he still froze with his eyes fixed on the steaming mug.

"You know I won't—I'm not mad, Harry." Sirius sounded sad, and a little unsure, not like himself at all.

"I know that," his own voice was small, a little quiver at the end and Harry hated this. Hated the way his body betrayed him at the worst times. How he was making such a big deal out of nothing. He scowled at himself and straightened up. This had gone on long enough.

"I really didn't mean to hide it, Siri." He looked into his godfather's eyes for the first time since they'd gone to the tattoo parlour. His grey eyes were full of love and affection, and Harry almost shuddered at the intensity in his gaze (he still wasn't—used to it, being loved so freely, openly)

"I just—it's been so long since I got it, and the whole year after the War was so chaotic, and then you came back and really, it wasn't even on my list of priorities to talk to you about because I was just so fucking happy that you were here that a tattoo meant nothing. Why would I need it when I had the real thing with me? And then it just completely slipped my mind until you brought up this whole thing, and then I felt really guilty because you were just—so excited and how could I ruin that and—"

Abruptly, a hand covered his mouth, forcing him to stop rambling. Incidentally, it also made him realise that he was quite desperately in need of a breath. He took one and instantly felt much better. Wow. The wonders of oxygen, huh? Who knew.

"Good, take a few more of those, they're vital to survival, I hear," Sirius commented dryly, and Harry smiled at him sheepishly when he took his hand away. His free hand went up to push his hair back as he concentrated on breathing properly.

"Okay, I'm good— yes, Sirius, I am. Really— I was saying. You were so excited, talking all about how you wanted to be there for my first tattoo and how you'd been looking forward to this for so long, and Sirius, you tell me, how could I have just broken your heart like that?" Harry asked almost accusingly. He wasn't a monster, there had been nothing else for him to do but go along with the whole thing.

Sirius pursed his lips, like he knew Harry was right but he didn't like it, before sighing, "For my part, I'm sorry I put you on the spot like that, Harry. That wasn't cool of me."

Harry waved the apology away, "I'm not. I've been wanting to get this for a while and I really am glad you were there , Siri. You're not the only one who wants to share these experiences, you know?"

Grey eyes warmed as they looked him over. Harry could see the question in them, hesitant but curious. He went back to sipping his tea, deciding Sirius would ask when he'd made up his mind.

He was proven right a couple minutes later when a low 'Harry?' came his way. He titled his head in response.

"You said—just now, why would I need it when I had the real thing with me? What—uh, what did you mean by that?" Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting that a question like that, nor did he remember saying it either. He thought back to the (slightly) embarrassing word vomit episode and huh, he did, didn't he? Well, that made this way more convenient.

"I'll just show you," he hopped off the counter, placing his now-empty mug in the sink, "It'll be easier that way, I think."

Sirius just stood there, both eyebrows raised, as he looked at Harry take off his t-shirt, carefully avoiding his tender forearm. When he was done, he was left in his boxers (pulled up a little higher than usual to cover the other one, even if it normally remained Glamored). Throwing him a quick smile, he turned around and fully displayed his tattoo to another person for the first time ever.

He knew Sirius had seen it (not that it was hard to spot with the way it took up a good chunk of space on his back.) when he heard a sharp intake of breath, closing his eyes when he felt a soft touch against his skin. Just the barest hint of pressure, almost as if he was afraid. Harry took a shuddering breath when fingers traced the raised lines, similar to the way he himself had done thousands of times.

He'd never thought that he could have this—never let himself hope for it. Sirius being back, alive and healthy and his. There were times when Harry was still bowled over by that thought. After his godfather's death, he'd crashed farther than he ever had before. It didn't seem like things could get any better (or even, worse, frankly speaking. What was death when life felt this hollow?) and even after the War was over, after he'd defeated that monster, it always felt like something was missing within him. Harry was convinced that he'd get have to go through life always feeling a little…off, a little broken.

But then Sirius came back to him. Fell right out of that Veil on a sunny spring afternoon, wand clutched in his hand and a scowl on his face, as if he hadn't aged a day, as if he was still in a battle against Bellatrix. And here they were now, in the kitchen of the house they lived in together, one of his godfather's hands on his shoulder- fingers wrapped around his collarbone, thumb digging into bare skin- and the other touching the tattoo that was essentially him. His touch was so soft, as if Harry would shatter if he dared press any harder. (He wasn't used to being treated like this, like he was fragile)

Harry couldn't have stopped the tear that trickled down his cheek if he'd wanted to.

Sirius didn't really expect Harry to go straight for the show-and-tell, if he was being honest but he wasn't exactly complaining. He'd been really curious about what kind of a tattoo Harry would get (and why, even). Half of him thought it could be something stupid for a dare. He knew how crazy Hogwarts and its parties could get, after all. Another part of him couldn't imagine Harry doing something like that (he immediately shut down the voice in his head that said 'not like you were ever around to know him that well, huh?). He'd wondered sometimes, what Harry's first tattoo would be (if he'd even show an interest in getting one). Of course, he also imagined being right beside him helping him decide, imparting his own wisdom from years of experience. Maybe Harry would have gone for something small, easing into the pain and novelty. A snitch, perhaps? First ink should always be meaningful, Sirius would have told him (his fondness for the Potter Crest is unmatched still), and if he was lucky, Harry would've followed his advice.

What he saw was nothing like a small snitch. (Although it was certainly sentimental, he thought semi-hysterically)

Sirius couldn't help his reaction- his breath caught at seeing the huge, realistic Grim taking up the entire upper right side of Harry's back, touching his shoulder. The dog was sitting on its hind legs, head raised, jaw open as if mid-howl. The work was impeccable, no doubt about that, smaller details like shadows and fine hairs inked just as meticulously as the animal itself. And as Sirius stepped closer, he could see—

Eyes suddenly stinging, he raised trembling fingers to the Canis Major etched into the night sky behind the Grim.

His immediately flashed to a day almost three decades earlier when another Potter stood in front of him, back bared, and a similar tattoo etched on his skin. Just as permanent.

Distantly, numbly, Sirius wondered what he'd ever done in a previous life (for it certainly couldn't be this one) to deserve people like this.

"Harry," he exhaled shakily. He didn't—he couldn't find the words. He wanted to tell Harry everything. How proud he was of him, how fucking sorry he was for constantly leaving him behind, how he never wanted to go, how much he lovedhim. He wanted him to know how very much like his Merlin damned father he was, who was equally stubborn and had done the same thing to himself (Sirius hadn't understood how anyone could ever want something that—damning on their body then, and he couldn't now). He wanted to break down at how abruptly he was reminded of James whose absence still felt like a gaping wound in his chest. A part of Sirius had died that day with his brother, and the pain was—it never went away.

He wanted to say all that but in that moment, he couldn't utter a single word. His mind was blank.

Harry bowed his head but didn't turn. In a way, Sirius was glad because he didn't want his godson to see him like this, when he felt so raw—like an exposed nerve. He didn't even want to imagine what his face looked like right then.

"After you were—gone," his voice was suspiciously thick and Sirius wanted to do nothing more than hold him tight and tell him he didn't have to talk about this but he couldn't, it felt like his tongue was stuck to his roof, and he could only listen dumbly, "I was—it wasn't good. They sent me back to the Dursleys. Dumbledore had just dropped the-the news on me, that I'd have to defeat Voldemort or die trying. He didn't even—you weren't gone an hour, Sirius, and he was telling me I was to lead a war that was older than I was." Harry took a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly. Sirius' hand, that had been on his shoulder, slid down to wrap around his waist, trying to offer some form of comfort. He pulled Harry tight against him, forehead pressed just to the left of the tattoo. Harry was tense in his arms only for a second because he relaxed, almost melting into him, one of his own arms holding onto Sirius' tightly.

After a moment, he continued, "It was the same shitty deal as the previous year. No contact, no mail, nothing. I was—I had nightmares every night. I couldn't make any noise so my knuckles were always bloody from biting down onto my fist. I didn't have anyone to talk to, not a single person who asked me if I was okay. I was—going insane, Siri. I couldn't—it was bad enough you were gone, but having the knowledge of the prophecy on my head while I was stuck in that hellhole? I couldn't take it."

Sirius couldn't either. Hearing the way his godson had been treated, the anguish in his voice, the picture he painted- Sirius felt that familiar rage rising inside him, the one he'd kept constantly suppressed the first time around- when he'd escaped Azakaban only to find a skinny, malnourished boy running away from his own house; when he wasn't allowed to see his own godson; when he couldn't protect him from a single merlindamned thing, unable to fulfill the one purpose he had in life. This rage—it didn't have an outlet, the worst of the lot was dead and the others, Harry had clearly dealt with since he was on good terms with them. Once again, Sirius was a man out of his time, and he felt out of control for it. He didn't know what to do.

Suddenly, Sirius was aware of the taste of salt on his tongue, and he startled at the realisation that he was crying. He stared blankly at the moisture beading on the dark skin in front of him.

He knew Harry could feel it -the tears hadn't stopped just because he opened his eyes- but he didn't turn still. Sirius realised he was trying to finish what he was trying to say, that he didn't want to do this looking at him face to face and Sirius could relate. It was hard enough just hearing it, if he could see the trauma in Harry's expressive green eyes? Hell, he didn't know if he could do it and he was just the one uselessly listening in this situation.

"I was—so lonely, and hurting. Everything was a mess. So instead of doing something rash- well," Harry amended with a short laugh, "- something even more rash- I decided to, y'know, get a tattoo. Simple, to the point, not that dangerous in the larger scheme of things. I had some muggle money stashed over the years, and I'd heard Dudley talking to his friends enough times to know there was someone not too far away who was willing to ink anyone who could pay for it, no other criteria. So I uh—I snuck out one day. Used the Invisibility Cloak and all because I didn't know if the Order had a guard on me at the time. I found Jen who really didn't care about my age or that I looked like a crack addict at the time, and well," he ended with a flourish of his hands, not that Sirius could see it all that well with how he still had his face pressed into Harry's back but he could feel the movement.

No one said anything for a few minutes. Harry had talked too much, and Sirius not at all. It was—his turn, in a way. But what do you say to your godson after they revealed something like that? How do you make up for all that injustice and trauma years after the fact? What comfort can you provide, even?

But he had to, didn't he? Harry had basically offered him his heart on a platter here. Sirius could see how vulnerable he was making himself and even if he felt like he didn't deserve it (and he didn't. he would never be good enough for Harry), he would die rather than make him feel—unwanted.

"Harry, baby, I-," he tried, before shutting his mouth. Wait. There was something he could do. It was so long ago he'd almost forgotten about it, but it hit him like a Bludger now.

With renewed fervour, he used his hand to turn Harry around so they were facing each other instead and took a step back. Just enough so they weren't pressed chest to chest, and he could look at his godson.

His green eyes were bright and glistening and he immediately zeroed in on the tear tracks on his cheeks and without even thinking, cupped Harry's face to wipe them away. He tried for a somewhat shaky smile, which was returned.

"I—there's something I would like you to see," Sirius told him before stepping even further back so he had just enough space to pull up the jumper he was wearing, holding it to his armpit on one side.

He smiled at the confusion on Harry's face, before taking his hand and placing it on his rib cage, around where the elbow meets the flank, the little area usually hidden under his arm.

"Sirius, what—?"

"When you were born," Sirius explained, "I was—awestruck. You were the most precious thing I'd ever seen in my life. And being your godfather was, it was such an honour, pup. I wasn't—I never wanted kids, I was sure I'd fuck them up. No one deserved to be saddled with someone like me. But I looked at you and," he broke off then, unable to find the words for how he felt all those years ago. When he held this tiny bundle wrapped in blankets, a chubby pink face and little tuft of black hair peeking out—it was like the whole world had titled on its axis in that moment. His whole hand fit around Sirius' pinky and the moment he saw Sirius, the smile that bloomed on his face was seared into his brain.

Sirius was not prepared for the tidal wave of love that flooded him that evening. All other meaningful relationships in his life were products of years of effort and proximity. Even with James, who had been the single most important person in his life before he'd laid eyes on his precious godson, there were some rough patches and it had taken them a while to get to where they were.

With Harry, though? It was instantaneous, and so, so uncomplicated. It felt like his only purpose in life was to protect him, this little defenceless child who was born in the middle of a war, who looked at Sirius with stars in his eyes.

( he never forgot just how well he'd bungled that up).

He was at the Potters cottage sometimes later, holding his little godson and feeling incredibly raw in a way he wasn't used to. The intensity of his emotions still hadn't wound down (and perhapsthey never will, he realised, when it came to Harry), so he kissed the boy on his little round cheek, handed him off the James, and went straight to his usual tattoo parlour.

It was with a sense of shame (though not enough to make him not do it) that he'd answered 'my child' when the man had offhandedly asked who Harry was. He felt—guilty, like he was overstepping (which he almost definitely was) but that didn't stop him from thinking that way. Harry was his baby, had been since the very first moment he'd held him. And though he'd never showed the tattoo to anyone, not even James (because that shame never left him, even if he tried to dial down how attached he was to Harry), it wasn't hard for anyone to figure out how besotted he was with baby Harry. He'd have eyes for no one when he had him in his arms, and he could spend hours just looking at him babbling and drooling. Harry was similarly attached to him and to this day, Sirius thanks his lucky stars that neither James nor Lily were the kind to get possessive of their son, that they let him spend as much time with him as he did without thinking it was weird or-or too much.

In the present, Harry, without being promoted by Sirius, trailed his fingers over the slightly faded but still-very-clear text that was inked in cursive on Sirius' skin. It wasn't anything complicated, had no embellishments or detailing, and was perhaps the simplest thing Sirius had ever gotten on his body. But it was definitely one of the most precious to him, right up there with the Potter crest and the antlers on his shoulder blades. Because just like the others, this one spoke of belonging. Sirius was Harry's from the second he was born, and he would have it no other way.

"You have my name," Harry breathed in wonder, a single finger digging into the skin as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You're not the only one with an unhealthy attachment, kid," Sirius tried to joke, "I got this four days after you were born. When things got too much in Azkaban, I'd—this helped me. Happy thoughts were, well, dangerous in that place, but this one was a reminder. That you were still out there somewhere and I had to stay strong for you."

A quiet sob escaped Harry's mouth then and he lurched forward, wrapping his arms desperately around Sirius' waist, face tucked into his neck. Sirius didn't hesitate in returning the gesture, squeezing tightly, needing the contact just as much as him.

"The year we were on the run—I would, I'd spend hours just looking at the tattoo and wishing you were here. I kept thinking of the time we had together, how short it was but how much of an impact you had on me still. How I was holding on to you even years after you were gone. I really, really needed you, Sirius," Harry admitted in a whisper, like it was a shameful secret.

Sirius felt like the scum of the earth in that moment, knowing he made his godson so miserable was—it was painful. But Harry didn't need his self-recriminations now, he could wallow later when he was alone in his room.

"Harry, love, I can—never make up for not being there for you, not the first time and not the second," he shushed his godson when he started protesting his words (his wonderful Harry, always so eager to defend him, even when he had done nothing to deserve it), "No, honey, listen. I need to say this. And you need to hear this."

"You never, not once deserved what you went through, okay? More than anyone else, you should have had someone to protect you, be there for you. Your parents trusted me to be that person and I-I failed them. But more importantly, I failed you. I knew you were counting on me, but I didn't—I was blinded by rage both times. And the circumstances were so messed up, the odds stacked against us, but that doesn't make it okay. It doesn't make it okay that you didn't have anyone to count on, and it doesn't make it okay that I didn't fulfil the one promise I made to you- that I'd always protect you."

"I will—spend my whole life trying to make it up to you, and failing. Because nothing will make it right, no amount of work can undo the hell you were put through, but I won't ever stop trying, baby, you have my word."

Sirius' entire neck was covered in moisture at this point, glasses digging painfully into the soft skin. But he stayed still, let Harry take his time. He didn't think either of them had expected a simple trip to the tattoo parlour could've led to this- a heart to heart where both of them ended up sobbing over each other.

But he also knew it was much needed. Sirius hadn't been back for all that long but there were still some things that needed to be said, that they were both tip-toeing around. He knows why. Neither of them wanted to talk about the hard stuff, not now when everyone was still reeling from the affects of the War. But it was necessary for them to move on, to deal with their trauma so they could keep the demons in the past where they belonged. Sirius was going overboard (and he was self aware enough to realise that) in his attempts to spoil his godson, throwing money at the problem and hoping it would solve itself. Harry was—he was terrified, to put it plainly. He wouldn't ever say it but Sirius could see it in every fibre of his being. How he would look at Sirius, desperation and devotion all mixed together, like if he could disappear any moment and Harry would unravel if that happened. The nightmares he tried so hard to hide behind Silencing Charms (Sirius had tried to put a stop to that the moment he found out, but he suspected Harry was trying to 'protect' him still). The way he rarely let Sirius out of his sight in the months he'd been back. Sirius didn't—mind it, he was equally paranoid, but it wasn't healthy, especially not for Harry. He was so young, still, had his entire life in front of him. He shouldn't be cooped up in a cottage in the countryside, away from all civilisation, content to spend all his time with only his godfather for company. He should be out there, living life and enjoying every fucking second of it. He should be healing because he deserved no less than that. Sirius wanted the world for his Harry, and he wasn't willing to fuck it up worse by running away from his responsibilities (yet again)

So yes, this conversation was long overdue—and perhaps it would break that barrier that was present so far, that layer of forced nonchalance. Maybe Harry could finally start talking about the War. Because so far he'd remain tight-lipped on the topic, revealing only the bare minimum to Sirius but he had to work through it at some point- perhaps now he would?

"I know you think you've failed," Harry spoke up, voice exhausted but still firm, "I also know I can't change your mind about it. But you have to know—if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change knowing you, having you, for anything, Siri. I am—so thankful to mum and dad for giving me you."

And Sirius couldn't help the laughter that escaped in that moment. It felt like freedom and love and absolution. It was guilt and shame and sorrow, all twisted together. He couldn't ever separate his love for Harry from the bone-deep grief that accompanied it, being able to have him like this only because James and Lily couldn't. It was—such a selfish kind of love, but Sirius was a selfish man, he'd never claimed otherwise. And he was so weak. Because he couldn't stop himself from pressing closer, from holding Harry tighter and pressing a rough kiss to his temple. He could never not marvel at the fact that this was his child, in his arms, looking at him like he hung the moon.

"It's funny," he murmured, after, "because I can say the same for you."

He knew this wasn't the end of it. That they'd have to hash it out some more, talk about the years he had missed, the months Harry was on the run. It wouldn't be fun for either of them but Sirius wanted Harry to live, and he couldn't do that until he healed. And healing was—painful, it was unforgiving and lonely. But this time, Harry won't be alone, Sirius swears, he would be right there beside him.

aaaaaaand that was the (not so) big reveal. don't ask me where all the tears came from (i'm actually fully emotionally numb irl so perhaps this is a cry for help? lol jk jk) (emotional vulnerability sets a wonderful stage for comfort so uh maybe that's it)

i swear, when i started this (and while midway thru it) i did not plan on that whole parallel b/w harry and sirius but y'all know my fics have a tendency of running away from me while i hold onto it for dear life (i wasn't mad ab it tho)

anyway. i hope you enjoyed it, leave me a comment telling me what you thought, perhaps? you can even drop some prompts or other scenarios w our fav boys because i'm always on the lookout for more inspiration (most of my stuff is just repetitive atp heh) so uh yeah 3