A/N: So sometimes I like to make a note that I encourage people to leave comments/reviews, because I love to see them, and they're helpful for me, and I know sometimes readers are hesitant or don't know if the author wants them, so this is me saying, by all means, go for it! And if you don't feel like it, that's fine by me too.
No one could ever say that Sirius was not good with his godson; the man absolutely adored the little boy, doted on him and spoiled him beyond belief. If there was one thing Sirius could not handle, however, it was sticky hands, and either James or Remus seemed to have made a very amusing game of getting Harry to chase after Sirius every time he had anything even remotely sticky on him. It's not so much that he is opposed to making messes, Sirius is usually the first to make up games with Harry that involve tossing sofa cushions around the house and the last to clean them up, but when it comes to all things sticky, Sirius is a tad… squeamish.
One warm summer afternoon, Harry decides to try to make himself lunch, climbing up onto a stool and pulling peanut butter from the cabinet and homemade jam from the fridge and placing them both on the kitchen table next to the bread. He slides two slices out of the bag (several crumbs coming with them), and takes a butter knife (which is way too big for his little hands). First he spreads the peanut butter on both slices of bread, getting it all over his hands and arms, then he scoops out jam and tries to spread it on top of the peanut butter, succeeding only in making more of a mess, getting jam on the table and all over himself. Frustrated by his inability to make his sandwich, Harry starts to cry little tears, and he climbs down from the stool (getting jam and peanut butter on it and the table) to seek out assistance. Sirius, reading the newspaper in the living room, is the only one Harry can find, so he runs over and grabs Sirius' exposed wrist and tugs.
"Oh, god!" Sirius shouts, jumping up from the couch, and Harry reaches out again, this time getting a sticky fistful of shirt. "Harry, no! What do you need?" He pries the little fingers off his shirt and uses one already jam-covered hand to hold Harry at arms length.
"I tried to make a sandwich," Harry whimpers, moving back towards the kitchen, and Sirius follows with a resigned sigh.
"Bugger," he exhales upon seeing the sticky, jammy mess, and he reaches for the sponge in the sink. Just then, Remus walks through the door, and Sirius lets out a sigh of relief.
"What's going on in here?" he asks, taking in the mess and Sirius' distressed expression as he scoops Harry into his arms without even hesitating at the mess that would cover him.
"He tried to make a sandwich by himself," Sirius explains as Harry buries his head in Remus' shoulder.
"Ah, I see," he answers, giving Harry a little squeeze. "You go clean up, I'll take care of this."
"Thank you," Sirius breathes, and he tosses the sponge to Remus, heading upstairs to the shower.
Even though it was just his arm and clothes, Sirius takes a shower anyway, feeling like his whole self was contaminated by just a little jam (he really abhors messes). When he comes back downstairs he finds Harry munching away happily on his sandwich, jam dripping onto a plate on his lap, and Remus in the kitchen, scrubbing down an already clean-looking table to make sure Sirius isn't bothered by it.
"Thanks, mate," he says, his voice expressing all the relief and gratefulness he feels.
"Not a problem, I know how you are." Remus smiles kindly – he truly doesn't mind, he's always been that way, concerned with how he can make things easier for his friends.
Their little farm is relatively self-sufficient - James does most of the gardening while Remus looks after the livestock. They don't have much, just a few cows, sheep, and chickens, but they get by with it. Sirius helps with the harvest sometimes, particularly in the apple grove, where he lifts Harry onto his shoulders and the two of them pluck the ripe fruit from the branches, but mostly he works to earn them the little money they need to purchase anything else (clothes and meat and luxuries like books or toys). He writes, edits, and translates for newspapers, some muggle but mostly wizard (he claims it's easier, less confusing), and edits some manuscripts for a muggle publishing company that does fictional stories (he likes this best) while he works on a book of his own. And this delegation, this break down of responsibilities seems to work for all of them – James likes working with his hands, probably because it keeps him from thinking too hard about what he's lost, while Remus enjoys caring for the animals, to whom he feels particularly attached, and Sirius loves staying inside, watching Harry (he also does a lot of Harry's schooling), and avoiding getting dirty at all costs.
Sirius' favorite part of the day is the afternoon, when he takes Harry for a bike ride into the town a few miles away, and the two of them pick up a loaf of baguette to go with dinner (as well as anything else they need) and they practice their rusty French as they talk to the boulanger and the pâtissière.
Remus' favorite part of the day is the evening, when Harry comes home from the bike ride with Sirius and brings all the groceries into the kitchen, climbing up onto the stool to help cook dinner. Lupin teaches him everything he knows, how to cook meat and make pies, how to bake cakes and how to cook by taste rather than from a recipe.
James' favorite part of the day is the night, when he gets to carry his sleepy little boy up to bed and tuck him in, asking which bedtime story he'd like to be read tonight. And then, with blankets tucked up to his chin and a little stuffed owl under his arm, Harry listens attentively as James reads him a story, occasionally chiming in with parts he already knows. Eventually, his eyelids grow heavy and start to close, though he will fight as hard as he can to make it to the end of the story, but inevitably, by the time James kisses his forehead and whispers "I love you," Harry is barely able to even murmur the words back before his eyes close completely and quiet snores escape his small body.
(Harry's favorite part of the day is when he first wakes up and goes downstairs, finding all three men sitting at the kitchen table, reading different sections of the newspaper and drinking steaming mugs of coffee to prepare themselves for the day ahead, and they are indistinguishable from one another, each one looking like a typical father, because that's their number one job, better than anything else, and Harry's always known it.)