Chapter 5: Day 5 - 11:31

The report wouldn't annotate itself.

That was the conclusion Sirius had reached after staring at the scattering of parchments that spread across the kitchen table for three hours. He'd been given the report over a week ago, been told to read it and annotate anything that he deemed noteworthy, and send it back by Guarded Post Owl to McGonagall at Hogwarts.

A week and all Sirius could discern was that his quill very decidedly did not feel inclined to hash out a scratching of sparse words in the margins, not even enough that any passing glance would assume he'd actually comprehended what the report was written about. Something regarding the Carrows and their Yorkshire estate's potential use as a Death Eater base. That someone had to go and check it out or something.

Sirius wasn't sure. Couldn't be certain, as he'd hardly read a word even on the first page. He instead glared at the off-white parchment, the words blurring into smudges before his unseeing eyes, and tapped his quill in time with the clock on the wall. It was almost soothing in its persistence.

Tick… tick… tick…

There was a reason for Sirius' anger that day. Or at least a different reason to his usual, very justified one of hating upon the constant presence of Draco Malfoy. Even his anger was directed alternatively that morning. Mostly. The Malfoy brat would always elicit a vivid red loathing from him. He was sure of that.

No, Sirius' anger was directed instead to George. Or Fred, given that George maintained it had been Fred who had said it and not he. Sirius didn't particularly care which it had been. He was just about ready to chew anybody out who even looked at him sideways since those fateful words had been murmured at the breakfast table that morning.

"… a little funny, ain't it? I mean, I know he's his godfather and everything, he's supposed to be all protective and everything, but this is a little extreme. I never quite saw Sirius as being that kind of 'uncle'."

The guilty twins – because after three hours of contemplation Sirius had decided to lay the blame upon both of them – had descended into a riot of snickers. That laughter had cut short immediately, however, when a jostling elbow from Ron at their side had alerted them to Sirius' presence in the doorway.

Suffice to say that the dining room had cleared exceptionally rapidly after that.

Unfortunately, such an abrupt disappearance of people in general, though namely those that Sirius could take his affront out on, had meant that Sirius had been left alone to his thoughts. Retreating downstairs into the basement kitchen, Sirius had seethed. Anger had deteriorated into confusion, which had unfolded into frustration and finally horror.

Was that what people thought? What, that by some sort of twisted sickness of Sirius' mind he was… that he thought…

It didn't help Sirius any that he knew he was… just a tad fixated on his attaining the perfect relationship with his godson. But what could anyone expect? Freed from Azkaban, and with Pettigrew out of reach – though not permanently; Sirius still swore that he would end the little rat-man – Sirius was left with time. Headspace. And the resurfacing urge to get to know Harry, the young man who looked so much like his best friend and who he had come to care for so much through knowing for such a short time. Was it so wrong that he would want to act upon that?

Apparently so, according to the twins. For even in jest there was a hint of truth to joking words, just an echo of genuine question. Did everyone see Sirius as obsessed? He'd always been a motivated person, always been wholeheartedly driven in everything he committed himself to. It was what had wound him up in Azkaban in the first place. Sirius had long since come to terms with that aspect of his personality. He was comfortable with it, saw it as much as a benefit to his character as a detriment. Why did others have to see it as something solely wrong?

It didn't help that Sirius' actions appeared entirely one-sided. Had Harry sought to pursue such a… well, if not father-son relationship then at least the close friendship that Sirius was more than willing to build, it would perhaps have seemed less strange. But Harry was simply distracted. Had lost his ready eagerness to get to know Sirius that had almost been exasperating in its persistence hitherto. His attention had been thoroughly diverted. Since leaving Grimmauld Place two days ago, Sirius had received one owl and one Floo call. Both had been brief.

It was almost embarrassing. And Sirius blamed one person and one person only. Or specifically. He could load the blame onto the rest of the Malfoy's too, for they surely had a hand in it as well.

Grumbling beneath his breath, Sirius slumped back in his chair with a frown. He tapped the end of his quill onto the parchment with enough force to splay the speckled feathering into splits. It wasn't fair. Not only was Sirius unable to act to accomplish the one thing that he sorely wanted for that Christmas holidays but now others were adding their skewed perceptions to the situation. What was wrong with the world? Sirius had always been rather fond of the twins, could see a lot of himself in their antics. Troublemakers had to stick together.

Not today. Today, they were very firmly wedged in Sirius' bad books.

Sighing, Sirius threw the quill down atop the parchment. He'd had such hopes for the holidays. Hopes to get to know Harry, to truly embrace his godfather status and embody both friend and supporter. That was what godfather's were for, right? He knew he should have acted upon it sooner, been more proactive than the infrequent letters mailed over the past few years, the invitations to Harry to come to Grimmauld Place that were extended but not overtly pursued. The incident at the Ministry earlier in the year had changed his outlook on a lot of things; with his fear rising in an aggressive manner when he'd seen Harry bodily at risk from the cursed Death Eaters, he'd become suddenly aware of just how precious spending time with Harry was. Had been. Should be.

The summer holidays were a bust. Dumbledore had pushed for Harry to remain at his Muggle relatives' house and only relocated him for the last few days to the burrow. Sirius hadn't been allowed to go, not even to visit. Harry had come to visit him – once – but Sirius was still under house arrest when not actively participating in a mission. His criminal record was still flying high, making it impossible for him to show his face in public. Sirius had always hated his parents' house, ever since he was a boy. He'd hated coming home in the summer from Hogwarts into the gloomy, depressing walls of his ancestors.

It didn't help that being stuck in the house was getting in the way of his plans to become the Best Godfather In The World. And on top of Sirius' boredom? He'd come to hate the faintly pungent scent of the hallways, of the stuffy rooms and the melody of squeaky doors and creaking floors.

And then Harry had announced that he and Draco were dating. And Sirius had been shunted to the side. Not deliberately, and Sirius was sure that Harry didn't see it like that. But he'd taken a very obvious seat in the second row in terms of importance to Harry, that much was apparent.

Was Sirius jealous? Yes, he could recognise that he very much was. Not, however, in the way that George – or Fred – had suggested. The thought set his teeth on edge. If only he could prove himself to be friend, mentor, godfather, confidant… something had to change, both through Harry's eyes and that of the rest of the household. And it had to come from Sirius, because nothing was going to change on the Malfoy front, that much was certain of.

It didn't help that, if nothing else, the Weasleys at large had come to tolerate Draco. No, tolerate was too mellow a term. Like? Maybe not quite, but it was certainly on the way there. Ron certainly seemed on the brink of recognising Draco as a friend, something that Sirius would have considered impossible a year ago given the stories Harry had told him of his encounters with Draco.

It almost felt like a competition to Sirius. He was competitive by nature, and even irrational as he deemed it – especially considering that he knew he and the Malfoy brat would fill very different places in Harry's hearts – he still felt that competitiveness rear its monstrous heat and huff indignant steam from its nostrils.

Sirius would win this one. He might acknowledge, in a very small part of his mind, that such an approach to developing his relationship with his godson was not exactly what he should be striving for, but he ignored that rational voice. He would win this one, would beat Malfoy, and when Harry openly expressed an actual desire to share his company, could see fit to detach himself from his boyfriend for long enough to spend time with one of the few people who had known him since he was a baby… George wouldn't be so fast to call Sirius' affection 'a little extreme' then, would he?

And Sirius knew exactly what he should do.

Pulling a blank sheet of parchment from beneath the spread of reports and carelessly scattering said reports, he hefted his quill with more enthusiasm than he had all morning. It might not be much, might not even amount to anything, but writing a letter would be a start. Glancing at the clock – eleven fifty-five – he set nib to parchment.

Harry,

It was great to hear from you yesterday. You sound busy; flying all morning? I confess I'm a little jealous of you. We've not much by way of 'quidditch pitch' around here but we make do…